Frank Sinatra - The Greatest Male Pop Singer Of The 20th Century

David A.

David A.

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Note: Posted this about four years ago on our previous forum and I'd be damned if this didn't make its way to this forum.

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I'm sure I've made this claim about Sinatra several times around these parts.

I'm sure I've also mentioned at some point that I've been a huge fan of his work since I was 12 years old. And I find his life to be quite fascinating. Not just a mob connections (which are somewhat exaggerated) and the women and the swinging Rat Pack swagger. In fact, I find that stuff to stand in direct contraction with what Sinatra the artist was able to create.

Now, I understand that I'm typing this up with the intention of posting it up on a forum that consists of fairly young listeners. I'd venture to say that the average age of our forum members is, what, maybe 29? That's just a really rough guess. We talk about rock and roll history and synth-pop and the next big thing. Hell, that's part of why Vinyl Me, Please exists to begin with: to shine a light on artists that deserve real attention.

But I can't help but feel compelled to share my feelings about Sinatra's catalogue because I really think that he achieved something incredible during his peak years. Between 1953 and 1960, the man produced a dozen masterful albums. He was recording for Capitol Records at that point, his career in an upswing after that dismal era where the man was dropped by Columbia Records and by his agency, MCA, and by his film studio, MGM. Oh, and there was the Ava Gardner affair and the back-taxes.

But let's focus on the artistry and just how good he was in his early 30's:



That smooth legato and exceptional breath control was so precious. But, again, he went through rough times. His vocal cords ruptured on stage at the Copacabana in 1949 or 50 and he was unable to sing for months.

Alan Livingston at Capitol took a flyer on Sinatra and it was essentially a rebirth of the guy.



Notice that rougher, yet still honeyed tone. His interpretive phrasing has jumped ten-fold in the 9 years between his recording of Someone to Watch Over Me with Axel Stordahl in 1945 and with Nelson Riddle in 1954.

The man was not a songwriter. The songs that Sinatra performed were the product of Tin-Pan-Alley and Broadway composers whose melodic gifts were unparalleled. George and Ira Gershwin wrote Someone To Watch Over Me, for instance. Porter, Kern, Berlin, etc.

But Sinatra had exceptional taste for material, save for the occasions when he was pressured for a hit single by, say, A&R guys. That's actually how Mama Will Bark came to be. But I digress.

Sinatra was never a singles artist. His work lied in the album. Specifically the concept album, which I contend is his creation. And it's birth can be traced to several recording sessions done in early 1955:



Again, another collaboration with arranger Nelson Riddle, whose use of strings is never saccharine or kitschy. The emotions on this album are quite real. 16 tales of lost love, all told in a semi-coherent manner. If there is a story, it's loosely told, certainly. Tommy, this is not. But there is a logical starting point and ending point for this album. And this album is obviously a response to Sinatra's tempestuous relationship with Ava Gardner.
 
And then you've got this:



Pure, unfettered alienation. Listen to those strings as they lay a bed for the woodwinds and brass on You Make Me Feel So Young. Alvin Stoller's rock-steady drumming.



Or this song, perhaps his finest achievement, recorded in 22 takes on January 22nd, 1956. The arrangement was written by Riddle as Riddle's wife drove him to the studio. Again, strings laying that bed for the brass. Straight-forward Sinatra and Riddle formula. And then the bridge. The strings begin to scream in agony and ecstasy as Milt Bernhardt's trombone solo comes ripping through. And then Sinatra comes back in, almost biting on the lyrics. There's a doggedness there. It's all almost orgasmic. But the song doesn't end with the man belting. It ends quietly.

Exquisite stuff, really.

And for years, he'd alternate from the sadder material to the ebullient stuff, a shift almost as manic as the man himself: the guy who could be a bully but who could be generous. The Roosevelt era democrat who would eventually vote for Nixon and Reagan and other GOP candidates.

But, again, I digress. There's a richness in the catalogue.

I urge you all to look into it. Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely, Come Fly With Me, Close to You, Where Are You?, Nice 'n' Easy, Come Dance with Me! stand out the most, honestly. At least when it comes to his Capitol era. But every album from 1953-1960 is just fucking exceptional. Things get a bit spotty towards the end of his time there, but even then, the albums are quite good.

Sinatra's work at Reprise is also somewhat spotty. But there are real gems to be found that are equal, if not greater than his work at Capitol: Sinatra & Strings, Sinatra & Basie The Concert Sinatra, September of My Years. And then that Jobim album!

Look at them performing together for a television special:



Funny enough, Sinatra got two of his biggest commercial hits while at Reprise: Strangers in the Night and Something Stupid (a duet with his daughter).

I'm typing this up as I listen to his much maligned masterwork, Watertown, actually. Historians and casual fans usually dismiss this album as the death knell for Sinatra's career in the '60's: the album with weak sales that finally drove him into a retirement that lasted just two years.

At the age of 54, Sinatra was collaborating with Bob Gaudio, the renowned producer/song-writer behind the genius of the Four Seasons. Jake Holmes and Gaudio wrote a real concept album for Sinatra now: one with a real story about a father who's wife has left him alone with the kids. He wonders about where she's gone, deals with his feelings of inadequacy, understanding that perhaps it was never meant to last. The sense of grief is palpable. There's nothing as acidic on here as say, Idiot Wind on Dylan's Blood on the Tracks.

But there's a twist at the end of the album that is just goddamned chilling. I think it's one of his finest achievements. He was willing to experiment, even when he didn't have to. That Jobim album is a perfect example.

I've gone on for too long and I don't even know that anybody will read all of this. But ya'll should. I'll probably open a thread for Billie Holiday at some point.

I'll close this thread with a link to a Sinatra performance that Bob Dylan has cited as a personal influence:


 
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He made art and never really called it that. It’s the weird nature of music and film in that era. People who were too understated or had too much humility to calm their craft art.
 
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