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Rat Packery in Pop

March 19th, 2010 Leave a comment Go to comments

On a regional audition round for the South African version of Idols, a hopeful entrant introduced his chosen song as “Ain’t That A Kick In The Head by…Michael Bublé”. As one would expect, the contestant’s performance was thoroughly mediocre.

The real ring-a-ding-ding thing: Today any crumb wants to be a Rat Packer.

I have no particular beef with Michael Bublé — except that he personifies the banalisation of the rich legacy of what Rod Stewart (of late another offender) calls “The Great American Songbook”. Bublé compensates for his lack of personality with some talent. His swinging version of George Michael’s Kissing A Fool was quite excellent. But Bublé and singers of his ilk have created an impression that anybody can and should sing the standards.

His is not a solitary presence in that accusation, of course. Many more talented artists have travelled the retro route and some have even found their way. Natalie Cole, when not singing ghoulish duets with her father, is a wonderful interpreter of the standards. Even Phil Collins delivered a good performance with Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me on Quincy Jones’ Q’s Jook Joint album (he undid all the goodwill he might have merited for that by producing a thoroughly ghastly album of his songs in Big Band style).

But blame for the banalisation of the big band must be appointed. Frank Albert Sinatra (his birth certificate said Frank; Francis was a later affectation. It also erroneously called him Sinestro) has to shoulder some of it for allowing himself to be recorded duetting with a bunch of chancers, among a few genuinely talented artists. It communicated a most vile message: if Bono can sing poorly with the self-styled Chairman of the Board (and, my goodness, how embarrassing are his vocals in contrast to even a half-assed Sinatra), then so can any old joker. Like Robbie Williams.

Robbie Williams sees himself as a latter-day one-man Rat Pack, and so he did what comes naturally to latter-day one-man Rat Packs: record an album of songs that may evoke the Rat Pack (the Sinatra-led version, not Bogart’s original gang). So it is not a surprise when on the terrible version of Me And My Shadow — a Rat Pack anthem — the word “pally” is self-consciously used to describe a friend. And, of course, there is the obligatory duet with Sinatra-from-beyond-the-grave. In fairness, Williams did not do an entirely bad job on his Swing When You’re Winning album of 2001. But more than reflecting well on Williams, it really proved that with a good arrangement, any old karaoke singer can sound good. The song selection was astute, lacing the eye-bleedingly obvious with a few less remembered numbers. The cover art was good as well, a successful pastiche of a late ’50s Capitol record (even if much of the material post-dates that era).

The filmed concert at London’s Royal Albert Hall — incredibly not renamed the Francis Albert Hall for the occasion — is entertaining, because Robbie Williams certainly can entertain you, with a little help from his talented friends. Williams doesn’t take himself too seriously, he mugs with a bizarre combination of self-deprecation, modesty and smugness. All that. And yet: on what basis does Robbie Williams presume to measure himself against Sinatra, Sammy Davis or Nat King Cole? And if his intention is not to measure himself against the legends, what is he doing covering them (other than to make money)?

The most cringe-inducing portion of Williams’ show is also the most telling. The singer who so craves to shiver in reflected Rat Pack Cool tells the audience how much he loves his mummy. Which is nice; a good boy should love his mummy. It is a sweet moment, if one can stomach maudlin moments of sentimentality. But what would Sinatra do? Most likely he’d have said something like: “Ladies and gentleman, my mother. She’s one classy broad.” And then perhaps threaten Dino with violence for making eyes at his Ma before returning to racially abusing his close pally Sammy. In contrast, Robbie Williams is a real Harvey.

Williams’ success-in-a-tux set the scene for the advent of all manner of fake rat-packery. Canadian Bublé and the insufferable Jamie Cullum soon had the housewives lusting. Then Westlife, the blandest, most characterless pop band ever, got in on the act. Dressed like — and you would not guess it — a Rat Pack living it up at The Sands (the Scunthorpe version rather than the mafia palacio in Vegas, presumably), they issued a batch of standards selected not for their suitability but instant recognisability. And then they titled their karaoke collection, with putrid punnery, Allow Us To Be Frank. I wouldn’t allow you to be Daisy, never mind Frank. Did the world of music absolutely need Westlife’s interpretations?

At around the same time our old friend Michael Fucking Bolton (as his mother calls him) — having had his vicious way with soul and opera — molested the Sinatra canon and Rod Stewart began his American Songbook series. The first of these Songbook albums was quite good, as far as pastiche goes, if somewhat redundant (did we really need Rod singing standards?). But one album of that was quite enough. When the concept turned into a franchise, Stewart ended up performing songs that have no claim for inclusion in any great Songbook.

Here’s the rub with revival of ratpackery. You don’t go around impersonating Jesus just because you think the Gospel According Matthew is brilliant. You have to earn to earn it first, baby. Likewise, you don’t just decide to do Sinatra because your Mum had the Strangers In The Night single and you think you look great with brylcreemed hair. You have to earn it first. Which means you don’t just sing the ring-a-ding-ding showstoppers, but learn to do the quiet stuff. Don’t ask me to fly with you unless you first have mastered the lonely introspection brought on by being caught in the wee small hours of the morning. And, for fuck’s sake, know that Ain’t That A Kick In The Head is a Dean Martin song.

Here then, for the benefit of those who think that Straighten Up And Fly Right is a Robbie Williams original, are the songs he covered on the Swing While Your Winning in more glorious recordings, in the sequence of the Williams album — plus Anita O’Day’s fine version of It’s De-Lovely, which Williams covered (rather well) on the biopic about Cole Porter, De-Lovely.

1. Anita O’Day – It’s De-Lovely (1959)
2. Ella Fitzgerald – Mack The Knife (live, 1960)
3. Carson & Gaile – Something Stupid (1967)
4. Billie Holiday – Do Nothing ‘Till You Hear From Me (1946)
5. Kingston Trio – It Was A Very Good Year (1961)
6. King Cole Trio – Straighten Up And Fly Right (1942)
7. Bing Crosby & Frank Sinatra – Well Did You Evah (1956)
8. Nina Simone – Mr Bojangles (1971)
9. Frank Sinatra with the Count Basie Orchestra – One For My Baby (And One More For The Road) (live, 1966)
10. Nancy Sinatra & Dean Martin – Things (1966)
11. Dean Martin – Ain’t That A Kick In The Head (1960)
12. Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong – They Can’t Take That Away From Me (1957)
13. Frank Sinatra – Have You Met Miss Jones (1961)
14. Frank Sinatra & Sammy Davis Jr. – Me And My Shadow (1963)
15. Bobby Darin – Beyond The Sea (live, 1971)

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  1. March 19th, 2010 at 13:43 | #1

    I agree with most of what you say but I do take issue with you on Buble because, unlike Stewart and Bolton, he is doing what comes naturally. I’ve always believed he could have held his own with all of the famous crooners of the bygone era. While he may not be Dean, or Frank, or Nat, he is better than almost all of the others. Here’s a review I wrote a couple of weeks ago for my blog.

  2. halfhearteddude
    March 19th, 2010 at 14:53 | #2

    Oh, I did say that Bublé has talent. I said he has no personality and lamented that Idols hopefuls think Ain’t that A Kick In The Head is his song. But he does have talent. I wish he’d do more of what he did with Kissing A Fool though.

  3. March 21st, 2010 at 00:07 | #3

    I’m glad to see this post. I’ve thought of doing the same sort of assessment, but the very thought of listening to Bublé and the rest of them made me weary before I began. I’d also include Harry Connick, Jr.

  4. W
    March 23rd, 2010 at 15:58 | #4

    You’ve included Bobby Darin. At the time, he was considered exactly the same Johnny-come-lately your post rebels against.

  5. halfhearteddude
    March 24th, 2010 at 09:20 | #5

    Ah, but Darin innovated on songs, exactly what I praise Bublé for doing on some songs. He never was a karaoke singer, which is what I accuse Westlife, Williams and Rodney of being.

  6. March 31st, 2010 at 15:40 | #6

    Funny that no one else from the commercial side had the idea of compiling the original, or the better versions of Robbie’s loser album. Thanks.

  7. jackp525
    April 2nd, 2010 at 02:55 | #7

    so I’m really trying to get past all the teaser screens when I try to download the original swinging set, with no success. What’s up? and can you put it somewhere else?

  8. halfhearteddude
    April 2nd, 2010 at 09:33 | #8

    Strange, I don’t have trouble closing the ad screens that come up. I suppose some people get more stubborn nag screens than others.

    jackp525, try either of these:
    http://rapidshare.com/files/364462777/Rat_Packery_In_Pop.rar.html
    http://www.megaupload.com/?d=YKXP1RZL

  9. jackp525
    April 3rd, 2010 at 17:45 | #9

    @halfhearteddude
    got em. thanks. great blog btw!

  10. steve heeren
    August 20th, 2011 at 18:53 | #10

    does “twat” mean something different in the UK (where you seem to be located) than here in Canada, where it refers to the external genitalia of a female of the species. so its use is as much to be avoided (and condemned) as the word “cunt” which you seem to abjure.

  11. steve heeren
    August 20th, 2011 at 19:04 | #11

    i should have added that a good alternative term of abuse is scumbag or, if we want to add a supercilious class distinction, call them dregs. lickspittle is also a good all-round term. I find myself using low-life a lot lately.

  12. halfhearteddude
    August 21st, 2011 at 12:09 | #12

    Same meaning, but diminished effect. Twattery would translate as idiocy. Michele Bachmann is a serial offender of twattery.

    Even the word “c*nt”, in British usage, is much less forceful than it is in North America. In the US and Canada its use has a shocking effect because it is directed at women. In Britain it is directed at anyone, and is perhaps equivalent to the use of the word asshole in North America (which in turn would be an aggravated insult in Germany).

  13. August 4th, 2015 at 12:11 | #13

    Alas, all the links seem to be dead – any chance of a re-up?

    Meanwhile, I’m wondering what you think of Bob Dylan’s Sinatra tribute album. While many have accused him of heresy for even attempting those songs, I think it works because he hasn’t attempted to copy Sinatra, just taken a bunch of Frank’s songs which he loves and – like Frank – done them his way. Of course, those who hate Bob’s voice will dislike it, but that’s a matter of personal taste.

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