SINATRA'S "WHAT IS THIS THING CALLED LOVE"

When I was in my teens and twenties, it seems like every time I bought an album, I would make a concerted effort to become intimately familiar with it. Especially if it was really good. Consequently, I'm still able to recite some of what the background voices say on Dark Side of the Moon, or anticipate each succeeding note of Jimmy Page's guitar solo on "Stairway to Heaven," or Larry Carlton's solo on Steely Dan's "Kid Charlemagne," or the chord changes on Miles' "So What." Somewhere along the line, the way I listen to my records, or "CDs" in that youthful newspeak we hear so much of now-a-days, changed: now, I buy an album, play it a few times and forget about it. Generally, I find myself listening to streaming jazz from the 'Net while sitting at my computer, but because the songs are always changing, there's no chance to become as familiar with the music as I used to be. Well, that's not entirely true; sometimes these jazz sations become enamored with a particular song and play it to death--that's why I've really been grooving on Ella's "How High the Moon" lately.

Anyway, the long and the short of this is that I've got tons of CDs with which I am only passingly familiar, which means that there are hidden treasures among them, treasures that I don't yet know exist. A couple of weeks ago, with this in mind, I put together a jazz sampler and tried to focus on albums I haven't been listening to. One of those albums was given to me for Christmas three years ago by my old pal Kevin, Frank Sinatra's In the Wee Small Hours from 1955. Here's a bit of review from Amazon's editorial staff:

The first of many artistic milestones in the long and illustrious collaboration of Frank Sinatra and arranger Nelson Riddle that began at Capitol Records, In the Wee Small Hours is a first in other notable ways, as well: it was the pair's first 12-inch LP; their first album devoted entirely to ballads; the first "concept album," a program of songs designed to be heard in a particular sequence that sustains a mood and suggests a story; the introduction of Sinatra's definitive "saloon singer" persona; and the first flowering of Sinatra's mature artistic sensibility. Oh, and it's a masterpiece, too. The cover portrait suggests the mood of late-night desolation almost as effectively as the music, with Sinatra in the corner, smoking a solitary cigarette on deserted street illuminated only by the a foggy, blue-green glow of lamplight.

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The album is, indeed, great. But there is one track in particular, "What Is This Thing Called Love," written by Cole Porter, that just blows me away. It's a song I've known for years, played by numerous different musicians, but in the hands of Old Blue Eyes, it reaches haunting and chilling perfection. Apparently the entire album was emotionally inspired by Frank's then recent breakup with knock-out babe actress Ava Gardner, and it shows--this is the most melancholy of Sinatra's work, and "What Is This Thing" is the most melancholy song on the album. Indeed, the swaggering tough guy persona that the world most associates with Sinatra is present, but he is broken down, deeply saddened, incredibly vulnerable. This is absolute proof that Frank wasn't simply a great entertainer with killer chops: he was an artist, willing to delve deeply into his own soul and publicly reveal that which secretly tortures us all.

It's so strange to see a musician I've loved for years in a brand new light. It's like learning that the Beatles were actually better than I already knew, or that Casablanca was far more sophisticated. Frank's "What Is This Thing Called Love" is that good. You'd be a fool to not check it out.



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