IN CONCERT, FRANK ALWAYS DID IT HIS WAY

Author: By Ernie Santosuosso, Special to the Globe

Date: 12/09/1990

Page: A5
Section: ARTS AND FILM

The skinny vocalist with the bobbing Adam's apple was scared stiff as he listened to the screams of anticipation from the female teen-agers at New York's Paramount on Dec. 3, 1942. It had been only a few months since he had left the safe haven of Tommy Dorsey's orchestra. Now, Frank Sinatra was flying on his own. His way.

As Sinatra made his stage entrance, the bedlam in the seats turned up a few notches, causing bandleader Benny Goodman, a usually stolid type, to exclaim: "What the hell was that?"

Sinatra broke into laughter at Goodman's reaction and began to sing "For Me and My Gal." For this eight-week engagement at the Paramount, the 26-year- old singer received $1,000 a week. By today's earnings standards, the Chairman of the Board was then a mere minority stockholder -- but his prospectus was glowing.

The Paramount dates have since become legend, marking as they did the beginning of a solo vocal career that is now extending into its sixth decade. Sinatra's "live" concert appearances, mostly made in large arenas and Las Vegas showrooms, have also included dates at a number of clubs and arenas in New England. He played the Latin Quarter, a supper club in Boston in 1953, at the point when his singing career was beginning to come out of a three-year dive. The date was just before the release of "From Here to Eternity," the film that would win him an Oscar and dramatically reverse his professional fortunes.

I have attended his concerts in Boston, Newport, Providence, Las Vegas and, most recently, Mansfield. I have heard him at the top of his voice and on other occasions, when he was obviously struggling with the insidious imposition of age upon a once-wondrous vocal instrument.

With the possible exception of Judy Garland, no exponent of mainstream popular music has been as magnetic or charismatic an entertainment attraction through the years. His concerts are events. When Frankie pays a visit to the Wang, or Providence Civic Center, men and women dress as if they are going to hear him sing at the Metropolitan Opera. Hours before the Sinatra-medley overture begins to stoke mass excitement, there have been the usual rumors of Sinatra sightings at nearby restaurants. Truth is, his arrivals and departures are as smoothly orchestrated as his performances: On July 4, 1965, thousands of fans were still inching their cars out of the parking lot an hour-and-a-half after Francis Albert had concluded his appearance at the Newport Jazz Festival with "My Kind of Town." Meanwhile, Sinatra had already returned to the Cole Porter Suite at the Waldorf Towers in Manhattan.

Coursing through virtally all of Sinatra's concerts is a sense of deja vu: His repertoire seldom varies substantially from year to year. Always, he gives you what you came to hear: a golden treasury stocked by Rodgers & Hart, Cole Porter, the Gershwins, Jerome Kern. He also salutes a few contemporary songwriters, such as Paul Anka, Paul Simon and the late Jim Croce and Joe Raposo. You can expect him to sing "I Get a Kick Out of You," "I've Got You Under My Skin," "The Lady Is a Tramp," "Where or When," "Angel Eyes," "New York, New York" and maybe "My Way." The opening comedy section, which has over the years featured Pat Henry, Jan Murray, Charlie Callas, Tom Driesen and Don Rickles, usually runs 30 minutes. Then there is a pause of a minute or two before Sinatra, bathed in a spotlight and flanked by security personnel, emerges into view as he clambers onstage, waits briefly as the ovation continues and then swings into his first selection, which invariably is "Come Fly with Me," appropriately uptempo. While singing and interpersing the lyrics with "hip" interpolations and bold accentuations (Ack-a-pul-co Bay). At the finish, the crowd consensus is that Sinatra is ''on."

As his show proceeds, he will always acknowledge the composer/lyricists and arranger of each selection as equal collaborators. A true Sinatraphile detects each song's title with the playing of the opening measure. Throughout his segment, usually of 75 minutes' duration, Sinatra whips the microphone cord, jerks his head on a bass drum accent and gestures with his right hand palm down to soften the orchestra's volume. The ballads often reveal grittiness of tone and cracked notes, but his legendary breath control, unsurpassed
phrasing, superb taste and peerless showmanship have survived the years unscathed. It is a tribute to his doughtiness and musical integrity that he would insert the taxing 11-minute "Soliloquy" from "Carousel" into his set at Great Woods last fall.

If asked to vote for a favorite Sinatra concert solo, I would unhesitatingly single out "Don't Worry 'Bout Me," which demonstrates the breathing techniques he learned as he observed Dorsey playing the trombone. On this rendition, Sinatra gives, in effect, a clinic on respect for a lyric. But Sinatra's extensive concert experience cannot be defined by one song or an individual performance. It is more accurately summed up in a body of work that has enabled him to sing his songs to audiences whose loyalty has not wavered over a half-century of listening to The Voice sing.

His way.