POP MUSIC REVIEW : Frank, Liza and Sammy Do It Their Way

F rank.

Liza.

Sammy.

The performers’ full names were on the marquee Saturday night at the Inglewood Forum, but the disc jockey who welcomed the audience to the gala benefit concert only spoke of the evening’s stars by their first names.

He knew that those three words said it all--the ultimate compliment in an age where fame is the greatest intoxicant. And fame was the real attraction Saturday.

Even the title of the program had a ring of superstar hyperbole: The Ultimate Event!

For true believers in the audience, the first-name identification is a fitting tribute for performers who stand as links with the great (i.e. pre-rock ) show business tradition, where the volume wasn’t deafening and the lyrics always rhymed.

On the other hand, the names stand as red flags for detractors--especially in the rock world--who point to Frank, Liza and Sammy as symbols of the grotesqueness of show-biz excess and superstar vanity.

The problem with this kind of massive show-biz fame is that it tends to distort perspective by making personality as much a factor as talent in determining our allegiances. We respond not only because of what the artist does on stage or on record, but because of all we know about the person.

Rock, of course, has its own first-name syndrome and an equal degree of superstar worship.

Elvis. Bruce. Michael.

With Michael, a case can be made that--now that his greatness has been established--his stardom is as much enhanced by his eccentric life style as anything he offered us in “Bad.”

With talk turns to Bruce these days, the topic is more likely to be his impending divorce than his music.

These issues are magnified when it comes to Frank, Liza and Sammy because of the length of their careers (especially the men) and the very public nature of their personal and professional triumphs and humiliations.

To their fans, they are seen as survivors. Only Frank may sing the song, but everyone knows Sammy and Liza did it their way, too.

But fame has its way of turning great performers into caricatures, and the question Saturday was whether these legendary stars would be caricatures or show a sample of the greatness that first made them famous.

The audience’s fascination with celebrities began Saturday long before the start of the concert, a benefit for the Barbara Sinatra Children’s Center at the Eisenhower Medical Center in Rancho Mirage. Fans lined up outside the Forum to watch the rich and famous walk from their limousines to a reception.

After a half-hour delay because of a traffic jam, Sammy, wearing a tux with open collar, began things with a half-hour set that exhibited few of the trademarks that have become part of his particular caricature.

Sammy, who’ll be 63 next month and recently underwent hip replacement surgery, gave no hint of the gushy show-biz testimonials, self-congratulation, glitzy jewelry or the silly Jerry Lewis- shtick .

Performing on a stage in the center of the arena floor rather than at one end as is customary for rock shows at the Forum, he simply sang--which, unfortunately, isn’t his greatest gift. Like a decathlon athlete, Sammy’s strength in the ‘50s and ‘60s was in his all-around ability and daring as a dancer, singer, musician, actor.

His singing is distinctive, but mannered (heavily enunciated) and he tends to convey different emotions merely by changing volume rather than exhibiting more shading and phrasing. He is especially dependent on proper material. “What Kind of Fool Am I” works fine. “Candy Man” doesn’t.

Like Sammy, Liza works best in a dramatic setting because she is not a spectacular singer. She wins you with her emotion and heart: the bouncy, beaming trouper--Liza-with-a-Z--who belts out every number with a wide-eyed exuberance as if it were the ultimate performance.

In the intimacy of a concert, Liza’s approach ranges from overkill (on the nights when it seems forced) or thrilling (on the nights when she convinces you this is the ultimate performance). On Saturday, Liza, wearing sequined evening pajamas, seemed relatively straightforward, going through some new and familiar material (the crowd-pleasing “Cabaret”) in eager, but unpretentious terms.

Frank walked on stage with the ease of a man stepping into a friend’s living room, thanking the audience for attending and easing into a gentle and affecting collection of mostly ballads.

Despite the quick-tempered, mean-spirited reputation that is as much a part of his legend as his music, he seemed gracious as he saluted the songwriters, arrangers and his conductor (son Frank Jr.). He also showed healthy independence in his choice of material, sidestepping the easy path of simply replaying his best known hits in favor of songs that seemed to have special meaning to him.

Frank’s voice slips in spots, but it also responded surprisingly well for a man of 72 to some challenging notes. Without ever exaggerating a lyric or a beat to more easily involve the audience, he held the audience’s attention in the huge, 17,000-seat arena as easily as he could have in the most intimate club.

The singers returned for a light-hearted run-through of some of their respective hits, but the heart of the evening was in the individual performances. They seemed simply veteran artists doing what they have always done--try to entertain an audience. It was a lesson for younger performers who are battling with the challenges moving beyond fame.

Frank, Liza and Sammy may have gotten a kick out of it when some marketing marvel first pointed out that they were so popular that they could get by on their first name alone, but they have moved beyond that. They offer their art on stage, not their caricatures. The fan cries of “Frank” will eventually fade, but Sinatra--especially--is a name that will forever be a standard of pop excellence, and it’s remarkable that the man can still show us why.