Yesterday was the biggest day on Melbourne’s sports calendar, the Australian Football League’s Grand Final. This year the pre-game entertainment featured none other than Snoop Dogg. A controversial choice to be sure. But then so was Meatloaf back in 2011. Ranked as one of the stupidest moves by the money fiends that control Australia’s beloved, unique form of football, Meatloaf’s appearance was hated by fans (Meatloaf’s included) and forced the Has-Been to publicly apologize for his poor outing.
It’s the Australian way it seems when it comes to welcoming international superstars. There was Judy Garland in 1964 (deprived of her pills by Australian Customs) who refused to leave her hotel for three days. And Joe Cocker busted a few years later.
In 2015, Johnny Depp and his girlfriend, Amber Head, were forced to grovel in front on our media and courts to express their regret for failing to declare two pet dogs that accompanied them, thereby avoiding the usual 10-day quarantine. At one point the fiery (and often inebriated) Minister of Agriculture, threatened the dogs with pet-euthanasia, if the Hollywood power couple refused to pay public penance. In the words of Depp, “when you disrespect Australian law, they will tell you!”
Frank Sinatra would have 100% concurred with that statement. Perhaps of all the superstars we’ve harassed, it is somehow appropriate that The Chairman of the Board’s experience sits at the very top of the list.
Frank first toured Australia to in 1955. But from the moment he and 14 year-old Nancy stepped off the plane at Melbourne’s Essendon airport, he was met with derision. Fans who had gathered at the airport hoping to share a bit of banter with their hero, quickly turned hostile when he managed but a single wave and half a smile before stepping into a limo and being whisked away to his hotel. From Cheers to Jeers went the headlines.
The shows themselves went off a treat. Fans raved how he sounded just like his records. Motorists passing by the West Melbourne Stadium double parked as his voice carried out into the street. A triumph all round. Frank loved Melbourne, the fans loved Frank. The (lack of) incident at the airport the day before was forgotten. After all, it had been announced that Sinatra would appear at his hotel for breakfast; fans would surely be able to get a second chance to hear him speak to them.
Alas, the headlines the following day read: Frank Sinatra Fans Miss Out Again. The hotel’s manager was given the task to confront the angry fans and chock it up to a ‘misunderstanding’.
Two years later, a second tour Down Under was scheduled but Ol Blue Eyes abruptly turned around in Honolulu. Apparently, Frank’s decision was based on the fact that sleeping arrangements for his musical director had been overlooked for the onward journey to Australia.
Seven shows were cancelled leaving his promoter the ugly job of refunding 23,000 tickets to ever-more cheesed off Australian fans. In January 1959, Frank tours again. He’s still stand-offish in public but in outstanding form in his shows which are supported by the Red Norvo Quintet. His private life is dominated by his unsuccessful attempts to regain the love of Ava Gardner, who just so happened to be in Melbourne as well, filming (with Fred Astaire and Gregory Peck) On the Beach. When a reporter in Melbourne dares to ask him a question, Sinatra grunts, “Misquote me kid, and you’re dead with me. In fact, I’ll sock you on the jaw.”
On the 1961 tour he ignored Melbourne altogether, doing four shows in Sydney and then flying back to familiar Californian shores.
Things got completely crazy in 1974. After being tsunamied by rock ‘n roll for most of the previous decade, Frank was finding a fresh relevance. He was out and about. Touring the world. Australian fans once again forked out their new Aussie dollars to spend an evening with their Man.
On 7 July, Frank flew into Sydney as grumpy and aloof as usual. Plane to Rolls Royce to Hotel. Nary a smile or wave to his adoring fans and a press corps salivating at the prospect of a scandalous headline or so.
On 9 July, Frank’s arrival in Melbourne was memorable in the main for his refusal to acknowledge the press and shoving a fan out of the way. So harassed did he feel that he ran from his private jet to the awaiting limo. So far, typical Frank behaviour.
At that evening’s show at Festival Hall, Frank’s first appearance in the city in fifteen years, he delivers what is now considered one of his best live performances. He’s relaxed, his voice is as good, if not better than it’s ever been.
So relaxed was he that in his first monologue Frank sums up his views on the local press. Horrified and shocked, a couple of local unions (The Professional Musicians Union and the Australian Theatrical and Amusement Employees Association) announce that his second show, scheduled for the following evening, would be cancelled unless Ol’ Blue Eyes issues an apology. This demand is met with scorn by Sinatra and his entourage. The press, he said, owed him an apology for 15 years of treating him like “shit”.
Now other unions pile on. Frank is not permitted to leave his Boulevarde Hotel room. He places a call to his pal, Hank, aka Henry Kissinger, asking him to intervene. Word on the street has it that Jimmy Hoffa has also been contacted to threaten his Aussie counterparts. An international incident is brewing.
The foam in the mouths of the press can no longer be hid. After the first show in Melbourne, his bodyguards, beefy mafia types, assault a news cameraman nearly chocking the man to death. The unions respond with a ‘black ban’. He is to benefit from no public services whatsoever. No security. No police escorts. No room service. No fuel for his plane. No passport checks. Nothing. Frank Sinatra is a prisoner.
The overlord of all of Australia’s powerful trade unions, a certain Bob Hawke, is persuaded to step in. In the initial meeting neither party budges. Frank sends word to Hawke, “I’ve never apologized to any one and I’m not about to start now.” As the unions huddle Sinatra’s entourage sneak him out of the hotel and race to the airport where the media reports, he will meet with Hawke. But his private jet defies air traffic control and takes off to Sydney, leaving an embarrassed and royally pissed off Hawke looking like a chump.
Unfazed but seething, Hawke flies up to Sydney. In response to Sinatra’s lawyer’s demand for his plane to be refueled, Hawke delivers a classic Aussie ultimatum. This brings the Chairman of the Board out to meet Hawke for the first time. Hawke issues his ultimatum again to the Man himself. After several minutes of ‘nattering’ Sinatra returns and asks Hawke for suggestions of what to put in the apology. Within an hour or so they agree on the words, and Frank’s lawyer descends to the press and reads the statement. Frank Sinatra apparently “did not intend any general reflection upon the moral character of working members of the Australian media” and regretted both “any physical injury resulting from attempts to ensure his safety” and the inconvenience to patrons.
A few days later at Carnegie Hall, Frank told his audience, “A funny thing happened in Australia. I made a mistake and got off the plane.” He then went on to target Rona Barret, a prominent female journalist of the day, by saying, “What can you say about her that hasn’t already been said about… leprosy?”
As it happens, Snoop Dogg’s show was the bomb. Most punters on social media are saying it’s the best show the AFL has ever put on. As for Frank, well, he did return to Australia 14 years later, in 1988. Bob Hawke was now Prime Minister. Upon arrival Frank meets with the press and even poses with the ‘bums and parasites’. He may have been an asshole but he was no dummy.
Here is the famous first Melbourne show in March 1959.
Long the favorite of collectors, who have cherished their bootlegged copies of the concert for years, Frank Sinatra with the Red Norvo Quintet — Live in Australia 1959 was finally released officially in 1997, nearly 40 years after the concert was given. In many ways, the wait was actually positive, because Sinatra’s loose, swinging performance is a startling revelation after years of being submerged in the Rat Pack mythology. Even on his swing records from the late ’50s, he never cut loose quite as freely as he does here. Norvo’s quintet swings gracefully and Sinatra uses it as a cue to deliver one of the wildest performances he has ever recorded — he frequently took liberties with lyrics while on stage, but never has he twisted melodies and phrasings into something this new and vibrant. The set list remains familiar, but the versions are fresh and surprising — “Night and Day,” where the song is unrecognizable until a couple of minutes into the song, is only the most extreme example. And the disc isn’t just for the hardcore fan, even with its bootleg origins and poor sound quality — it’s an album that proves what a brave, versatile, skilled singer Sinatra was. It’s an astonishing performance. [All Music Guide]
Missionaries, Mercenaries and Misfits 