Although it was written by Edward Sears way back in 1849, there is something eerily contemporary about It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.
A lament for man’s frailties and the pity of war, it is at once an anthem of hope and sorrow, it is best sung to the original American tune – not Sir Arthur Sullivan’s fringe – and no one has it ever sung better, or with more conviction, than Frank Sinatra.
He even recorded it twice, in 1947 and 1957, and the weight he adds is all the more convincing because you hardly associate Sinatra with piety.
He was a generous drinker and a heavy smoker. He married four times; was also romantically linked to the likes of Lana Turner, Lauren Bacall and Marilyn Monroe.
Sinatra was in regular trouble with the police, the FBI kept a powerful file on him, and while there was a very generous side to it (he maintained extremely good relations with his ex-wives), he could be cruel.
And besides, he had some sinister friends: In an infamous 1976 photo, Sinatra beamed in his dressing room with four of America’s most notorious organized crime bosses. Who happened to show up, as he later sharply testified.
Yet this complex little man was, according to many, the greatest singer of the twentieth century.
Sinatra was also a very gifted actor (he won an Oscar in 1953) and his career was one of extraordinary longevity.
Sinatra had the kind of voice you only encounter once in a lifetime
He made his first record in July 1939: his last public performance was in February 1995. As late as July 1990, when he was already 74, he held an Ibrox Stadium host in the palm of his hand and sang as best he could had ever done. , pleased with the occasion as Glasgow was pleased with him.
Sinatra was the first rock god, before rock gods had even been invented. As a young and very thin crooner, he won a huge, screaming following among teenage girls; got into mischief and threw things out of hotel room windows.
But if his career had fallen apart in the early 1950s – which it almost did – Frank Sinatra would be as nearly forgotten today as the likes of Frankie Laine or Dick Haymes.
By 1952, Sinatra’s vocal chords were badly frayed, the fickle “bobby-soxers” had moved on, he found himself playing to half-empty venues, he was relentlessly pursued for enormous tax backlogs, and the Hearst press smeared him as a Communist.
People were shocked that he had left his wife and very young children for Ava Gardener, and Columbia Records seized the moment and dumped him – while Gardner in turn soon rid himself of Sinatra.
However, Sinatra did not break. Somehow he landed a supporting role in an upcoming film, From Here to Eternity. Crush the character Maggio out of the park, won that Oscar and gloriously reinvented himself.
He signed a contract with Capitol Records, recruited the brilliant orchestrator Nelson Riddle and, between 1953 and 1965, recorded with the highest professionalism the songs that cemented his reputation.
In his youth he had worshiped Bing Crosby: Sinatra now overshadowed him. Become a master of phrasing; of internalizing and ‘owning’ a text.
He worked hard on his breathing – long swims underwater; things like that. There was real classical influence: a flowing bel canto style, modeled on the kind of tenors Handel sang – and Sinatra was as meticulous with consonants, especially the dental notes, as any chorister from King’s College.
And while he never dropped a harsh New Jersey accent in his speech, there was barely a hint of Noo Joisey when he sang.
That’s how the consummate professional won all those reverent nicknames. The voice. The Sultan of Swoon. The chairman of the board of directors and of course Ole Blue Eyes.
He had the world-weary songbook of a post-war and very masculine America.
But the new, mature style also drips with sadness – because although he married twice more (during his 1966 wedding to Mia Farrow, 21, Dean Martin said he owned whiskey older than her), Sinatra never got over Ava Gardner to.
He defeated rock ‘n’ roll and Elvis Presley with relative ease.
But he couldn’t overlook the sixties, in all their long-haired and casual tumult. A lifetime of meticulous dressing – perfectly pressed suits, shiny shoes, a snappy fedora – the sloppy new order shocked him.
He is often mocked for his perceived move to the right – he campaigned for Kennedy in 1960, and then for Nixon and Reagan – but during that period America as a whole became much more conservative.
And from the very beginning of his career, Sinatra had spoken out for the poor and the marginalized and especially for black civil rights.
In 1971, Frank Sinatra retired. In fact, he has retired several times. Apollo 11 had lifted off in July 1969 with one of his tapes – Fly Me to the Moon, of course – and he was almost as close to Ronald Reagan as he was to JFK.
But there were always whispers about the mafia. And for every Sinatra breakthrough, every standout achievement, someone somewhere would meanly attribute it to his connections.
Given his upbringing and background, it would have been extremely difficult for Sinatra not to have had some exposure to organized crime.
His parents, first-generation Italian immigrants, grew up in the Sicilian heart of the mafia. The law and order that prevailed in the mean ghettos of Sinatra’s youth in Hoboken, New Jersey, was largely enforced by thugs.
His easy attitude towards these (and much bigger) criminals was as foolish as the late Barbara Windsor’s lifelong appreciation of the Kray Twins, but it was not incomprehensible.
Not that Sinatra appreciated that character in The Godfather, the aging singer Johnny Fontane looking for ‘favors’ – the world and his dog knew who he was based on.
Quite a few of Sinatra’s connections failed. Sam Giancana was shot by a trusted friend while making some sausages.
Johnny Roselli – murdered – was found in an oil barrel floating off the coast of Florida and in July 1975 Jimmy Hoffa simply disappeared.
This had one unintended and hilarious consequence. One night, late in his life, while going out to dinner, Sinatra leaned back a little too far in his chair – and fell backwards.
Instinctively he grabbed the ladies on either side of him, they in turn grabbed the table and with a resounding crash they all fell down.
Most of the other patrons stood up, screamed, and rushed to the door, convinced they had just witnessed Ole Blue Eyes being taken out in a mob attack.
Instead, the Camels and Bourbon would suffice for him: by 1996, they had taken over his thoughts. He occasionally appeared in public and smiled faintly: Frank Sinatra, 82, died on May 14, 1998.
“He’s someone who was known for his style, who was known for his phrasing, who was known for changing the way people thought about that whole style of music,” singer Josh Groban mused.
“I think underneath the smooth, friendly mentality he conveyed, he was definitely a perfectionist. .’
Bing Crosby – who survived the Sultan of Swoon by twenty years – was an archer. ‘Sinatra is the kind of singer you meet once in a lifetime.
‘But why did it have to be my life?’.