Suave and Swoon

To read this in its true home, go to the Finders Records blog.

Joey Bishop, the stone-faced comedian who found success in nightclubs, television and movies, but became most famous as a member of Frank Sinatra's Rat Pack, has died at 89. Peter Lawford died in 1984, Sammy Davis Jr. in 1990, and Dean Martin in 1995.

Well folks, that’s a wrap.

I know every generation mourns what they believe to be the passing of what came before—each of us feels, even if it’s tiny, that there’s a small part of us who belonged in a different age. I often have dreams that I was a moll; some legendary gangster’s girl, all rhinestones and mink and a garter gun. I dream of drinking martinis, listening to drug-induced bebop or heroin in the veins blues. I dream of drinking coffee, smoking too many cigarettes, wildly scribbling on a coffee shop placemat, listening to the beats or maybe Dylan, fresh and new. I dream of the great festivals I could have been part of—movements, connections, and the masses.

Most often, I dream of a bright and sparkling Vegas—not the Vegas we all know from Ocean’s Eleven or Fear & Loathing--but the Vegas that only exists in the mind. One where, the showgirls are tall and beautiful and classy, shows are about cocktails and great music, and everyone wins. This is the only Vegas where the Rat Pack can remain: in our minds.

Alright, I’m being a bit flighty and obtuse. Let’s get down to it. Who can match that thing in our minds? Or replace it? Or make us forget?

Michael Buble? Believe it or not, I’ve been to one of his shows—god, I miss the days of record label comp tickets at ye olde Finders—and it was pure Vegas-style cheese. He had all these staircases and spotlights. He had a big band and wore a three-piece suit and the ladies went crazy. Still, definitely NOT Sinatra.

Harry Connick, Jr.? Maybe. Maybe in 20 years, but Harry’s got a long way to go. I also saw him perform, at the Toledo Zoo amphitheater. It was fantastic. The whole she-bang: a 30-piece orchestra, sheet music, and impromptu scat from the horn section. For me, it’s as close as I’ll get to that feeling.

Joey, Frank, Peter, Sammy, and Dean can never be replicated. From the way they dressed to their presence on stage and in the media, they were a breed of their own. If you can find a way to copy how I feel when I’m listening to Sinatra or watching Dean perform, I’m all ears. Yes, for the most part, these men were sketched as boozing, lady chasing, hooligans—having said that, the fact is they’re simply a different kind of man, each the embodiment of suave and swoon. It’s an entire image with them: a fantasy of perfect gentleman and the right song every time.

It’s the end of an era.