On the eve of the Obama Era, with The One merely days from
ascendancy to the Mandate of Heaven, as the political and
cultural generational torch passes, it is worth recalling an
earlier generational changeover, a political and cultural one not
for the better: the torch that passed from the Greatest
Generation to the Baby Boomer cohort (alas, mine). For Barack
Obama to make a change for the better, he could do worse than
take cultural and performing tips from the Greatest Generation’s
premier Voice, Francis Albert Sinatra, the 20th century’s most
iconic popular music artist. Just as Boomer rock degraded music,
Boomer politics degraded Washington. The stylistic changes were
remarkably similar.
Writing in TAS, City Journal’s Paul Beston,
who grew up weaned on rock music, paid tribute to Frank Sinatra
as exemplar of music superior in quality to that of the rock
music Beston worshiped. Beston’s short essay evinces a fine grasp
of Sinatra’s greatness, particularly in showing how a member of
the post-Sinatra generation came to appreciate real art-music
quality. He includes Sinatra’s own pithy, deadly accurate
assessment of rock ‘n’ roll — one no doubt far less harsh than
anything The Voice said, if ever, about hard rock, hip-hop, rap
and the like:
Sinatra expressed his own views about rock early on. Speaking in
1957, he made himself infamous among the younger crowd by
declaring that “Rock ‘n’ roll smells phony and false. It is sung,
played and written for the most part by cretinous goons and by
means of its almost imbecilic reiteration, and sly, lewd, in
plain fact, dirty lyrics…it manages to be the martial music of
every sideburned delinquent on the face of the earth.”
Verily. Beston’s piece also includes some remarkably revealing
tributes from rock icons to Ol’ Blue Eyes — amazing for their
puerile content (to be expected, as their music, too, is
puerile). Put simply, Sinatra leavened swagger — his
in-your-face superstar persona — with classy style, in his
magical music artistry. What followed Sinatra’s musical era was
swagger unleavened by style: raw lower-class teen lyrics rather
than elegant adult use of the language; banal, basic chords
rather than richly-textured jazz chords melding aural consonance
and dissonance; plodding drum beats rather than subtle, varied
rhythms; melodic monotony rather than intonation and phrasing
that melded instrumental melody with crisp story-line lyric.
“The Voice” will live on, especially for those of my generation
who came to appreciate Sinatra’s music in time to see him perform
live during his prime, as I did in winter 1966 during my freshman
year at the University of Miami. After hearing Sinatra sing with
Count Basie’s band at La Ronde, the nightclub in Miami Beach’s
fabled Fountainbleau Hotel, how could I deeply care about rock
(excepting a few songs, like Paul McCartney’s “Yesterday,” which
Sinatra praised and recorded)?
All Sinatra’s great work was done before his 1971 retirement,
which he ended in 1974. His work after his return was mostly his
timeless standards. His new work was mostly subpar (especially,
the ghastly Duets), excepting only “Send in the Clowns”
and “New York, New York,” the former a haunting Stephen Sondheim
song whose bitter lyrics were the last cry of a legendary swinger
sliding into senescence, the latter an urban anthem saluting a
great city then in seemingly irreversible decline.
IN POPULAR MUSIC the exemplar of Baby Boomer solipsism is Barbra
Streisand. A promising huge talent in the 1960s, blessed with the
most spectacular vocal instrument of her popular music peers,
Streisand failed to realize her full potential as an artist,
despite celebrity worship, superstar sales and financial gold.
Her vast self-regard led her to lavish tons of sappy
sentimentality on virtually everything she sang after the 1960s.
Great artists like Sinatra make the audience feel that
performance is not about the artist, but about you. Streisand
drenches her songs in her own emotional excess; Sinatra infused
his songs with authentic emotional sensitivity, but disciplined
so as to give full artistic life to both melody and lyric.
Similarly, most Greatest Generation politicians exuded a public
dignity missing from the likes of posturing weasels like Barney
Frank. They restrained displays of vulgar egotism common to the
likes of Al Gore, who compared himself, testifying to the Senate
in 2007 during his global warming jihad, as akin to one of
Sparta’s fabled 300 super-warriors who heroically fought a vastly
larger Persian host. And whereas Ronald Reagan would never walk
into the Oval Office without wearing coat and tie, Bill Clinton
took a less formal view of the premises.
The Streisand of her political generation is Hillary Clinton, who
tried to take over one-seventh of America’s economy as First
Lady, brooking no opposition or modification to her health-care
plan. Yet even Hillary has in recent years disciplined herself
enough to curb public displays of Streisand-like diva riffs.
Barack Obama’s presidency will usher in cultural change as well
as political shifts. The One shows signs of Boomer self-esteem —
his rock-star gigs before a Prussian militarist victory column
and a temple backdrop in accepting his party’s nomination. Yet he
also shows signs of Greatest Generation discipline — his
celebrated “cool.”
The Big Apple Sinatra serenaded was rescued, improbably, by
Emperor Rudy the Great, a pre-Boomer who embraced Greatest
Generation stoicism. Perhaps an artist will emerge to rescue
popular music from its seemingly irreversible decline. And
perhaps The One can rescue politics from Boomer self-absorption,
driven by the grave challenges and dangers awaiting his final
ascent.
In the era of The One, can we dare harbor the audacity of hoping
for The Voice II?
