published 15/10/2012 at 13:00 BST by John Sutherland
My Way has again been named the nation's funeral favourite, despite being a ditty of ineffable banality
Frank Sinatra performing in 1986
There is an intrinsic paradox to My Way being the pop song most commonly chosen as a funeral anthem by British people. Death is a solemn business and one shouldn't mock what is, for most of us,
so distressing that thinking straight is difficult. But if the deceased really went through life doing everything "their" way, why choose, for their farewell, the same musical tribute as all the
others?
Although the song is indelibly associated with Frank Sinatra and Shirley Bassey, the lyrics were composed by
another singer-songwriter, Paul Anka. Those as close as I am to choosing their last song will recall Anka bursting onto the scene, aged 16, in 1957 with his No 1 hit, Diana. Its lyrics were of a
feebleness which, to my ear, is still unrivalled:
"I'm so young and you're so old
This, my darling I've been told
I don't care just what they say
'Cause forever I will pray
You and I will be as free
As the birds up in the trees
Oh, please, stay by me, Diana."
Ten years later the still youthful Anka adapted French hit Comme d'Habitude ("Like I Always Do"), which in turn was translated from an original English song For Me. He did it, said Anka, "for
Frank". Apparently Ol' Blue Eyes was accompanied by "two mob guys" when the transaction happened. Offers beyond refusal, etc.
The 26-year-old Anka had undoubtedly made progress as a lyricist but My Way remains a ditty of ineffable banality. The rhymes come in like sledgehammer blows to the skull:
"And now the end is near
So I face the final curtain
My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case of which I'm certain"
The "case" (is he in court?) includes such declarations as:
"Yes, there were times, I'm sure you know
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way"
It's not clear to me, at least, what all this gobbling and spitting (surely "spat", by the way) is about. How can you "eat" something (ie swallow it) and then "spit" it out. Surely it should be
"puked it out". Myself I think I would replace this stanza with the Sid Vicious rewrite:
"There were times, I'm sure you knew
When there was fuck fuck fuck-all else to do
But through it all, when there was doubt
I shot it up or kicked it out
I faced the wall and the world
And did it my way"
Unlovely, I know, and not suitable for every church in the land, but it makes a lot more sense.
In 1967, when he recorded it, Sinatra (standing tall at 5ft 7in in his elevated shoes) was, aged 51, some 31
years short of his final curtain. At that funeral ceremony the attendees were serenaded with a thunderous version, by Frank himself, of Put Your Dreams Away:
"Put your dreams away for another day
And I will take their place in your heart
Wishing on a star never got you far
And so it's time to make a new start"
As one of the mourners later recalled: "You could hear everyone gasp … 'Aaaah.' … It was like he rose up on the edge of the coffin; like he was saying, 'Hey, check this out!'" One is reminded of
the old Hollywood joke: "I went to his funeral to make sure the old bastard was really dead." So he was. But "the Voice" (as Sinatra was nicknamed) lives on and will do, it seems, as long as people keep dying.