Years ago, in a smoke-filled apartment on Carmine Street, NYC, the hostess of the party I was attending played Sinatra. I felt alienated at the time because I couldn’t make any connection with that Jersey-big-band-casino sound. Flashforward to present day, here in the culture desert of California, I’ve grown to like an AM radio station that plays oldies nonstop and commercial-free during the night. Of course, they got plenty of Sinatra. His clean and precise sound is indeed hypnotic. Once I read a comment he made on the style of a fellow singer (may be Nat King Cole; I’m not sure; don’t quote me) who he thought “hit every note correctly”. At the time, it sounded like a back-handed compliment, but in retrospect, he was probably voicing what he preferred in a singer—“clean and precise”, which was his own style.

Now I can’t get this song called “Something Stupid”, which he recorded with his daughter Nancy, out of my head:

I know I stand in line, until you think you have the time
To spend an evening with me
And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there’s a chance
You won’t be leaving with me

And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place
And have a drink or two
And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid
Like: "I love you”…