Sad, Sad, Sad

No One Cares; Frank Sinatra

When I went to South Dakota All-State Music Camp in 1982, my friend D. from high school came, too. I have a rough time saying “from high school” because I know her from when we attended morning kindergarten in 1971. When Mrs. C. set places for us to sit in class, she sat me beside D. and we hit it off beautifully. So much so that, when the school needed a place in town on file to send me if weather conditions prohibited the school buses from going on their routes, I told Mom and Dad, I want to go to D.’s house.

Our friendship solidified as we discovered that we both had a passion for music. D. proved to be a fine pianist, singer and alto saxophonist. Her abilities on saxophone excelled to a point where our band director, Mr. D., suggested that she could learn far more from the saxophone instructor, and head of the music department, at SDSU. Dr. H. took her on as a student.

Both D. and I got placed in the Gold Jazz Band at music camp in 1982, me at the piano and D. in the saxophone section. Dr. H. directed the ensemble. We only had time during the week to learn two charts; one up-tempo tune and one ballad. The ballad called for an alto saxophone soloist and Dr. H. chose D. to play the solo. And she sounded awesome. I was so proud. The tune was called “Here’s That Rainy Day” with music by Jimmy Van Heusen and lyrics by Johnny Burke.

From the first few notes of this somber, sober yet elegant melody, I was captivated. The powerful torch song has entered my musical life many times over the years as I played it with various bands at receptions, accompanied a singer on a cruise ship and played it solo on the White House Steinway. I have suited up the song in several styles and fashions, but, no matter what she wears, her exotic shine and her come-hither-slowly luster never douses.

Some folks are never happy unless they’re miserable. Frank Sinatra’s album of melancholy ballads – “suicide songs” Mr. Sinatra calls them – from the beginning, never lets up with its despairing, crestfallen, woebegone intensity. Despite the inherent enchantment and the bewitching allure, even in my bluest moments, I can only listen to a few tracks at a time.

I remember when Bette Midler sang on Johnny Carson’s second-to-last “Tonight Show” in 1992. She had heard that one of his favorite songs was “Here’s That Rainy Day”. And after singing “One For My Baby” – with that unforgettable line, “And, John, I know you’re gettin’ anxious to close.” - she and Johnny fell into an impromptu “Rainy Day” duet. One of the greatest moments in television history.

Credits: To my friend D., for sharing her love for music with me. I think, by now, you’ve had an Oklahoma accent longer than you’ve had a South Dakota accent, my friend.