A hundred years ago this Dec. 12, under the sign of Sagittarius, in the shadow of World War I and in the gritty embrace of Hoboken, N.J., Natalie Catherine Garavente Sinatra — "Dolly" — gave birth to a boy named Francis Albert. What happened next, in the fast-forwarded meaning of that word, has written itself as much as it has been written via a Babel-like tower of books, articles, liner notes, gossip columns, lecture notes, film scripts, websites and fan scribblings.
Now, on the cusp of this milestone moment in Sinatriana, long after RPM stopped meaning anything, we are being treated to yet more books about his time on Earth, the place he occupies in American culture and the role he plays in our lives.
The question is, particularly in the wake of HBO's two-part, four-hour documentary, "Sinatra: All or Nothing at All," are you ready to dive back into the subject?
Now, on the cusp of this milestone moment in Sinatriana, long after RPM stopped meaning anything, we are being treated to yet more books about his time on Earth, the place he occupies in American culture and the role he plays in our lives.
For hard-wired Frankophiles, of course, there is no such thing as too much, meaning that "Sinatra: The Chairman," James Kaplan's nearly 1,000-page sequel to his 800-page doorstop of 2010, "Frank: The Voice," couldn't have come a moment too soon.
For fans with less time on their hands, there is John Brady's "Frank & Ava: In Love and War," a polished recap of Sinatra's thorny, epic romance with the goddess-like Ms. Gardner that is padded with unrelated material but goes down smoothly.
David Lehman's browser-friendly "Sinatra's Century" offers "One Hundred Notes on the Man and His World" — "Godfather" references, Elvis Costello's analysis of Sinatra's vocals, the anagrams in Sinatra's name, a list of Italian singers and their real names.
"The Chairman," clearly the main event here, picks up the story in 1954, when a best supporting actor Oscar for "From Here to Eternity" fueled Sinatra's remarkable comeback from a painful downturn in his career — and his downward spiral after Ava Gardner's arrival in Nevada to spend the required time in residence for her divorce suit against him.
With Sinatra's return to success came a full flowering of his extremes. Here was a man who was capable of the most loutish, temperamental behavior and the sweetest, most generous gestures; the truest friend anyone could have (ask Sammy Davis Jr.) and the world's worst grudge-holder; a man committed to important social causes even while drawn to the Mafia.
During these tumultuous years in his life, Sinatra reached incomparable heights as a singer and interpreter of song. In due course, he invented the concept album with the brooding masterpiece, "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning" (1955). He perfected his hard-swinging, ring-a-dingy sound and, under the influence of Billie Holiday, re-equipped his style (and redefined the popular vocal) with deep adult emotion.
We learn from Kaplan that Sinatra, an only child who "lived with loneliness" and torment, was constitutionally unable to stay in one place or be by himself. To combat the chronic suffering that dogged him his entire life, he had to keep in motion, preferably surrounded by friends. The original Rat Pack, including Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall (with whom he became romantically entangled while Bogie lay dying) was the ultimate in great company — though the Dean Martin version was no slouch when it came to carousing.
Sinatra may have celebrated matrimony with his 1955 hit, "Love and Marriage" (written for a TV production of "Our Town"). But wedlock never prevented him from playing the field. There was no beauty the powerful and charismatic Sinatra could not get into bed (he made a list of the ones to go after), including Marilyn Monroe.
Following her divorce from Joe DiMaggio, Monroe was going through a difficult period — too difficult for Sinatra to cope with on his pleasure yacht. "I was ready to throw her right off that f— boat," he is quoted as telling an associate. Citing opposing sources, Kaplan is inconclusive about which party was more smitten, but he is happy to write, per Sinatra's longtime valet, that the singer was "disgusted by Marilyn's slovenliness and disdainful of her intellect." Kaplan also can't resist a frowning assessment of Monroe's physical state, based on a photograph of her with Sinatra, describing her as "overweight — her chin is double — and … distinctly less than glamorous."
How much you'll want to read about Sinatra's romantic misadventures with Ava Gardner, detailed in three of the books (Lehman has them on a drunken joy ride in Palm Springs shooting out streetlights and store windows with .38s) will depend on your stamina. Here was a matchup of two demanding, extravagantly self-centered souls who helplessly clung to the idea of their romance long after their disaster of a marriage ended.
Would Sinatra have poured such depths of feeling into songs such as "I'm A Fool to Want You" had he not suffered over the loss of his green-eyed goddess? Kaplan is not alone in saying no. The deepening of Sinatra's voice physically, on the other hand, was a consequence of his drinking and sleepless nights. There were times his instrument was so damaged he was unable to use it.
Like its subject, "The Chairman" has to keep moving. Its subjects range from Elvis Presley, who with his higher popularity rating would have gotten under Sinatra's skin even if he didn't play that hated rock 'n' roll, to Mia Farrow, whose May-December marriage to Sinatra inspires some of the book's most insightful writing, to the casino manager who socked Sinatra in the face.
Sinatra, whose prodigious sex drive gave him and John F. Kennedy something in common — "Sinatra's Century" contains Rat Packer and Kennedy in-law Peter Lawford's admission that "he was Frank's pimp and Frank was Jack's" — campaigned hard for his friend and produced his inaugural celebration.
Sinatra had arranged to have JFK stay with him during a trip to California early in his presidency. But tainted by his association with Sam Giancana and the Chicago mob — which he allegedly enlisted to muscle votes for Kennedy in key states — Sinatra got stood up. Kennedy stayed instead with Bing Crosby — a hard-line Republican. (Helplessly drawn to power, Sinatra later palled around with Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew.)
In stringing all these chapters together, Kaplan comes across as part tour guide and part bricklayer. But though he contradicts himself on Sinatra's capacity for joy, and all but ignores the pretentious pile-up that was Sinatra's three-album opus, "Trilogy: Past Present Future," he offers sound evaluations of key recordings and solid reporting on celebrated sessions. Sinatra was at constant war with his record labels. To punish Capitol for not rewarding him enough, he recorded the songs for "Sinatra's Swingin' Session!!!" at twice the normal tempo (it was a hit, nonetheless). He also fell out with most of his arrangers. In a lovely gesture to a dying man, he brought back Axel Stordahl, one of his earliest arrangers, for "Point of No Return," his Capitol swan song. But in the studio, he treated him shabbily.
One can only hope that when Sinatra began forgetting lyrics he had sung thousands of times, the people around him were kinder. He may have been a cad, but he was our cad — a transcending soul who has continued lifting our lives on a daily basis.
One can only hope that when Sinatra began forgetting lyrics he had sung thousands of times, the people around him were kinder. He may have been a cad, but he was our cad — a transcending soul who has continued lifting our lives on a daily basis.