49:31 minutes (23.78 MB)
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My mother was a bobbysoxer. When Sinatra played Hartford, she and her friends waited at the stage door and followed him around, throwing snowballs at him. My father couldn't remember more than five words to any song, but he walked around the kitchen all through my childhood singing the beginning to various Sinatra tunes, most notably "Fly Me To The Moon."
And so it went for decades, as we all stayed hostage to one man's musical thrall.
Bono said it best:
Who's this guy that every city in America wants to claim as their own? This painter who lives in the desert, this first-rate, first-take actor This singer who makes other men poets Boxing clever with every word Talking like America Tough, straight-up, in headlines Comin' through with the big stick, the aside, the quiet compliment Good cop, bad cop, all in the same breath You know his story 'cause it's your story Frank walks like America -- cock-sure ... Coming up, our Sinatra show.