Frank_ The Voice - James Kaplan [89]
Except—with Sinatra there was always an except—there was a fly in the ointment. His fame was still based on his records, and since July 1942 he hadn’t cut a single side—V-Discs excepted—with an orchestra. As the American Federation of Musicians strike dragged on, vocal backgrounds were getting monotonous and annoying. Stordahl’s arrangements for the radio orchestra were more beautiful every week: imagine the records he and Sibelius could cut together!
Even more annoying was the fact that other record labels, Bing Crosby’s Decca in particular, had signed agreements with the AFM. Der Bingle was back in business—as were Eberly, Haymes, and Como. Sinatra was losing ground, artistically at any rate. He was nervous, and when he was nervous, he grew testy.
On February 10, 1944, Manie Sacks sent a letter to Frank:
I have just received word from Bill [Richards, Columbia’s West Coast recording director] that you are not interested in making records with vocal backgrounds of tunes I sent. I’ve been hearing through many of your friends that you weren’t going to make any more records with vocal backgrounds, but I always felt it was an over-exaggerated rumor and I took it with a grain of salt until Richards told me about it today. The thing that hurts me is the fact that you must have told others but never said a word to me. You don’t think, do you, that I would tell you to do anything that would in any way impair your future? I feel badly that you would make a quick decision on such an important matter without even mentioning it to me first. I am not going to get into any long discussions, but I do want to go on record and point out a few things to you. If we were able to sell millions of Frank Sinatra records with vocal backgrounds, I don’t think now is the time to stop. I admit they are not as good as instrumental backgrounds, but they are acceptable to the public, and they’re the ones that count.
Sinatra’s typewritten reply to Manie, dated February 18, 1944, was warm, almost conciliatory. Frank understood that Manie was upset. If he had told anyone that he wasn’t going to record anymore—and he didn’t quite admit that he had—“it was in complete innocence, believe me!” If he had spoken, he had spoken impulsively, he insisted. He would never hide an opinion from Manie.
On the other hand, Frank wrote, he was genuinely distressed about having to use the vocal backgrounds. He understood record sales had been good, “but, being very much an artist rather than a financial genius or a cold businessman,” didn’t see why he had to be artistically hamstrung just because Columbia couldn’t strike a deal with the musicians. But, he said, he realized the situation was immutable, so he would stay disgruntled.
Having lodged his complaint, Frank sent along his best to Columbia president Ted Wallerstein and vice-president Goddard Lieberson, and signed—assertively, in blue fountain pen—with love and kisses.
It’s a remarkable letter: articulate and affectionate and disingenuous and blunt, all at once. And exceedingly practical. Frank was wise enough to vent his anger only indirectly at his esteemed friend the warmhearted Manie.
While a truly cold businessman, the ice-blooded Wasserman, hammered away at RKO and MGM on his behalf, Sinatra traveled east to attend his son’s christening. It was a joyous occasion, but not a happy trip. First the priest gave him a hard time about naming a Jew—Manie, who else?—as little Frank’s godfather. Sinatra simply stared the watery-eyed old cleric down. Nancy was another matter.
His housebound wife, effectively a single mother, had built up a lot of unhappiness she couldn’t express on a staticky and expensive transcontinental phone call (with God knows what starstruck operators listening in). The moment she saw her wandering husband, she let loose. Even though she knew she was on a tightrope, that they had had this baby to try to save what was left of their marriage, Nancy also knew that she was still Frank’s wife, and still Mike Barbato’s daughter. She would say whatever the hell she wanted to say. She did not