A LETTER TO TONY

Dear Tony,

I thought I'd write this letter to you posthumous to your recently announced death today. We met once actually in real life (remember real life?) and you were good enough to sign my CD copy of 'The Beat Of My Heart' in HMV, Oxford Street which was funny in a way as it is one of your few albums I rarely go back to though don't worry there's a whole tonne of your albums I frequently return to.

It was my father who first introduced me to your music. He once reminisced to me that he lived in a rundown bedsit somewhere in London (probably South) owning just one record (or was it two?) of yours. Some days he would say it was your classic 'When Lights Are Low' album with the Ralph Sharon Trio and others he would be adamant it was 'This Is All I Ask'. Let me be clear, he swore devoutly he had just one single record at the time of this particular chapter of his life but sometimes the title of that record magically changed from one into another almost as if he had a small collection of records all along. Then again that would spoil the legend he'd created of being an impoverished one-record man.

You're a legend of course and had been a living one for 96 years. Not a bad innings as we say back in England. Of course you and me both know great music is ageless and lives forever in the hearts and minds of those who love it.

So many memories I attach to your discography looking back now. I remember picking up 'Perfectly Frank' around the time I got my first ever CD player and buying 'Here's To The Ladies' one day out on a school trip in Gloucester where I snuck into an MVC knowing it was coming out like you were some kind of cool new artist. Just imagine it Tony, while most of my friends were buying Brit Pop and Low-Fi Indie imports from America at the time I was listening to your latest version of 'Poor Butterly' and 'Moonlight In Vermont'. I think I was made of different stock. Of course I won't lie, my first love was Frankie, but I'm guessing he was yours too. The way you spoke about Sinatra seemed like that of a little brother looking up to his big, older brother and there was never any sense of competitive rivalry, unlike the one he had with Bing who kind of lost that war dont you think?

I also remember buying a copy of your 'Astoria' album from the Virgin Megastore in Times Square, New York and taking it back to the place I was staying in Astoria, the place where you were born and raised. Felt good to be in your old neighborhood Tony with all those old Greek and Italian ladies sitting arguing in late-night cafes before the shadow of 9/11 made everyone a little more cautious and less sociable. I certainly felt a little closer to you being there.

I'll also never forget that whole time as a teenager when I became obsessed with the great American Songbook as you, Ella, and Frank were all integral to my education and learning in appreciating all those great songs of Tin Pan Alley. You each gave your own unique interpretation to what I consider to be the most precious body of work of all the art forms of the 20th Century. Quite a bold statement I know.

And it wasn't just me that loved your recordings but a few of my close friends. We even made several pilgrimages to see you in concert which was our idea of being subversive while everyone else was talking about fucking the police and killing their mothers. Madonn!🤌 Sorry, Tony, I shouldn't have sworn. You wouldn't have sworn would you? You were a perfect gentleman but then again you were from a different age. I was from a different age also but sometimes we find we desperately need to link hands across the generations because we sense we might not want to lose precious things.

You're precious to me and always will be. Thanks for your generosity of soul, spirit and whatever the Italian is for music. Musica! I just googled it. Dammit, I should have known that.

Anyway, thanks again, old pal.

Go well,

Max