Frank Sinatra: Where are you? (Capitol 0777
7 91209 2 5)
Frank Sinatra - at his 50s peak - was, simply, one of
the greatest voices of the 20th century. Particularly
re ballads, rather than those swingers which (typically)
comprised his hits during this era. Most who truly rate
such, tend to put his work w/Nelson Riddle first...as
should I, given that I (usually) much prefer jazz to string-heavy
classicism in arrangements...
But...honesty should always come first. So, here &
now, I declare my (unswerving) preference for the “corny”
touch of Gordon Jenkins - at least, on this all-too-often
forgotten gem - rather than Riddle’s Only the Lonely,
usually considered the peak of Sinatra’s balladry.
Because, given his “status” as a born-again
swinger, there’s just (occasionally) a hint of glibness
in his phrasing on the latter...whereas here, amidst the
most lushy simple/heartfelt traditional framing...he genuinely
plumbs the depths. To be sure, that could (easily) be
taken too far: I’m no fan of the Sinatra/Jenkins
follow-up No one cares - despite having to order it in
on a German pressing, so as to hear it - since it’s
unrelievedly po-faced melodrama (unfortunately) - but..its
predecessor is, simply, one of the very greatest albums
of the period.
Now: remember...Tin Pan Alley was a truly stern taskmaster...and
I didn’t (even) begin to grasp its possibilities,
until I was in my late 30s. And, it was Frank - not jazz
per se - who forced me to confront the (undoubted) fact
that great art was actually possible, within its narrow
embrace...
And this remains - arguably - his least diluted (and
greatest) homage to that particular stream w/in American
songwriting. Unlike Riddle’s work, however, there’s
nary a hint of jazz in these arrangements - even on “Baby,
won’t you please come home”...a jazz/blues ballad
in itself... And yet, the result is savagely soulful...but,
in a way that we younger listeners have (sadly) been “trained”
to dismiss.
Now...we’ve all been moved by this kind of music
- whether w/in classic Hollywood orchestrations, or some
“corny” arrangement that genuinely nailed our
souls...despite our “best” critical intentions.
What I want to suggest, is that we stop pretending this
didn’t happen - or that it was, somehow (and pathetically)
“ironic” - and ask ourselves what real excellence
means in this sphere. Because, when we do, this album
will prove a lodestone.
Just listen to “Autumn Leaves”...one verse/the
chorus, and it’s over - albeit it takes three minutes
over same - and begin, with me, to understand that there
are no (truly) bankrupt genres, except in “critical”
retrospect...and that we - actually - need to try and
understand excellence, wherever/whenever we find it...and
not (merely) where we expect it to be...
John Henry Calvinist
