Frank Sinatra’s legend is owed to two halves of his persona. First, you have the voice, and the knowhow to use it in collaboration with the greatest arrangers of his time. Few will argue that Frank is not the best at what he does (and those who will do so because of overexposure). When his voice crescendoes over the swung rock bass line in The World We Knew, or climbs up to the next mode of the melody as the string sections searches for sure footing in Born Free, it does things that no contemporary or copycat ever could achieve. His voice is smooth as velvet, and his taste in collaborators is unmatched.

But Old Blue Eyes would have never become the mythic scoundrel with the Rat Pack at his beck and call if it weren’t for that swagger. The swagger is the beacon that calls any 19 year old scene kid with a record player to pick up a Sinatra record for two bucks and spin it more than once. It’s the swagger that allows him to sing lyrics that in anyone else’s mouth would sound more like a would-be kidnapper than a possible suitor. And when that swagger twirls itself around Sinatra’s voice, magic like this happens.