It Ain't What You Say, It's How You Say It

The past weekend brought us two excellent examples of the art of interpretation by two grand masters of interpretation; one a virtuoso of words and the other of music: Abraham Lincoln and Frank Sinatra. Each example was an appreciation from a highly-qualified source.

In the current edition of The New Yorker, Jill Lepore, a Harvard history professor and a novelist, in an article anticipating Barack Obama's Inaugural Address, turned to one of Obama's favorite inspirational sources, Abraham Lincoln. Revisiting The Great Emancipator's memorable First Inaugural Address, Professor Lepore tells us that Lincoln gave a draft of the speech to William Seward, his nominee for Secretary of State, who wrote a new ending:

I close. We are not, we must not be, aliens or enemies, but fellow-countrymen and brethren. Although passion has strained our bonds of affection too hardly, they must not, I am sure they will not, be broken. The mystic chords, which, proceeding from so many battle-fields and so many patriot graves, pass through all the hearts and all the hearths in this broad continent of ours, will yet harmonize in their ancient music when breathed upon by the guardian angels of the nation.

Ever the wordsmith, Lincoln revised Seward's words:

I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

The appreciation of Sinatra, the ultimate tunesmith, was provided by a fellow tunesmith, Bono, the lead singer of the band U2, who sang a duet with Sinatra on a 1993 album. Bono is also a contributing columnist for The New York Times and, in yesterday's edition, he wrote about two recordings Sinatra made of his classic song, "My Way."

The first was recorded in 1969 when the Chairman of the Board said to Paul Anka, who wrote the song for him: "I'm quitting the business. I'm sick of it. I'm getting the hell out." In this reading, the song is a boast -- more kiss-off than send-off -- embodying all the machismo a man can muster about the mistakes he's made on the way from here to everywhere. In the later recording, Frank is 78. The Nelson Riddle arrangement is the same, the words and melody are exactly the same, but this time the song has become a heart-stopping, heartbreaking song of defeat. The singer's hubris is out the door.

To what end? Duality, complexity. I was lucky to duet with a man who understood duality, who had the talent to hear two opposing ideas in a single song, and the wisdom to know which side to reveal at which moment.

It also ain't what you sing, it's how you sing it. 'Nuf said.