But for an expanded and more in-depth take on how Sinatra “sings ballads in a lonely mood,” we need to go beyond No One Cares’ straining-for-effect cover photo of a pensive Frank, in fedora and overcoat, drink in hand, by himself in a crowded bar. The liner notes of this 1959 album were penned by the prominent jazz and pop music critic Ralph J. Gleason, and perhaps it takes someone immersed in all-things-music to articulate the empathetic and natural style that complemented Sinatra‘s “gift for tempo” along with the “special magic of the timbre of his sound, the accent of his voice and the way in which it brings him personally across to the listener.”

Gleason further remarks upon Sinatra‘s “inspired phrasing and his ability to understand and communicate the lyric,” as well as, interestingly, the way he sings the verses to the song. “Verses never have the impact that the chorus has,” Gleason notes. “Yet, when Sinatra sings them, “they take on new life, set the stage for the mood and the message of the song.”

In an intriguing and pertinent facet to Gleason’s observations, he takes an historical and social perspective:

For all our gaiety and our brass, this is a country with an element of sadness running through its soul. The Italians and the Irish, the Jews and yes, even the English, have a melancholy side to their nature and thus we have a great appetite for the song of unrequited love, the lament of love gone cold or hopeless. This underlying note of tragedy is imbedded in most American art, as it is in American life. It is one of the reasons Frank Sinatra can sing the sad songs in this album so well.

For, as Gleason continues, "those bittersweet, late night, sad songs of days that used to require an interpreter who can be sad without being maudlin, who can, in short, be man enough to cry a little and with the tears gain dignity.”

But damn that Ava Gardner, anyway. Hasn’t she done enough?