I’ve got to start this Observer with an admission. I think Frank Sinatra (search) was the best male vocalist of my lifetime.
Not much that’s fair and balanced about that opinion. And I’m also not very fair and balanced about those tell-all books on Sinatra’s personal life. I think most of them stink.
Yes, he could be a spoiled brat. Yes, he had friends in the mob. But what does that prove? Does that mean that we wouldn’t have heard of him without the mob? No way. Sinatra could be a lousy judge of character. But any judge of talent would have to agree that it was Sinatra’s extraordinary voice and style, not his connections that should get credit for his fame.
Now there’s another one of these tell-all Sinatra books out that focuses on his mob connections, to which we say: “Yea, so what else is new?” One reviewer asks: “If Sinatra really was created and owned by the mafia, why did they make just one?” Now that’s a great question. Obviously there was something about Sinatra that nobody could copy.
Sinatra was simply irreplaceable. And let’s just leave it at that.
And that’s the Observer.
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