Isn't it rich?

Ah, yes. Detox day.

We all need them from time to time, don'tcha think? Just a day to relax, unwind, do whatever makes you happy, forget your troubles awhile.

Planned on getting outside on Saturday -- gotta work on that Dino tan -- but my back had other ideas. Yep. Having some pain down there. Just hoping it's not a kidney stone. Those are bad words in my house after giving birth to 13 of them.

But, all wasn't lost. I caught a complete "Dean Martin Show" and was able to listen to Jonathan Schwartz's birthday tribute to one of my favorite composers, Stephen Sondheim. (I cannot believe that man is 84.)

I'm not a huge fan of Broadway musicals, but I do like a few. Rodgers and Hart and Rodgers and Hammerstein are favorites, but Sondheim's songs touch my soul.

My favorite -- it's hard to pick just one -- is "A Little Night Music," an adaptation of Bergman's "Smiles of a Summer Night." Love that play.

And, although it's a cliche, my favorite Sondheim song is, you guessed it, "Send In The Clowns."

Everybody has their interpretation of the tune. Mine is that it's about a man and a woman looking back at a relationship that didn't make it. She -- in this case Desiree -- runs into the man -- in this case, the lawyer Fredrik -- who has wed but not consummated a marriage with a much younger woman. During the course of the play, Desiree looks back on the disappointments and missed opportunities of her life. It's a universal human theme.

In a 1973 interview at the Lincoln Center, Sondheim said:

"I get a lot of letters over the years asking what the title means and what the song's about; I never thought it would be in any way esoteric. I wanted to use theatrical imagery in the song, because she's an actress, but it's not supposed to be a circus [...] 

"It's a theater reference meaning 'if the show isn't going well, let's send in the clowns'; in other words, 'let's do the jokes.' I always want to know, when I'm writing a song, what the end is going to be, so 'Send in the Clowns' didn't settle in until I got the notion, 'Don't bother, they're here,' which means that 'We are the fools.'"

I've been in that situation once. Right romance. Wrong time. It happens. How you deal with it is what's important.

The song was written for Glynis Johns. I like the covers by Judy Collins, Mandy Patinkin and Barbra Streisand, but -- to me -- the definitive cover is by Francis Albert Sinatra.

Frank recorded it twice. The first attempt in 1973 is fine but flawed. It's a Gordon Jenkins arrangement, and as Schwartz said on his show, it's filled with too many fiddles.

Schwartz sent Sinatra a letter suggesting he record the song again just like he performed it in concert -- quietly, with only Bill Miller's piano as an accompaniment.

So, in May 1976, that's what Sinatra did. It's magic. Listen. See what I mean?

Useless trivia: This is also the only Sinatra song recorded in a studio that features a spoken word introduction.

Anyway. It was good to hear Jon Schwartz tonight. Due to my busy schedule (and frequent migraines), I haven't had a chance to listen to him of late. His was a fitting tribute to a true pioneer. Sondheim's music is magic, his lyrics are lovely, and his plays are (almost always) perfect.

Isn't it rich, indeed!

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..."

We're throwing Frank a party and you're invited.

This invitation cordially invites you to join Bradley Reeves and Jake Mabe for a birthday tribute to Francis Albert Sinatra, 10 p.m. (EST) tonight.

No need to RSVP. Simply turn your Knoxville radio dial to WDVX-FM at 89.9 or 102.9, or surf here to stream us via the interwebs.

This very special installment of Reeves' "East Tennessee Quiver" pays homage to The Voice, The Chairman of the Board, Ol' Blue Eyes, or as they say in Australia, Ol' Big Mouth.

We will be playing tunes from each studio era, 1940-84, a few live cuts, rarities, quotes and clips.

We hope to have a knocked out, cuckoo, groovy wind in your hair night without care.

Ring-a-ding-ding, Jack!

For those who can't attend, the show will be archived for two weeks.

Every single lovely day...

Tonight's the kind of night for the good stuff -- the Great American Songbook, Francis Albert Sinatra, "It Was A Very Good Year" -- the perfect punctuation for a cold and wet end to the workweek.

Can't get in a Christmas music mood just yet, so I've turned to Frank's Reprise years, thinking of life as vintage wine from fine, old kegs, pouring sweet and clear.

Driving to Beaver Brook Country Club after work, I flipped the radio to Siriusly Sinatra. Blossom Dearie was singing "It Amazes Me." I mouthed the lyrics when I remembered them, hummed along when I didn't, keeping time with the windshield wipers.

And hum this music you can. It isn't of my era, but so what? This is Music that deserves the capital M, lyrics and melodies that serve as time travelers, reminding you of what once was -- that first love, the true love you thought would be the end of you for sure, man in the looking glass.

The other day I heard "Strangers in the Night" and was transported to 20 years ago, Bel Air Grill, a forgotten lunch with a lovely girl who married someone else. She may have forgotten, but the song remembers.

Perhaps it's best heard in small bars or bistros, just you and the bartender and the tune, at a quarter to three, no one in the place 'cept you and me.

It's funny. I remember listening to "It Was A Very Good Year" years ago and thinking that 35 seemed an eternity away. Now it's a memory in the rearview mirror.

 It comes back to you in pieces. The scent of perfume, blue eyes crying in the rain, trying to stay younger than spring and knowing it's a fight you won't win.

But the music, it endures. Sinatra may have left this world in May 1998, but tonight he's here in the room, leaning against the piano, sipping Jack Daniel's and taking a drag on an unfiltered Camel, crooning about the nights it gets lonely early.

It was really more than lovely, wasn't it? Truly lovely, wasn't it?

Every single lovely day...

Jake Mabe will co-host a special birthday tribute to Frank Sinatra with Bradley Reeves on the WDVX-FM "East Tennessee Quiver" at 10 p.m. Thursday, Dec. 12. WDVX can be found locally in Knoxville at 89.9 FM, 102.9 FM or streaming worldwide here. 

Talese on Sinatra (annotated)

How about this for Hump Day?

Gay Talese has annotated his famous Esquire magazine Frank Sinatra profile for Nieman Storyboard, a project of The Nieman Foundation for Journalism at Harvard.

Ring-a-ding-ding!

I had a chance to meet Talese once. Jury duty got in the way. I'll tell you that tale another time.

Have a good day and don't forget Francis Albert's quote, especially all you Tennessee Volunteers:

"Orange is the happiest color."

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.

Frank Sinatra does WHAT?

Hey, gang. Gotta make it short and sweet today.

You're not going to believe this, but Frank Sinatra -- that cool cat, The Chairman of the Board -- recorded his version of "The Twist."

No, it isn't the Chubby Checker version. It's Frankie's attempt to be hip, a little number called "Everybody's Twistin.'"

My buddy Brad Reeves says, "It's so bad, it's good," and I guess that's about right. Kinda like the Adam West "Batman" series.


Listen for yourself and tell me what you think. There's one line near the end that's guaranteed to crack you up! (No pun intended...you'll know what I mean when you hear it.)

See y'all tomorrow.

Music is medicine

Sunday morning comin' down, Sinatra, Sid Mark, newspapers, nice.

I've got a scratchy throat. But I think (hope) it's just drainage. That time of year, you know.

Four days migraine free. I am happily, cautiously, feeling human.  It's humane, sane, no longer profane.

Tax Day cometh. Sigh. I'm going to see the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra's production of Verdi's "Requiem" on Thursday. Seems appropriate.

Speaking of the KSO, Doc Severinsen conducted the KSO Pops last night. No big band. Italian style. It was a nice way to detox.

Doc played the trumpet he co-created with Steve Shires. Kathy Duggan, whom Jenn and I saw after the show, says that was the best part. I agree.

Never thought I'd ever get to see Doc in person. Thought I'd missed the boat. He's 85! Who knew he'd move to East Tennessee.

And, yeah, I dreamt about the days when he and Tommy and Ed (Shaughnessy) played on Carson's "Tonight Show." Someday I may write a book arguing that the pop culture, in the way I define it, gasped its last breaths in late May 1992.

Doc wore orange pants and joked he bought them at "a yard sale at Derek Dooley's house." He wore pink during the second set. (See Cynthia Moxley's photo above.) You know Doc. Remember those '70s suits?

He and the Pops (one of my UT instructors, Keith Brown, played drums) took us on a tour of Italy. Caruso and "Caruso." Look up that second one. Pavarotti made it a hit. Tenor Joseph Wolverton supplied the showstoppers.

Friday night, I caught Josh Groban from Lincoln Center on PBS. And, after that, Michael Feinstein on the early days of radio.

Music is medicine.

Cycles

Here's a song I thought was appropriate for my mood today. Heard it last night on my "Sinatra Greatest Hits Vol. 2" (Reprise Label) reel-to-reel tape. Lyrics are below. The link is to Sinatra's live recording.

So I'm down and so I'm out
But so are many others
So I feel like tryin' to hide
My head 'neath these covers
Life is like the seasons
After winter comes the spring
So I'll keep this smile awhile
And see what tomorrow brings

I've been told and I believe
That life is meant for livin'
And even when my chips are low
There's still some left for givin'
I've been many places
Maybe not as far as you
So I think I'll stay awhile
And see if some dreams come true

There isn't much that I have learned
Through all my foolish years
Except that life keeps runnin' in cycles
First there's laughter, then those tears

But I'll keep my head up high
Although I'm kinda tired
My gal just up and left last week
Friday I got fired
You know it's almost funny
But things can't get worse than now
So I'll keep on tryin' to sing
But please, just don't ask me how

34

"Today's my birthday. And...I'm...getting drunker!"

Before you laugh, sigh, or call my mother, that's a quote from a vintage 1997 "Saturday Night Live" satire of the then-popular A&E program "Biography." I know my friend Dewayne Lawson will remember it immediately.

Actually, I'm propped back on the couch, sporting my Hawaii Warriors hat, watching a mini birthday marathon of "Magnum, p.i." Jenn's away so I'm free to play...by watching old TV shows.

I always watch "Magnum" on my birthday. Particularly the episodes "Laura" (with special guest star Francis Albert "Frank" Sinatra), "Forty" (in which Magnum hits the big 4-0) and "Limbo" (which should have been the final episode of the series). I love this show. I want to go back to our 50th and most beautiful state. Soon. Now.

Depending on whether I can get to sleep, I'll also watch my favorite movie, the original (and best) "True Grit," with John Wayne and Glen Travis Campbell. Later today, I'll have lunch with my mom and then hang out with Halls grad and all-around great guy and guitar player Ross "Pat" Southerland. My guess is we'll dig out some old movies and cue up some tunes.

My wish for you is that you have a wonderful day, filled with love, hope, faith and laughter.

You honor me by reading this. Thank you.

Your friend,

Jake

Frankie and Debbie fall into 'The Tender Trap'

Seemed like a good night for one of those fun comedies from the '50s. Rain and thunder and floods, oh my.

So, I slipped in my latest film from Netflix, "The Tender Trap," 1955, with Francis Albert Sinatra and Debbie Reynolds. I really wanted "Mad Men: Season Four," but I guess everybody else did, too. Short wait. Oh, well.

Frankie plays theatrical agent Charlie Y. Reader, playboy, God's gift to women, or so he thinks. Debbie is Julie Gillis, the charming, young actress who falls in love with him.

Charlie has it all -- a posh place in Manhattan, a snazzy wardrobe, a steady stream of lovelies parading through his pad. Like T.G. Sheppard, he loves 'em, every one. But that proves to be a problem when Julie falls for him. With her, it's all or nothing at all, to coin a phrase.

Those eyes, those sighs, they're part of the tender trap. And when it's Debbie Reynolds' laughing eyes, it's quite the trap, indeed.

David Wayne plays Charlie's best buddy and Celeste Holm plays the lovely lady to whom Charlie won't commit. Of course, he falls for her. Carolyn Jones pops in every so often as the chick who walks Charlie's dog.

"The Tender Trap" was originally a play by Max Shulman and Robert Paul Smith. It opened in October 1954 at the Longacre Theatre on Broadway. I saw Tom Selleck there, in a revival of Herb Gardner's "A Thousand Clowns," in September 2001, right before the towers tumbled.

It's fun fluff, perfect for a rainy Monday night, when you have the blues and don't know why. I've put it on pause to look in on the NCCAA Tournament final. Go Butler! How can you not be for Cinderella? It's "Hoosiers" come to life...

Well, I just spotted some lightning, so I guess I'd better go. Hope you're having a good night. I'll see you soon.

A little night music...

Isn't it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground; you in midair.

Stayed home last night, while the thunder rolled and the lightning struck.

Watched Stephen Sondheim's "A Little Night Music," the 1990 revival, from Lincoln Center, starring Sally Ann Howes as Desiree.

I drank some Roncier. Smoked a La Seleza. Seemed the thing to do.

You know the song I love. "Send in the Clowns." Well, maybe next year...

I heard Sinatra do it, once for Reprise, again at Caesar's Palace. His is the definitive version, but Howes hits it, puts it in perspective, lamenting the lover that is no longer hers.

It's sad and it's poignant but it's wonderful and it's honest. Sondheim says he intended no existential imagery. The clowns are not from the circus. They are the jokes, the one-liners you use when the show stinks.

Don't bother, they're here...

I blew a smoke ring and thought about the past and was glad it was gone. And I thought about timing, how difficult the whole damn thing is, making a connection, finding a rhythm.

Just when I stopped opening doors; finally finding the one that I wanted was yours.

Who knows why we react to music? To a little night music. On a night when the thunder rolls and the lightning strikes.

Isn't it rich?

My March Madness

It's beautiful outside, but I'm lying on the couch, sick, listening to Sinatra at the Meadowlands circa March '86, and watching a Duke shooter sink a three-pointer.

I guess this is my version of March Madness.

Sinatra is telling me to take it nice 'n' easy, and that's good advice. I'm headed down what I hope is the back stretch of the flu, frustrating, forgettable.

Jenn has gone to a bridal show. Shelton has gone to Bristol. I have gone from the bed to the sofa.

It's OK. It's been a long, long time since I've been this ill. Plus I heard yesterday that my good friend and A-Number One dobro player Phil Leadbetter may have lymphoma. Put it in perspective. And pray for Phil.

I've been feeling so good lately. I'm in love with a wonderful woman who will become my wife in six months. Work has never been better. The words and rhyme keep playing in time.

This is but a detour. I'll rest awhile then get back in the game.

Y'all excuse me now. I'm going to pull the covers closer and take a nap.

New Sinatra bio ring-a-ding-dings!

Stayed up until 1 a.m. last night to finish "Frank: The Voice," James Kaplan's swinging, zinging new biography of Frank Sinatra.

If you've read anything else on the Chairman of the Board -- and there's plenty out there -- forget it. This is it, king of the hill, A-No. 1, top of the heap.

Kaplan writes in a fluid, fun style, irreverent, sweet, sometimes vulgar -- much like its subject. Yes, you get all those naughty details about dalliances and "dames" (as Sinatra would have called them), but Kaplan doesn't forget that Sinatra was a singer, an artist, and the music is why he matters.

It stops in 1954, right after the "From Here to Eternity" triumph and Frankie's split with the stunning Ava Gardner. Here's hoping that means that part two isn't far behind.

Peter Guralnick gave Elvis his due in "Last Train to Memphis" and "Careless Love." Kaplan has done so here for Ol' Blue Eyes. This is the biography he deserves, a ring-a-ding-ding kind of gasser, as alive and kickin' as one of Sinatra's best singles.

If you love The Voice, don't miss this book.

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.

Last dance in the Bronx

So I didn't make it to Barley's last night. Instead, I pointed the Xterra in the other direction, toward Maynardville, to watch the last dance in the Bronx, the final game at Yankee Stadium, with an old friend.

For the last several years now, Marvin and Sarah West have graciously adopted me into their family. You may not know Marvin's name. Let's just say he's the best writer to ever grace the pages of a Knoxville newspaper. No joke.

Marvin covered the Vols and a whole bunch of other East Tennessee sports from the mid-1950s into the early 1980s for the News Sentinel. He was there for most of the ups and downs of UT football, the Ray Mears era in basketball, the rags to riches to rags story of "Big" John Tate and a thousand other tales.

Marvin left Knoxville in 1985 to become managing editor of the Scripps Howard News Service. He retired in 1997, moved back to East Tennessee and lives in a charming little place on Norris Lake with wife Sarah.

We've gotten together to watch a baseball game each spring for the last 7-8 years. I called him up Saturday night after the Florida debacle (I led my entire section in a verse of "Nearer My God to Thee" in the closing minutes) and asked if he wanted to watch the last game at the Stadium. He said yes.

I've never been a huge Yankees fan, but it was quite poignant to see yet another baseball cathedral (some would say the cathedral) shut its doors. All that history, all those World Series, the House that Ruth Built, will soon be but a memory.

It was a reminder of the fleeting moments of time, how the years pass so quickly, yet another subtle hint that, try as we might to stop it, the ol' world keeps on turning.

I drove back to Halls humming a line or two from an old Sinatra song:

And there used to be a ballpark...

Empty tables

Double bonus for a Wednesday:

Pause with me a minute and remember the life of a remarkable talent today. Francis Albert Sinatra, the Chairman of the Board, Ol' Blue Eyes, died 10 years ago today.

I just wrote an extended piece on Sinatra and his signature film role in "From Here to Eternity" last week. So, I won't belabor the point.

Suffice to say Sinatra was and is a legend, a performer in every sense of the word, the kind you liked, the kind you hated. He was vulnerable and he was cruel, but more than anything he could sing (and swing) his ass off.

Here's to you, Frank. This Jack Daniel's and soda is for you, pal.

Since you've been gone, every night has been like singing to empty tables...

Frankie's shining hour

Didn't feel much like baseball last night -- which to those who know me well should tell you something. Got home from work just before 8 and surfed away from the Braves game to Turner Classic Movies in time to catch one of my favorites, the 1953 Columbia classic, "From Here to Eternity."

It's probably most famous for the then-provocative scene on the beach between Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr, but at its core, "Eternity" is Frank Sinatra's film. He's a supporting player, not the name above the titles, but he so dominates the role of Pvt. Angelo Maggio that he's noticeably missed when he isn't on screen.

File this one under Exhibit A for making the case that Sinatra, without question really, was the greatest entertainer of the American century.

I'll dispense with the usual plot summary other than to say this film focuses on the men that make up an army unit in Hawaii during the days leading up to the December 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. It's a guy movie, full of the rhymes and rhythms of military life, but it has a little romance and all the other stuff filmmakers used to think they needed to tell a story.

Lancaster is his usual terrific self. Kerr is mighty fetching as his illicit lover. My favorite woman in the film, however, is Donna Reed, who I will insist to my grave was one of the most beautiful women of her day. More importantly, she was a darn fine actor.

But this is Sinatra's picture. You can almost feel that Maggio was a character he was born to play -- the scrappy Italian who ain't takin' nothin' off nobody -- ripped straight from his own sense of who he was as a man and a performer.

Frankie was down on his luck when this movie premiered. He'd been released from his longtime recording contract with Columbia. His records weren't selling anymore. His tumultuous marriage to Ava Gardner had ended, too -- with Frankie holding the bag -- and the pieces of his broken heart.

He needed a comeback. Maggio was it.

From here, Sinatra made another fine little film ("Suddenly," in 1954) and bounced back on the music scene in a big way, making magic for Capitol Records during his long association with arranger Nelson Riddle. (Those Sinatra/Riddle albums of the '50s, by the way, are essentials for anyone who claims to love American popular music.)

After the film ended, I popped in some of Sinatra's early big band work with Harry James and Tommy Dorsey, and thought awhile about what being an entertainer used to mean. Elvis may be the king, Ellington may be the Duke, but Sinatra really is the Chairman of the Board.

If you doubt me, watch "From Here to Eternity" and "Suddenly" back-to-back, then take a listen to the "Wee Small Hours" LP.

It's not even close, folks.

The simple joys of the season

This time of year is like one big Technicolor motion picture come to life.

No, really. The grass is greener, the sky is a deeper hue of blue, everything is alive and I just get to feeling good despite myself.

Even if the Tigers can’t figure out how to win a darn ball game. But that’s another post for another day.

Yesterday, we took in Sunday brunch at the Downtown Grill. Quite nice, I must say. Dean ordered steak and eggs; Allison enjoyed the French toast. I branched out and tried something called Mountain Eggs -- cooked in a muffin pan. Good stuff.

We walked down Gay Street as the sun began to peek through the clouds. Ducking into the Mast General Store, we spotted Halls guy David Wayland downstairs in the outdoor gear. David works downtown on Sunday afternoons after church. He was the longtime guidance counselor at Halls High and says he is enjoying retirement.

From there, we headed south to the Bijou for the KSO Chamber Classics’ "All Mozart" concert. Maestro Lucas Richman took to the piano for the first selection, "Quartet in G Minor for Piano and Strings, K. 478." After intermission, the chamber orchestra performed Mozart’s final symphony, "No. 41 in C Major, K. 551," also known as the "Jupiter" symphony.

We walked out of the grand old Bijou into the golden sunlight of a spring afternoon. I didn’t want to sit at home on such a pretty day, and the UT baseball team had already concluded their abbreviated game with Florida, so I drove out to West Knox and took in a Chinese dinner with friends.

My former boss and good friend "The Rat" gave me a belated birthday present -- a collection of wartime correspondence between Random House co-founders Bennett Cerf and Donald Klopfer. Sounds nerdy, I know, but Cerf is one of my all-time favorite human beings. He surely led a charmed life.

I drove home in the fading twilight, Sinatra playing gently on the iPod (This time, we almost made the pieces fit, didn’t we, girl?), quite thankful for the simple joys of the season.

The Sunday Show

Sunday afternoons, if I am home, are often reserved for music.

If I tire of the NFL game of the week or the baseball game or whatever sporting event is being played at a particular point in the calendar year, I'll stay with Jonathan Schwartz's "Sunday Show" on XM. This afternoon, he played a cut from Nat King Cole's album "Sings For Two In Love" early in the game.

Out of a dream, straight into my heart...

Schwartz is treating us today. He's playing Johnny Mercer singing a medley of his own hits, at some forgotten concert at a New York hotel.

Jon says it was 120 degrees that night (the air conditioning wasn't working or something) and Frank Sinatra, also on the bill, was in his shirt-sleeves. He got a tape, he says, because he knew the sound guy.

It's something to hear Mercer sing his own work. Means a little more, you know? This might be the late, great Bill Miller accompanying him on piano. I can't tell.

It's going to be tough to break away to the Colts game at this rate.

Tonight, if nothing happens, I'll meet a dear friend at Barley's about 7 to enjoy dinner and that sweet Appalachian sound. You know what (and who) I mean.

And, if that falls apart, I'll lean back in the easy chair, put "Sinatra Sings For Young Lovers" on the turntable and swing easy into the night.

I love these lazy Sunday afternoons, in case you can't tell.