There’s a message here to those with young children – be wary of the music you play to them for at some point in their future lives they will judge you by this and at some point in their future lives when they are trying to be hip and trendy and listening to whatever crap music is blasting out of their music systems at that point in time, they will grudgingly admit, even just to themselves, that yes, my dads music wasn’t all that bad actually – even though I told him it was rubbish.
My own offspring willingly and without prompting admit to a grudging like of Rod Stewart – I caused that – and I’ve caught my eldest from time to time singing along to The Who although I suspect that the CSI theme may have more to do with that than me.
And so to Sinatra.
As regular readers know, Sinatra was my father, my father was Sinatra.
Every bar, pub and club my father went into was especially selected for its willingness to allow its clientele to take up a microphone and sing to entertain, he would not enter an establishment that did not have a man on a keyboard waiting and willing to play along to your vocal melodies, kareoke came a year too late for him to enjoy but he would have thought it to be a gift from heaven, he WAS Sinatra, I knew it to be so.
Sunday mornings at home in the small bungalow he would commandeer the one stereo system in the whole house with albums like “Old Blue Eyes Is Back” or “Songs For Swinging Lovers” and bleary eyed we would arise from our bed to the refrains of Cole Porter and Sammy Cahn despite our teenage preferences for men who would dress in spangly suits, wear make-up and sing dreadful unintelligible lyrics while teetering inches from a broken ankle on their six inch high heels.
On those Sunday mornings sitting sipping sweet tea and trying to rid our heads of the previous nights hangovers Sinatra would suffuse our alcohol weakened brain cells until eventually we would arise to prepare for the day with a shit, a shave, a shower and a comb and we’d find ourself singing the opening line “I have been a rover…” whilst stood in front of the bathroom mirror.
My father made me like this, its his fault.