I always felt criticism of the song, including Sinatra’s, missed the point. It is meant to be prescriptive, not descriptive.
Separately, I disagree that the average sad sack in a Philippines karaoke bar can’t honestly lay claim to the lyrics. The reason for its longevity is that every man, more or less, identifies. You especially, there is just no fucking way you listen to My Way without thinking, yeah, that’s me, I did.
Eloquently put. I confess, I have never liked this song - I suspect because I was introduced to it not by Sinatra but by Sid Vicious, a bizarre and traumatizing experience - but your explanation is certainly on target: most of the fellas behind the mic are not golden-throated crooners regaling you with a life of valor and honor, but instead a sad sack who can't carry a tune in a bucket. (There is always the perspective, of course, that everyone is fighting their own hard battle, and in some philosophical sense yes; but such is the path that leads to participation trophies and mediocrity.)
Have you, perchance, heard the answer song by Sparks: "When do I get to sing My Way?" It's an excellent expression of disillusionment for those "Who Have Made It" and how fake success is
I love how much Sinatra hated this song by the end. He wasn't wrong. It's def pompous and self-serving. He has better ones (The Best is Yet to Come, Do I Worry?)
Fantastic article. Articulates a great deal of what I think of the song. When I was sixteen I played it very, very, often. Now I'm in my mid-twenties, though still my favourite song, I very rarely play it and ask for it to turned off when it comes on. It is for special occasions. This is probably because of the revelations you make in this article - an admirably clear article too.
I really loved this one. Short and sweet. I enjoy listening to the 3 concerts in the album "Standing Room Only" rather frequently. I'm glad to hear that about him. Reflections on the character and influence of music are sparse these days given most young people are ADHD coomers these days (so it's hardly the center of most people's concern). The overall tone was very bittersweet. I suppose that's the tone life has to take on a long timeline. The striving is beautiful, but with death around the next corner the best you can do is sort of submit to life and decide (not realize, decide) that it has all been worthwhile. The alternative is to renarrativize everything, which is quite dependent on both on believing your own story and on others affirming your narrative. Even then, death places significance in great question, regardless of the platitudes atheist cultural icons say about it. On some level it looks the same to rage against the dying of the light or be at peace with it if your memories cease to exist and reality very soon ceases to meaningfully register that you ever existed. This is why chest-beating about people being unable to handle harsh reality can come off poorly to me, even though I do it often enough. Is a world without cope really what people want? It's not even possible, but is it desirable? I'm borderline anti-religious, but I have to admit that there's no more functional cope or community-forming tool, and it's unclear whether the tool would even work without some kind of salvation-from-death narrative. And one that touches people's ACTUAL desire to keep existing, to keep learning, and to get second chances, third and fourth chances at vitality, rather than some chest-beating fake satisfaction with becoming the energy that feeds grass or something like that. And these stories with communities around them are better than individually trained contentment. Maybe not for the one dying, but certainly for all of the people around them who aren't predisposed to skepticism.
I always felt criticism of the song, including Sinatra’s, missed the point. It is meant to be prescriptive, not descriptive.
Separately, I disagree that the average sad sack in a Philippines karaoke bar can’t honestly lay claim to the lyrics. The reason for its longevity is that every man, more or less, identifies. You especially, there is just no fucking way you listen to My Way without thinking, yeah, that’s me, I did.
Eloquently put. I confess, I have never liked this song - I suspect because I was introduced to it not by Sinatra but by Sid Vicious, a bizarre and traumatizing experience - but your explanation is certainly on target: most of the fellas behind the mic are not golden-throated crooners regaling you with a life of valor and honor, but instead a sad sack who can't carry a tune in a bucket. (There is always the perspective, of course, that everyone is fighting their own hard battle, and in some philosophical sense yes; but such is the path that leads to participation trophies and mediocrity.)
Have you, perchance, heard the answer song by Sparks: "When do I get to sing My Way?" It's an excellent expression of disillusionment for those "Who Have Made It" and how fake success is
I love how much Sinatra hated this song by the end. He wasn't wrong. It's def pompous and self-serving. He has better ones (The Best is Yet to Come, Do I Worry?)
Great post, thanks for writing something normal for once.
Fantastic article. Articulates a great deal of what I think of the song. When I was sixteen I played it very, very, often. Now I'm in my mid-twenties, though still my favourite song, I very rarely play it and ask for it to turned off when it comes on. It is for special occasions. This is probably because of the revelations you make in this article - an admirably clear article too.
I really loved this one. Short and sweet. I enjoy listening to the 3 concerts in the album "Standing Room Only" rather frequently. I'm glad to hear that about him. Reflections on the character and influence of music are sparse these days given most young people are ADHD coomers these days (so it's hardly the center of most people's concern). The overall tone was very bittersweet. I suppose that's the tone life has to take on a long timeline. The striving is beautiful, but with death around the next corner the best you can do is sort of submit to life and decide (not realize, decide) that it has all been worthwhile. The alternative is to renarrativize everything, which is quite dependent on both on believing your own story and on others affirming your narrative. Even then, death places significance in great question, regardless of the platitudes atheist cultural icons say about it. On some level it looks the same to rage against the dying of the light or be at peace with it if your memories cease to exist and reality very soon ceases to meaningfully register that you ever existed. This is why chest-beating about people being unable to handle harsh reality can come off poorly to me, even though I do it often enough. Is a world without cope really what people want? It's not even possible, but is it desirable? I'm borderline anti-religious, but I have to admit that there's no more functional cope or community-forming tool, and it's unclear whether the tool would even work without some kind of salvation-from-death narrative. And one that touches people's ACTUAL desire to keep existing, to keep learning, and to get second chances, third and fourth chances at vitality, rather than some chest-beating fake satisfaction with becoming the energy that feeds grass or something like that. And these stories with communities around them are better than individually trained contentment. Maybe not for the one dying, but certainly for all of the people around them who aren't predisposed to skepticism.