Frank Sinatra - In the Wee Small Hours
Standards, Vocal Jazz
The only Frank Sinatra I had really heard before this was the major songs that everybody knows. I never really pictured him as an album artist, but In the Wee Small Hours proved me wrong. Age has done wonders for his voice; his croons are less ballroom and more bar, which fit the lyrical content admirably. He had sang about heartache before, but he didn't really sound like he meant it until now. Indeed, this was after his 15 minutes of fame were up, encapsulated in “I'll Never Be the Same” with “I'll never be the same/stars have lost their meaning for me.” The stars here could literally be taken as the people Sinatra associated with during his biggest years.
The most impressive thing about In the Wee Small Hours is the use of negative space, which is something one wouldn't expect from a standards album. There are times where Sinatra and the music pause briefly that are spellbinding and the silence nearly says just as much as the music and lyrics. However, by the end of the album the technique gets overused and it becomes predictable, but early on the approach makes the album.
This is a defeated work of art, and in a way it made room for Tom Waits's drunken poetry some 20 years later. Yet, it doesn't revel in its own misery, it nearly drowns in it. Every song is under the four minute mark, yet some still manage to outstay their welcome, particularly in the third quarter. The brilliantly titled “Last Night When We Were Young” manages to break the monotony with a huge climax that is more akin to something from Jacques Brel than Frank Sinatra. Afterward, the album, quiet and unnoticed, fades out over six forgettable songs. This might simply be a stylistic choice as you can nearly see the rising sun starting to fill in the lines under this heartbroken drunkard's eyes, but then again that's not something very pleasant to watch.
