Loathsome in life, Sinatra was a professional angel when singing. A music lesson in himself. Two songs representing the extremes of his style.
One For The Road. Lyrics that are sometimes wonderful (“We’re drinking, my friend, to the end of a brief episode…”), sometimes dreadful (“You’d never know it /But buddy I’m a kind of poet…”) but FS gives them full value. Not surprising, much of his repertoire is of the era when lyric writers were king. Instinctively he recognises the song’s narrow musical range (I know; I can sing it plausibly myself) and uses this to be conversational. With beautifully judged delays (eg, “There’s no one in the place (Pause) except you and me.”)
Although it’s a lament it’s no Richard Strauss long-line legato. The music emerges in soft bursts like one side of a dialogue, implying that Joe the barman says nothing. I’ve only realised this, just now. Notice how FS dwells fractionally on “my” in “Hope you didn’t mind my bending your ear.” Adds a couple of “longs” to the final line but, I think, he’s entitled.
New York, New York. Don’t be confused, this one starts “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today.” And I’m concentrating on just one line: “If I c’n make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” Second time round he changes the delivery: increases the volume, snarls the words and somehow grins confidently. Grins? How can I tell? It’s there, I say, a far more persuasive summary of his life than the frequently maudlin I Did It My Way.
One For The Road. Lyrics that are sometimes wonderful (“We’re drinking, my friend, to the end of a brief episode…”), sometimes dreadful (“You’d never know it /But buddy I’m a kind of poet…”) but FS gives them full value. Not surprising, much of his repertoire is of the era when lyric writers were king. Instinctively he recognises the song’s narrow musical range (I know; I can sing it plausibly myself) and uses this to be conversational. With beautifully judged delays (eg, “There’s no one in the place (Pause) except you and me.”)
Although it’s a lament it’s no Richard Strauss long-line legato. The music emerges in soft bursts like one side of a dialogue, implying that Joe the barman says nothing. I’ve only realised this, just now. Notice how FS dwells fractionally on “my” in “Hope you didn’t mind my bending your ear.” Adds a couple of “longs” to the final line but, I think, he’s entitled.
New York, New York. Don’t be confused, this one starts “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today.” And I’m concentrating on just one line: “If I c’n make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” Second time round he changes the delivery: increases the volume, snarls the words and somehow grins confidently. Grins? How can I tell? It’s there, I say, a far more persuasive summary of his life than the frequently maudlin I Did It My Way.
ONE FROM MY SHELVES
Horn concertos? Surely Mozart and Dennis Brain? There’s an alternative. No slouch, Antonio Rossetti wrote a Requiem for Mozart’s memorial service in Prague.
His concerti are great fun; WAM would have approved
Horn concertos? Surely Mozart and Dennis Brain? There’s an alternative. No slouch, Antonio Rossetti wrote a Requiem for Mozart’s memorial service in Prague.
His concerti are great fun; WAM would have approved