Why I like him so much...

You know, it dawned on me earlier that I don't think I've ever told you why I like Dean Martin so much.

 Dino was supremo, the king of cool, calm, classy. Longtime readers know how much I love him and his music.

Of the members of the so-called Rat Pack, Dean is my favorite. Before you have a coronary, let me add a caveat.

Sinatra was superb. Nobody, and I mean nobody, resides in Francis Albert's league. He was a stylist, a singer's singer, The Voice, The Chairman of the Board. I own more Frank Sinatra records than any other performer, with the possible exception of Elvis.

But Dean is my favorite.

For one thing, he's funny. You can't help but laugh at the guy. His drunk routine (he usually was drinking apple juice) was classic. His ad-libbing one-liners were hilarious, delivered with pitch-perfect timing. Even his former comedic partner Jerry Lewis said Dino had the "it" that all superstars possess.

His relaxed, "I couldn't care less" attitude was inspired by his hero (and mine), Bing Crosby, updated for the '60s and '70s. There's a classic clip of the two of them together from Bing's 1970 TV show. Look at the admiration in Dean's eyes.

Oh, and don't miss this gem from Johnny Carson's "Tonight Show."

And you'll get a kick out of this. Yeah, I've tried to copy Dean's hair, his performance mannerisms when singing, even his laid-back persona when I speak before an audience. What can I say? Imitate the best!

I ordered the complete Dean Martin roasts, a collection of "The Dean Martin Show" -- both from Time-Life -- as well as the "Collected Cool" box set for my birthday. Best money I ever spent.

Maybe one of the secrets to it is that Dean, unlike, say, Frankie, seemed so accessible.

"I made myself part of the audience," he said. "I didn't act like I was doing them a favor on the stage. I've seen entertainers act like they were doing you a favor by singing for you, which is wrong. If you make 'em feel like they're a part of ya..., I don't know..."

Exactly.

And there's a serious side here, too. You know about my migraines. Won't rehash them here. But, when I get them, I can only listen to four singers: Bing Crosby, Karen Carpenter, John Denver and Dino. There's something about the timbre in each of their voices that doesn't further irritate my head.

One of my favorite things to do is put one of Dino's records on the turntable -- and they usually are records -- ease back with an ice pack, shut my eyes and dream of a day when pop culture wasn't pathetic.

So, I owe the boy quite a bit. He never fails to make me smile -- sometimes belly laugh -- and his music is pure magic.

Salud, Dino. I hope each of you has a Dean Martin in your own lives.

P.S. For the record, my favorite Dino song is his cover of Jim Reeves' "Welcome To My World" and my favorite album is "Dream With Dean." My favorite film is a tie between "Robin and the 7 Hoods" and the first Matt Helm movie.

Everybody loves somebody sometime

"And don't worry, Jeanne, I'll be home soon..."

The Simpsons predicted this Super Bowl...

... in 2005.

Matt Groening, psychic.

P.S. Having looked at the entertainment lineup, I'll be watching a DVD of "The Dean Martin Show" during halftime.

Wax is where it's at, baby!

Yep. Got caught red-handed doing what I love best -- digging through vinyl records.

I'm delighted that records are hip again. I never got rid of mine. Always preferred the sound. Any audiophile worth a damn will tell you it's superior to tape, disc and digital downloads.

Oh, sure. I've got plenty of those, too. But as my buddy Ross Southerland says, "Wax is where it's at, baby!"

I read an article in one of the papers the other day that said vinyl sales were up something like 130 percent (how do you do anything more than 100 percent?) in 2013, although it still only counts for a few percentage points of overall music sales.

Anyway. I love it. Have two turntables in two different rooms and too many records to count.

Headed over to Happy Holler yesterday and ducked into Raven Records and Rarities. Found a few. Dino Martin. Elvis Himselvis. Billy Joel. It's a terrific treasure hunt. The initiated know what I mean.

We've got several great record stores in town. Lost and Found is another. I hear Basement Records is back in business. And my buddy Spencer has told me about a small store in Sequoyah Hills. Gotta get over there someday soon.

After roaming 'round the records, I ducked into Central Taps and Flats for a pint of stout. The sign out front said, "Happy Hour -- All Day -- Screw it, let's drink!"

Methinks Dino would approve.

Unforgettable Labor Day reunion

Happy Labor Day!

I hope you don't have to work today, but if you do, my hat is off to you. I know this ol' world keeps spinning around, and here's to the working people who make it happen.

Hey, remember the Jerry Lewis MDA telethons? I used to watch at least pieces of them every Labor Day.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Jerry Lewis is kind of annoying. (There are some truly bizarre, yet fascinating clips on YouTube of him talking to Dick Cavett.) But, I like him, and about one thing there is no doubt: Jerry Lewis did more for the Muscular Dystrophy Association than any 50 other people combined. I still can't get over how the MDA unceremoniously dumped him after all those years. And, no, I've not watched the telethon since, nor will I give a cent to the MDA.

Jerry's telethons were fascinating. Live TV. Hours and hours of it. You never knew who might show up. Johnny Carson! Frank Sinatra! Wayne Newton! Sammy Davis Jr.! Some random act you've never heard of!

This is my favorite clip. Francis Albert Sinatra, who could get away with nearly everything, reunited Jerry with his former sidekick, Dean Martin, in 1976, 20 years after they had worked together or seen one another. And I think this is the ONLY time they ever saw each other until Dino's death. (Correct me on that if I'm wrong.)

Update: My friend Michael Henderson reminded me that Jerry talked to Dino by phone for about 15 minutes when Dean Martin Jr. died. 

Oh, and here's my second favorite clip. 

Have a great, relaxing, rejuvenating day.

And here's to ya, Jer. We miss ya, pal.

Quiet Saturday night

What's shakin' on this Saturday night?

It is relatively quiet here. Mel Torme (and Friends!) is on the turntable. "Porgy and Bess Medley." Doo be doo be doo dah. Remind me to tell you a Torme tale here in a minute.

Hate we couldn't make it to Brent and Katie's wedding in Music City. Of all things, I passed a small kidney stone. And I'm getting over an infection. Hey, at least I passed the darn thing. It's only the second of 14 I've been able to get rid of naturally.

Thank God for Spencer Solomon. Not only does the 20-something give me hope for the future in terms of his musical taste, but he's also a darn good guy.

Spencer brought over 15 DVD volumes of "The Dean Martin Variety Show" for me to watch while I'm laid up this weekend. How about that?

Everybody loves somebody, sometime...

As I told somebody earlier, I was a little disappointed when my condo didn't have a pole on which I could swing down from the upstairs to the living room, like Dean did. Maybe I can get Jenn to buy me an orange couch, "Mad Men" era, though.

I mentioned Mel. True story: A friend of mine went to see Torme years ago here in Knoxville. He was single at the time and brought along a buddy who, uh, had bent one elbow too many earlier in the day.

After the show, my pal got to meet Mel. He said Mel was nice, gracious, welcoming ... until the bombed buddy said, "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Bennett."

And off the bus went into the night.

Also, I had forgotten that my favorite disc jockey -- WNYC's Jonathan Schwartz -- shows up on "Mel Torme and Friends Live at Michael's Pub New York." Talk about the best of both worlds.

Let's toast one to Brent and Katie. We're there in spirit, y'all.

Have a good weekend.

A night to remember

I never will forget where I was the first time I heard it.

Beaver Creek Road, Powell, 2004, coming back from a doctor's appointment.

"Another summer day has come and gone away in Paris and Rome, but I want to go home..."

The voice hit me like a ton of bricks. It wasn't Sinatra. It wasn't Dino Martin. But it sounded like them, and yet it also had a contemporary edge.

Enter Michael Buble.

This phenomenal Canadian talent brought his big band and quirky, charming personality to Thompson-Boling Arena tonight. You will accuse me of hyperbole, but this proved to be one of the best shows I've ever seen.

Buble swung and danced his way through the Great American Songbook, paying homage to Frankie ("I've Got the World on a String") and Dean ("You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You") and all the greats. And he threw in some classic soul (Billy Paul's "Me and Mrs. Jones") and some Eisenhower era groove (Peggy Lee's "Fever") and a little something for everybody.

And he joked with the crowd, made fun of us in a good-natured way and promised to come back to Knoxville. He even shook hands with UT basketball coach Bruce Pearl.

It was old-fashioned entertainment in the best sense of what that word used to mean. What a treat to see so many young faces in the crowd, too. It gives me hope that good music might just stand the test of time after all.

The best part? Well, one special moment had to be "Home," Buble's first American No. 1 single, the song that almost caused me to have a wreck on the highway four years ago. Perhaps the best of his original tunes, though, is the simply divine "Lost," which became one of my favorite songs tonight.

But, no, the best part, the "sends chills up the back of your spine" moment, came when Buble brought out his opening act, Naturally 7 (check these guys out NOW!) to work magic on Hoagy Carmichael's great contribution to popular music, "Stardust." He said the song is going to find its way onto the next album; I wish I could buy it on iTunes tonight.

Wow.

Then Buble closed with Leon Russell's "A Song for You" ("And when my life is over, remember when we were together...") and none of us wanted to find our way back to the car.

We knew we'd been in the presence of pure, raw talent, the kind that only comes around once in a blue moon.