Frank Sinatra leaves indelible impression on music industry

Tuesday, May 26, 1998

Frank Sinatra leaves indelible impression on music industry

MUSIC: Passage of celebrity brings period for reflection to
everyone

You know how when someone with massive cultural significance
dies, people on television ask, "Where were you when you heard the
news?"

I was Las Vegas last Friday, covering the Eat’m festival at the
Desert Inn. As we were driving past, our music writer, Jeremy,
randomly shouted out, "Frank Sinatra’s on the marquee."

"Well, Jeremy, what does it say?"

"I think he’s dead."

And a weird moment passed. There’s that instant feeling of shock
and surprise when a huge entertainer or popular figure dies. For
me, the moment had passed quickly, though I will never forget
it.

See, I was not a Sinatra fan. Truth be told, the only admiration
I had for this legend was an unpassionate recognition of his
singing skills. Other than that, he didn’t mean anything to me.
Like Elvis, I thought he was highly overrated. I always had passed
him off as a phenomenon of his time, someone with less talent than
his popularity would dictate.

Here’s a man who constantly trash-talked rock ‘n’ roll, an
institution that means a great deal to me. I couldn’t stand that.
His condescension when it came to other people’s music irked me,
especially because he was a fellow musician. He sang a song with
Bono from U2 for his "Duets" album. I am a big U2 fan, but I was in
no rush to check the song out. I knew they were doing one of
Sinatra’s "boring" Cole Porter songs, so I forgot about it. And
furthermore, here was this big shot who not only couldn’t even
write his own songs, and now he needed a teleprompter to sing the
lyrics. I had virtually no respect for Frank Sinatra.

Later that day, we attended a luncheon honoring Beatles producer
George Martin. I was quite excited about this. He had helped
forever change the face of rock music. And what did he do? Talk
about Sinatra for 10 minutes. Two other speakers went on ad nauseum
about his passing. One speaker was very emotional about it. We were
in the hotel Sinatra frequently performed at in the ’80s and early
’90s, so the president of the hotel talked about it. I had had
enough.

Then, we were told that at 8:30 that night, the lights of the
Vegas Strip would dim in remembrance. Wow, what a sight that would
be! And as we perched ourselves on the bridge over the Strip by the
MGM Grand, we stood packed together to watch only the marquee
lights which read the name of each hotel go out for three minutes,
all at different times. The majority of the lights had stayed lit.
You could barely tell anything changed. Frank would have been
disappointed. We were all disappointed, let down and hanging
around.

So now we’re driving in the car and the DJ on this Vegas
alternative rock station says he’s gonna play his favorite Sinatra
song. In a state of disgust, I cursed at the DJ and, oddly,
realized at that point that I had underestimated how important
Sinatra was to Vegas. Still, I have had enough of Sinatra.

All of a sudden, "My Way" comes pouring through the speakers. I
knew how the song went and all, but I had never heard it all the
way through. Fine, let’s let the man sing one last time with the
silence of my cynicism.

"And now, the end is near / and so I face the final curtain
…"

And instantly, Frank has my attention, on this day when his
curtain would indeed come down for the last time. I’m both creeped
out and fascinated by the lyrical parallel.

"I’ve lived a life that’s full / I’ve traveled each and every
highway / But more, much more than this / I did it my way …"

And the thought process continues, as I imagine this man who has
been entertaining people for years. We drive past the Sands
Convention Center, which stands behind the site of what used to be
the Sands Hotel and Casino. That was Frank’s dive. He, Sammy, Dean
and Joey played it up night after night, and gave birth to the the
phenomenon that became Vegas. Dusty casinos became glitzy,
glamorous palaces and music filled the air 24 hours a day. To be
there in Vegas, before the pirate battles and narcissistic
magicians, in its heyday … wow.

"Regrets, I’ve had a few / but then again, too few to mention /
I did what I had to do / and saw it through without exemption
…"

Man, Frank didn’t write this?! But he sings it with such
conviction, such self-awareness, such confidence … I become
jealous. I looked at my own life, chock-full of regrets, hoping to
one day be able to change that around and live unflinchingly like
Frank did. I’m totally immersed in this vocally melodic and lyrical
proclamation, not even aware of my own hypocrisy.

"Yes there were times, I’m sure you knew / when I bit of more
than I could chew / but through it all, when there was doubt / I
ate it up and spit it out / I faced it all and I stood tall / and
did it my way …"

The parallels to my life in this lyric couldn’t be any closer,
as Frank reached from the gut and poured out his soul with all he
had. I’m with you, Frank. I know those times, I know biting off
more than I can chew, I know about facing it all! Though dry-eyed,
I become overcome with emotion and awe. To think I had missed this
all along; it built up inside, this once-in-a-blue-moon revelation,
as I hurl myself over the generation gap and listened to the next
lines, and then …

"For what is a man, what has he got? / If not himself, then he
has naught / To say the things he truly feels / And not the words
of one who kneels / the record shows, I took the blows / and did it
my way!"

I almost wanted to cry. I wanted to stop the car and sit on the
sandy lot beside the casino, to mull this all over. I have been
able to relate to Frank more so than so many other singers with
just this one verse. What a paradox!

And it hits me. We’re both poets, Frank. I write them, you sing
them. We both tell it like it is, our own stories, our lives, our
way. We’ve got different styles, different levels of talent,
different audiences and different ways of living. My fellow Italian
Catholic poet, we’ve got more in common than anyone would have
assumed. Especially me.

Frank Sinatra changed the face of popular music. He became pop’s
first superstar, long before Elvis and the Fab Four. He took songs
that mirrored his life and belted them out with such vocal imagery
and passion that singers today are still trying to match his style.
No way, man. Harry Connick Jr, Bono, Brett Anderson, Tony Bennett
… you come close, but you don’t have it, and you never will.

He changed the face of Vegas. He became the first real Vegas
headliner, a name that would seek out travelers and fans all over
the country, attracting throngs of worshippers to Sin City. The
phenomenon continued on. Elvis took it further.

He did it with class and attitude. He did it with cool and
confidence. No self-deprecation or unassuredness. ‘Cause real
heroes don’t hesitate or complain.

I’m pretty stubborn when it comes to music. I stay loyal to
those I love and continue to hate those I loathe. Rarely do the
ones I loathe covert me. I quote Joni Mitchell … "You don’t know
what you got til’ it’s gone." Frank, the victory is yours. Thanks
for doing it your way.

Prevatt is a fourth-year student, currently raiding Rhino’s
Sinatra stock for more ironic, soul-searching episodes. You can
reach him at [email protected].