This week Jay-Z finally bagged his first Billboard #1 single, courtesy of the civic cheerleading of "Empire State of Mind". It's a relatively thin jingle with which to declare oneself king of the hill, but then today's New York is not what it was. Once upon a time, claiming the metaphysical mayoralty of Manhattan was something akin to becoming Heavyweight Champion of the World (back when that meant something). Ever since some pie-eyed Long Island dreamer declared himself "Walt Whitman, a cosmos, of Manhattan the son," the keenest, hungriest, most desperate sons and daughters have slugged it out to make the island their own. Norman Mailer typically took things literally and actually ran for mayor. But the battles for the city ring out like classic 12-rounders: Benny Goodman vs. Artie Shaw. John Coltrane vs. Charlie Parker. Andy Warhol vs. Bob Dylan. Robert De Niro vs. Al Pacino...
With barely a contender to speak of, Jay has taken the title almost by default. But now, like a sleeping giant roused by the sound of his name being taken in vain ("I'm the new Sinatra/ Since I made it here/ I can make it anywhere"), the Chairman of the Board has risen from the grave, with a hulking 5xCD-disc box set called simply New York, as though part of some posthumous attempt to be declared boss of the joint in perpetuity.
Never mind that he was a Hoboken boy who left for L.A. and Nevada as soon as Hollywood and the casinos called. As this lavish package-- complete with supporting quotes from Martin Scorsese, Nat Hentoff, Yogi Berra, Twyla Tharp, and William Friedkin-- would have you believe, New York was the capital of the 20th Century, and Sinatra was its voice.
Not that actual music on these discs would go very far in making the case. Compiling six previously unreleased New York shows from 1955 through to 1990, on the face of it these recordings tell a sorry tale of grand decline.
The 1955 set is a surprise appearance at a 20th-anniversary celebration for Tommy Dorsey, in whose band the young Sinatra first made his name. "You know, there was a time about 50 years ago when I would have said you GOTTA sing," laughs Dorsey, inviting his ex-front man up on stage. Dorsey was famously, reputedly, the original guy to receive an offer he couldn't refuse, as Sinatra attempted to extricate himself from Dorsey's 33% of lifetime earnings contract in the early 40s. But there seems to be no bad blood: Sinatra is gracious, crooning respectfully through old Dorsey numbers like "I'll Never Smile Again", introducing a lovely Dorsey solo with the gracious "you're on, Thomas," and only briefly forgetting the words on "Oh! Look At Me Now".
Things are sloppier on the set from 1963, playing a staff event at the United Nations. Backed solely by the campy vamping of pianist Skitch Henderson ("We rehearsed for exactly one and a half minutes tonight," he cracks), Sinatra is awful-- forgetting words, insulting a stagehand who addresses him as "monsieur," generally losing the plot. "We've all had a lot of problems these last few years," he drawls to the UN staff. "Vietnam, the Congo, Lake Tahoe... [Referring to his doomed Cal-Neva resort] Anyone wanna buy a used casino?"
The 1974 sets, recorded in the wake of the successful return-from-retirement TV special and LP Ol' Blue Eyes Is Back, are more rewarding. In the first, recorded at a Variety Club benefit at Carnegie Hall (complete with mawkish tribute to the wonderful work of the charity), his impatience with some of the crowd favorites, particularly "My Way" is evident. But in the saloon singer heart of the show-- a medley of "Last Night When We Were Young", "Violets for Your Furs", and "Here's That Rainy Day"-- Sinatra is indomitable.
The second show from 1974, the renowned "Main Event" recorded at Madison Square Garden in a stage mocked up as a boxing ring, is better still. Most notable is "The House I Live In" originally recorded for a 1945 10-minute movie pleading for racial tolerance, now revived as a hymn of post-Nixon national healing. (He was later to sing it for his pals at the 1985 Reagan inauguration). There's also a hushed, awestruck "Send in the Clowns" which makes you wonder what later Sinatra might have been like if he'd chosen to record more songs by Stephen Sondheim, and fewer by David Gates or Joe Raposo.
Though he starts off snarling at the thought of Marlon Brando singing "Luck Be a Lady" in the film of Guys and Dolls, the 1984 set, recorded back at Carnegie Hall, finds Sinatra almost mellowing. The shows are dedicated to the memory of Count Basie, Don Costa (arranger of Sinatra and Strings), and, particularly, Gordon Jenkins (arranger of the starkest moments of Sinatra misery, including Where Are You? and No One Cares)-- whose work is celebrated with a stunning "This Is All I Ask".
The 1990 show, recorded at Radio City, finds Sinatra grouchily insisting, "I hated and still hate this song," as he introduces "Strangers in the Night", but gradually being won over by a crowd clearly in love with him. By the end, with a triumphant homecoming "Theme From New York, New York" somehow overcoming the limitations of his creaking voice, the cool has dropped and he's declaring, "You're the most exciting audience I ever played to, I swear!".
If you wanted to make a real case for Sinatra as the voice of New York's urban anomie, gangster charm, and existential romance you'd need to compile a far different box: It might start with the shriek that greeted Sinatra's 1942 debut at the Paramount. It would include field recordings of the sounds of the 1944 Columbus Day Riot, when 35,000 girls tried to get into the same venue. There'd be the 1961 Carnegie Hall benefit show for Martin Luther King, Jr. And then the 1978 Radio City set where he debuted "New York, New York"...
Until that anthology, the incredible run of Capitol albums from 1955's In the Wee Small Hours to 1959's No One Cares, will have to do. Because, though recorded in the Capitol Records Building in Hollywood, Los Angeles, these songs remain the most vivid documents of that old New York state of mind this side of The Great Gatsby.
