Frank Sinatra, Jr.
Singer, Composer, Pianist, Conductor, Friend
B: January 10, 1944 - D: March 16, 2016
Rest in Peace
On March 16th, I lost an old friend. I was stunned by the news. When I did the math, I realized that I had known him for just shy of 30 years, more than half my life. The photo below depicts how he looked when I first met him. On March 16th I lost one of the top three greatest influences in my life, all three of whom are now sadly, painfully gone.
I thank God that I took the opportunity to tell him how much he meant to me and how, because of his influence, I completely changed my music, which in turn, completely changed my life. There are so many tears; they just keep falling. A seemingly never-ending flood of tears, coupled with extreme shock and a heart full of deep grief.
Frank, you and your music set my feet on a path which I have followed with great joy. You know how I felt about you, how much your influence has meant to me for so many years. You know what I feel about this music which we have shared for so long. Thank you so much for your encouragement and your votes of confidence in me. Thank you for your friendship, for honoring me with your private confidences over the years on various subjects. As you well know, I was always protective of you and the personal information you shared with me. Those confidences were sacrosanct to me; along with those times when non-verbal communication translated things unspoken, yet silently acknowledged and understood. Thank you for treating me as a peer. I love you dearly and your loss is greatly felt.
So many memories! A life so different in Vegas than it is in Seattle. The flood of memories is like a tidal wave and yet ever so sweet. So many good times spent in various venues, both on and off the Strip; including the performing arts center where I worked my day gig. So many evenings spent with you in those various venues. Listening to you each and every night you performed in town, soaking you up like a sponge, learning not just this music that you loved but also your style of showmanship. So many parties enjoyed in your suite at the various resorts. You did love to feed us all! I just recalled a vivid memory of you in your suite at the Four Queens, waving an ice cream scoop in your hand, doling out the cold sweet stuff and urging us to eat. You stopped just shy of exclaiming, "Mangia, mangia!" Sitting by the pool with Leonie at Bally's when your dad was in town and you were conducting, enjoying cocktails. Sweet hugs, kisses on the cheek, the strong memories of your reaction as you watched me listen to "As I Remember It," fresh out of the recording studio. I was the only one in the room at that time who had not heard it. We both shed tears over that one. Me over the poignancy of the album and you from witnessing my strong, heartfelt reaction to it. I'm singing along with it now as I write this; so beautiful ... and infinitely well done with those superb orchestrations ...
You were too young. You promised me that you would try to come back to WA on your dad's 100-year birthday anniversary tour. And I made you a solemn promise in return that I would be there supporting you when you did come back. I was so looking forward to it. And now that promise will sadly have to remain unfulfilled.
I haven't wanted to do anything tonight other than think of you. You've been on my mind a lot lately. First at my Seattle Jazz Vespers concert on March 6th, where they mentioned our friendship and your influence on me. I listened to that just prior to taking the stage that night and I was of the firm resolve that I would make you proud. I next thought of you just last night at the Earshot Jazz Awards Ceremony. And then again today, as I drove home from Seattle on the day of your death.
As I sat here at my computer this evening, I found myself automatically checking my e-mail and finding a gig request. It took a while for me to wrap my head around it, because I'm still in so much shock. I didn't want to think about answering it; I didn't want to think of anything besides my grief for you. But my heart said, "What would Frank think if you ignored a gig because of him?" I know that you would not have been pleased with me, so I pulled myself together and then picked up the phone and made the call, knowing that I had your blessing. And when it was all said and done, I hung up the phone and wept for you anew.
Your wonderful voice – with which I have such intimate familiarity – and your artistry are now silenced. As a result, I'm feeling my own mortality tonight, Frank. Perhaps that's because you have been such an important, beloved part of me and my own history for so very. many. years. I will do my best to keep your music, our music, alive in my heart and on stage. I resolve to honor our last conversation and make you proud. Much love, old friend; rest in peace.