Frank Sinatra’s legacy is inextricably linked to the grandeur of big bands, a sentiment deeply felt by those who had the privilege of working alongside him. His musical universe was a constellation of these ensembles, meticulously maintained across continents. During his West Coast engagements, the “Los Angeles band” traversed the American landscape, reaching as far inland as Chicago. Simultaneously, the “New York band” commanded the East Coast, mirroring the westward reach of its counterpart. This formidable ensemble also ventured across oceans to perform in Africa, South America, and Argentina. A third, the “European band,” featured musicians like the author, embodying an international scope.
At the core of Sinatra’s musical operation was a dedicated nucleus of musicians who remained constants throughout his tours. Bill Miller, on piano, was a fixture from 1951, also serving as Sinatra’s conductor. The late 1950s saw the consistent presence of drummer Irv Cottler, a masterful rhythm keeper since 1955. Guitar duties were consistently filled by either Tony Mottola or Ron Anthony, while Gene Cherico anchored the rhythm section with his exceptional bass playing. When Frank Sinatra Jr. stepped into the role of conductor, he often favored musicians he had collaborated with during his own Las Vegas performances, frequently incorporating local Las Vegas talent into the band. At times, the author found himself as the sole non-American musician in these ensembles, often augmented by American musicians flown in for specific engagements, with string sections occasionally being sourced locally.
The “Frank Sinatra Ultimate Tour,” intended to feature Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., and Sinatra himself, was an ambitious undertaking. However, shortly before its April 1989 European debut, Dean Martin withdrew due to illness, leading to Liza Minnelli’s last-minute inclusion. Having previously toured with Sammy Davis Jr., the author anticipated a reunion with a musician described as exceptionally easygoing, talented, and genuinely kind—perhaps to a fault. Liza Minnelli, though undeniably talented, presented a different dynamic. Her profound insecurity, a trait the author had previously encountered during a performance at the London Palladium a year prior, proved to be a significant challenge.
The initial rehearsals mirrored a familiar pattern with Sinatra: his absence at the start, allowing the band to rehearse pieces. Sammy Davis Jr. participated, expressing satisfaction with the orchestra’s sound and allowing the musicians to proceed. Liza Minnelli’s approach, however, was markedly different. She insisted on rehearsing every song repeatedly, often to the point of exhaustion for the orchestra. Despite this, the prevailing sentiment was that the tour was commencing, and the usual brief sound checks would suffice. This expectation was soon to be unmet. Following the very first performance, Minnelli’s insecurity became increasingly apparent. Her demand for a sound check in Milan, far exceeding the standard procedure of merely ensuring microphone and speaker functionality, set a precedent. While many artists might offer a brief vocalization, Minnelli, unlike Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra who often skipped such checks, would engage in extensive, almost full-act rehearsals. This pattern persisted through Rotterdam, where Davis Jr. also began to forego sound checks, while Minnelli continued her demanding routine. Her conductor and drummer, Bill LaVorgna—coincidentally the son of Judy Garland’s drummer—was an accomplished musician who managed both roles simultaneously. Garland, in stark contrast to her daughter, reportedly disliked rehearsals intensely. An anecdote illustrates Garland’s directness: during a recording session with a 70-piece orchestra, after a single run-through, she thanked the musicians and departed, a far cry from the numerous takes Liza Minnelli required.
The tour progressed to Stockholm, where the repetitive rehearsal cycle continued, focusing on a song titled “Ring Them Bells.” The author developed a strong aversion to the piece due to the meticulous, time-consuming adjustments Minnelli demanded for its transitional section. What began as a request to shorten it by two bars in Stockholm, followed by lengthening it again in Oslo, became a constant source of frustration. In Gothenburg, further adjustments were made, extending the section. Helsinki brought another reversal, with Minnelli now deeming it too long. This relentless cycle of adjustments, often in languages Bill LaVorgna did not understand, continued. The only respite occurred in Paris, where Liza Minnelli’s friend, Charles Aznavour, a seasoned professional, provided a simple assurance that everything sounded fine, effectively ending the need for further sound checks.
However, the pattern resumed in Amsterdam and continued through Munich, Vienna, and Dublin. Despite these challenges, the author remembers Liza Minnelli as a highly talented, charming, and fundamentally nice person, whose insecurity significantly impacted the tour’s logistics and the musicians’ endurance. Dublin, however, proved to be a highlight for Sinatra, Davis Jr., and Minnelli, largely due to the exceptional hospitality of Oliver Barry. His warmth and generosity created an environment where Sinatra laughed heartily, Davis Jr. was exceptionally jovial, and Minnelli, for once, set aside her anxieties, resulting in a uniquely positive experience for everyone involved. The author speculates that if Frank Sinatra were alive, he would concur with this sentiment, crediting Barry with an almost magical ability to foster such happiness.
In June 1990, the group returned to Dublin for a brief tour encompassing Stockholm, Dublin, and Scotland. By this time, Frank Sinatra’s memory began to falter, potentially accompanied by hearing difficulties. The frustration stemming from these challenges often made him deeply unhappy, leading band members to avoid him when signs of agitation appeared. The author reflects on the profound cruelty of aging for a perfectionist of Sinatra’s caliber, facing the erosion of memory and faculties. Compounding these difficulties, Sammy Davis Jr. passed away just a month before the tour commenced, adding a significant emotional burden. The increasing time required for Sinatra to achieve vocal control at the start of each concert further underscored the physical and emotional toll.
The “Diamond Jubilee tour” in 1991 saw Sinatra, Steve Lawrence, and Eydie Gorme return to Dublin. Sinatra appeared more settled, seemingly having accepted his declining faculties. Unfortunately, a growing distance had emerged between Sinatra and the band over the preceding decade, attributed by the author to Sinatra’s deep frustration with his diminishing vocal power and physical strength. His final European engagement in June 1992 proved to be an arduous one. The reception at the Albert Hall was mixed, as fans understood the immense effort involved in his performances, likening it to a grueling boxing match. The recent tragedy of his close friend, Jilly Rizzo, killed in a car crash a month prior, added another layer of personal grief. The author posits that only an extraordinary individual like Sinatra could persevere under such circumstances, attempting artistic perfection amidst profound personal loss.
Upon returning to the United States, Sinatra experienced a resurgence, engaging in recording sessions, performances, and charity concerts. His “Duets Album,” released in October 1993, featuring collaborations with artists like Aretha Franklin and Barbra Streisand, achieved considerable success, a testament to his enduring appeal at 78. Robert Mitchum’s observation that Sinatra was the last person he’d want to face in a fight, due to his unyielding resilience, proved prescient. Despite collapsing during a concert in Richmond, Virginia, Sinatra, true to Mitchum’s assessment, soon returned to the stage in August, accepting the Francis Albert Sinatra Tribute for Performing Arts in New Jersey. The remainder of the year was filled with concerts and benefit appearances.
The follow-up album to “Duets” was released in 1994. In 1995, Warner Records announced plans for a tribute album celebrating Sinatra’s 80th birthday. Despite his physical decline—frazzled chops and a voice vastly different from its prime—his undeniable presence, personality, and ability to create atmosphere remained potent. The author muses that Sinatra’s charisma was so powerful, his shadow alone could have commanded the stage. By late 1995, however, he began to slow his public appearances. January 1996 marked the release of “Everything Happens to Me,” an album featuring 19 songs that mirrored Sinatra’s life of love and loss.
The author concludes his narrative, preferring not to view it as an end to Frank Sinatra, but rather as a transition. Sinatra’s iconic final toast, “Your health, may you live to be 400 years old, and may the last voice you ever hear be mine!” continues to resonate, a lasting testament to his indelible mark on music and culture.