Frank Sinatra

I feel sorry for Frank Sinatra. How many times must he has turned in his grave for the way karaoke singers, to this day, continue to slaughter My Way? More than once I’ve seen reports about KTV bar brawls, or even murders, and the interviewed investigation personnel always jokes that an out-of-tune singing of My Way must’ve instigated the crime. Funny the torments that a song about dying with dignity can cause.

Because of that song, though, and the way he’s often portrayed by the media, I long had this notion that Frank Sinatra is the imago of a gentleman. Whenever I’m set to do a task, usually a daunting one, I tell myself to do it the Frankie way: forceful, manly (but not rough as macho is often attributed to), and with style – perhaps, suave as his singing voice. Strange, then, that for too long it was precisely all my flattering impressions of him that deterred me from ever listening to any of his albums. I believed he was too perfect, and I don’t want to listen to music from any musicians who is flawless. Further, I just didn’t like My Way, Strangers In The Night, or anything by him that is favored by karaokes. I’ve ignored him until two years ago, when I bought his Come Fly With Me and Come Dance With Me albums, just to be able to form substantiated opinions about Frankie’s work. Later on I got In The Wee Small Hours and Songs for Swingin’ Lovers, because those two consistently pop up in best albums of all time lists, including the one in 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. It was only in In The Wee Small Hours that I got to see Frankie as someone who dares show that he is vulnerable like all the rest of us.

02 - Mood Indigo (Frank Sinatra)

In The Wee Small Hours is Frank Sinatra’s comeback, years after his singing career was on a standstill. His first under Capitol Records (after leaving Columbia Records), it was notable for being, allegedly, a reflection of his widely publicized marriage with Ava Gardner. It’s a sad record, and feels like watching someone mourn. Frankie isn’t a composer. He doesn’t even write the lyrics of his songs. All he does most times is interpret American standards. Yet, his delivery in every tracks here is done with a sincerity that make them sound like they are written just so that they can be sung by him. The accompanying instruments are used sparely, as if to accentuate his gloom, like he was inviting only those who care about him to stay and hear of his troubles, while shooing all the rest who flock to him only when they’re in a party mood. It’s nearing dawn, the bar is getting empty, and he is sitting at a bar counter, staring at his glass of beer, babbling all his troubles out and drinking as if the alcohol will obfuscate all his bitter memories and make him forget all the tears streaming down his eyes.

04 - You Brought A New Kind Of Love To Me (Frank Sinatra)

A year after In The Wee Small Hours, he seems to have picked himself up again and, in Songs for Swingin’ Lovers, return to the up-tempo swing that he is so commonly associated with. I have to admit, I find him far less entertaining in this light than how he is when he’s depressed and blue (he would revisited that mood later in Only The Lonely). Often, swing music with any kind of vocalist frustrate me, in that I try to like them, but couldn’t. Maybe I’m missing the point of swing music, but I can’t stand the pomp of their arrangements, like every minute of the songs have to be smothered with 5 or more brasses (at least half of the tracks from Come Dance With Me is like that). Not with Songs for Swingin’ Lovers though, because I liked it quite a bit, and found it very memorable. I appreciate it for being quite restrained, without losing anything that makes swing music fitting for when I’m dancing with a partner held by her waist. Some tracks are louder than others, but there are always build-ups or slow-downs, giving them rooms for anyone, performers and listeners alike, to breathe.

03 - Change Partners (Frank Sinatra & Tom Jobim)

The last Sinatra album that made it to 1001 Albums is Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim. I don’t speak Portuguese, and have never gone to Brazil – though it’s in my wish list to go there – but I’m not ignorant about Brazilian music. In fact, I know quite a bit about Bossa Nova, and Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim is not what I’ll consider a very good Bossa Nova album. A lot of folks say that the decline of Bossa Nova came as a result of it losing its cultural identity by pandering to American mass market. This album is a strong argument for that. Many jazz musicians banked on the popularity of Bossa Nova during the late 60s, but Frank Sinatra’s effort stand as being among the worst I’ve heard simply because it sounds like the epitome of quick cash-in. It really could’ve become a truly great Bossa Nova album, since Frank took the efforts to persuade Antonio Carlos Jobim, widely regarded as the father of Bossa Nova, to work with him. Alas, they didn’t complement well because they probably didn’t understand each other’s style. Frank sounds lazy here, without the fire in his earlier works; Jobim couldn’t write a more pedestrian arrangement in his sleep. The result is a collection unoffensive, but ultimately forgettable, songs. Why is it even in 1001 albums list?