  One of my very favorite Sarah Vowell articles is called, “These Little Town Blues”. Like all of Sarah’s work, it’s beautiful, snarky, eloquent, witty, interesting… but there is something about “These Little Town Blues” that makes me teary-eyed.
It touches a nerve. “In my bible, Frank Sinatra is not Revelation; he’s Genesis, where pop starts.” My father is fifty-two. But he feels like and acts as if her were more like seventy-two, especially in regard to his musical collection. I would guess that most reformed hippie parents usually own tattered editions of The White Album and Carly Simon records. While my Dad can recite the lyrics to “Mockingbird” and attended a Beatles concert, his music has more jazz than folk and more bluegrass than pop.
My earliest memories are of dancing with my father in the living room. Mostly, we would listen to Broadway show tunes (I had all the lyrics to ”I am the very model of a modern major general” memorized well into my pre teen years) but Sinatra had his turn. He was my personal introduction to music. There is something really beautiful and unique about how music affects you when you’re young. Being four and not knowing what cocaine or champagne was did not get in the way of “I get a kick out of you”. At that age, rhythm and melody are instinctual. I was concerned with listening to the most obscure band or whether or not Old Blue Eyes was socially aware. I was listening and liking that music purely. So what is it about Frank Sinatra that appeals to that instinct?
What is it about the way he bends words to rhyme? Why do his songs feel like a huge smirking wink? Why is everything he says so wise, so right? Why do I swoon and laugh and want to dance at the same time? I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to answer those questions. I don’t know if I want to. Because I prefer to listen to Frank the same way I did in the living room when I was in pre-K. I’m not going to research and analyze and try to figure out why--- but Frank Sinatra is amazing. That’s it. Affectionately… Anna 
