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 July 2005 Back to Table of Contents Back to Archives Main Page Section: Arts & Letters Easy Does It By Ron Ehmke Dean Martin Dino: The Essential Dean Martin Capitol/EMI
We know by now that that image was more a role than a reality—it had to be, since no one who was truly as wasted as Dean Martin (shortened from his original stage name, “Dean Martini”) usually appeared could record forty albums, star in almost sixty (!) feature films, and remain a television staple for twenty years. Dean Martin has been gone for 10 years now, but his voice continues to epitomize the glory days of postwar America. Whether you vividly remember his boozy TV variety shows from the 60s and his celebrity roasts of the 70s and eighties or you’ve memorized the recent ubiquitous late-night infomercial hawking highlights of those series on video, you probably feel like you know this guy. He may be an entertainment icon, but he presents himself more like someone who might be your wisecracking down-the-street neighbor than a star. A 2004 compilation of hits and less-familiar tunes lets you get to know that down-to-earth neighbor even better. Naturally the songs everyone knows are contained on Dino: The Essential Dean Martin, including “That’s Amore,” “Memories are Made of This,” and his signature, “Everybody Loves Somebody.” But that’s only the beginning. After years of skimpier compilations, Capitol/EMI has managed to pack 30 — 30! — of Martin’s songs on a single CD, inviting listeners to sample every phase of his career, from the big-band era (“Powder Your Face with Sunshine”) through the countrypolitan sixties (“Gentle on My Mind”). Dean followed his pal Frank Sinatra from Capitol to Reprise, and both labels are represented on the disc, making it a fuller retrospective than earlier collections. On tracks like “Innamorata” and “Volare,” you’ll be tempted to break out the red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and open your own Italian restaurant. Then there’s “Houston,” one of songwriter Lee Hazlewood’s trademark Hollywood-meets-the-Wild-West numbers, as well as fun novelties like “Mambo Italiano” and “Little Ole Wine Drinker, Me.” True to the era in which these songs were recorded, you’ll find plenty of syrupy strings and saccharine vocal arrangements throughout the disc, but for the most part they tend to be a little less bothersome than the average easy-listening standard. You don’t have to listen too closely to hear the influence of Bing Crosby on Martin’s vocal approach; the gentle croon is central to his charming persona. If you study the songs on Dino in chronological order (which isn’t exactly the way they’re sequenced, though it’s close) you can hear his evolution from faithful Crosby disciple to, well, Dino. In later years, his voice deepens, he stretches out syllables, and his phrasing includes more and more playful dips and dives. He doesn’t really “sell” a song or overdramatize its lyrics; instead, he creates the illusion that everything comes incredibly easily to him, that singing requires no more effort than sipping a cocktail or smoking a cigarette. Even in his most straightforward romantic ballads, his slightly self-deprecating sense of humor shines through. Dino comes in an elegant silver-and-gray package; the accompanying CD booklet contains fairly detailed production credits, release dates and the like. There are three brief, not particularly helpful essays, two by Martin’s daughters and one by Stevie Van Zandt, who explains that he regards Martin as the missing link between his own work as a member of Bruce Springsteen’s band and the cast of The Sopranos. While Van Zandt reveals more about himself than about his subject, he does shed light on the smooth singer’s place in the transition from the squeaky-clean era of Hit Parade pop to such “young, long-haired, noise-making, … punky delinquent freaks” as the early-60s Rolling Stones. Martin was a clear and obvious representative of Old Showbiz — an inspiration to Elvis, but a joke to the hipsters who followed. That all changed sometime in the 90s when a new generation discovered the Rat Pack and learned to love lounge culture. Around the time of his death, Martin resumed his place in the pantheon of Cool. The transformation happened without much work on his part — and what could be more like a slacker than that? Ron Ehmke is a Tonawanda-based writer and performer; more of his work can be found at www.everythingron.com. back to top back to table of contents Current Issue | About Forever Young | Where to Find | Advertise | Our Advertisers | Community Calendar | Contest | Clubs | Contact Us | Archives | Home |
