Sinatra Was A One Take Wonder

I don’t like to rehearse, except for in the shower, because it’s an excuse to take a longer shower. I love taking long, hot showers, whether I’m rehearsing or not. They’re soothing and relaxing, and a great way to put everything else off. The rest of the day’s not anything like that. Way more hassle. If it were up to me, the day would consist of sleeping and a shower. That’s it. I guess I’d have to eat. Let’s just assume that eating is included. Sleep, shower, eat. What else? Nothing. Except for going to the bathroom. Better add that to the list.

Now that I’ve broken the Middleton Historical Society with my epic tale, WE MOVED IT ONCE, WE CAN MOVE IT AGAIN, I’m wondering, what should I do next? Continue to polish the Middleton tale, with its stories of Noah, Moses, and other biblical, mythical, real, and exaggerated characters? Or come up with something entirely new? What about something swirling around my musical heroes?

Frank Sinatra didn’t like to rehearse, either. He was notorious for refusing to do more than one take on the movie set. The opposite of how he was in a recording studio. I’m no Frank Sinatra, but knowing this about him makes me feel less hard on myself for not rehearsing as much as I should. It’s a trait I excuse as authenticity. I don’t want to sound like I memorized my story. When it’s true, at least to you, you don’t have to memorize. Everything flows together.

What about a show centered completely around Glen Campbell? Everyone (and definitely Bob Dylan) agrees that Wichita Lineman is the “greatest song ever written.” He didn’t write the song, but he’s the one known for interpreting it best. Jimmy Webb wrote the song, and he nearly ditched the most exquisite line.

I need you more than want you. And I want you for all time.

You should always have an extra pair of eyes on anything as important as the greatest song ever written.

Where would I stage it? Never been to Wichita. And would I cast myself as that man on the pole? Or as someone driving by, singing in the wire? Another angle would be to make our hero something completely different, someone trying to understand what it’s like to be a lineman, who feels like he’s got to make a pilgrimage to Wichita for credibility’s sake, and if he actually follows through, learns that there’s an unbridgeable gap that can’t be explained simply as too much time having passed since that moment in the song.

We can travel through time and distance. We can imagine ourselves anywhere, using only the material we’ve gathered through experience or read about in a book or seen in a movie. The place and time don’t have to be the actual place and time. We can impose our own rules. Wichita becomes Palm Springs, where Sinatra spent so much of his life. We get rid of the palm trees and replace them with something we saw in Oildale, not far from Bakersfield. Maybe Wichita looks like that. Or we apply reality sparingly. Not every story has to have detailed descriptions of flora and fauna, or the kind of wood used on the counters in the Thrifty’s just off Main Street. Every town has a Main Street, and a lot of them look alike. Just don’t assume they all serve the same flavors.

Our Chrysler was big and white, with a blue band across the top of the windshield. That’s what tinted windshields looked like back then, a blue or green band. Blue was my favorite, but green was novel. I stretched out in back, not minding the hump in the floor. I fit easily, while Annie laid down on the back seat. We didn’t wear seatbelts. We were on our way to the Palm Springs aerial tramway, to the snow, which never fell in LA. It was a two hour drive, and I don’t think the freeway was completed yet. Sinatra or someone similar was playing on the radio, which was AM. We hardly ever got to go up to the snow. I only remember going there once. Palm Springs was fancy. We walked around but didn’t stay there. We vacationed in Desert Hot Springs, about half an hour away, where they had pools of different temperatures. That was our getaway more than once. And my first escape when I was finally allowed to drive on the freeway. A waitress’s boyfriend threatened me for insisting I’d ordered a plain hamburger after she brought me one that wasn’t.

I hear you singing in the wire. I can hear you through the whine.

We don’t always get it right the first take. But much of the time, we do. I think maybe Sinatra’s onto something, and we should just throw ourselves out there, as we are, full of confidence, knowing it’ll never get better than this. No second guessing, just do what it takes to make sure that first take is the best one. And maybe an occasional rehearsal in the shower.