Frank SINATRA born 1915
For months after May 14, the day Frank Sinatra died of a heart attack at 82, a little Italian eatery a few miles from his Beverly Hills home piped in all Sinatra, all the time. Of course, for months before his death -- indeed, ever since the place opened -- the pasta palace's sound system had been 100 percent Ol' Blue Eyes. But that's the point: For the subculture to whom Frankness isn't just a lark but a lifestyle, complete and utter devotion following the funeral was just business as usual.
Similarly, Sinatra's last two record labels, Capitol and Reprise, were busy rereleasing his finest recordings over the spring and summer months -- not necessarily because they'd been on a deathwatch, but because ongoing fan support had dictated such a campaign. Though few would deny the tragedy of Sinatra not being able to sing or even appear in public these last couple of years, one side effect of that absence was that the recent stereotype of him as a grumpy old chairman (as affectionately caricatured by Phil Hartman, see page 106) was superceded by a growing nostalgia for his peak period in the '50s and early '60s, especially among the young. Talk about your generation gap: Parents who couldn't remember much further back than 1984's ''L.A. Is My Lady'' suddenly had to sit out heated clashes between post-Gen-Xers over whether Swing Easy or Songs for Young Lovers was the superior album.
Sinatra had an ambivalent attitude, at best, toward Elvis and the Beatles, his only rivals for the mantle of most influential musician of the 20th century. You could find irony in the idea that this notorious rock hater was rock & roll, at least in the bobby-soxer-swooning late '30s and '40s, when he was a Fab Four all rolled up into one, or later, with his famously scrap- happy, answer-to-nobody attitude. Of course, he was eternally pre-rock as well, with his apparent lack of interest in therapeutically examining his own intemperance and inconsolable temper. Oh, well: In his case, the life less examined resulted in a vastly examinable career of sublimation and sublimity, with all those hundreds of hours of bold, light-handed, tender lyricism set on tape down there in Capitol's basement studios, the subterranean place where popular song reached its expressive apotheosis.
Did we neglect the acting career that included at least a couple of film's most riveting performances (and an Oscar for 1953's From Here to Eternity)? Nice moonlighting gig, that. Video stores of the future probably won't be playing his movies round the clock, even the handful of great ones, but his 24-7 musical legacy won't fade for at least a few generations. In the wee small hours of the 20th -- and 21st -- century, we're going to need someone who'll sing for only the lonely, someone who understands, under our skin. -- Chris Willman
Chris Farley born 1964
Chris Farley was all about loss of control. It's what drove his humor, and it's what dominated his life. In the latter, it had predictably tragic results: On Dec. 18, at 33 years old and nearly 300 pounds, Farley was found dead in his Chicago apartment, a victim of years of excessive boozing, drug-taking, and eating.
