Sinatra never sounded better than on this glorious collection of love songs, featuring music beautifully arranged by the peerless Nelson Riddle. It stands as an example of that shining optimism in American popular culture during the 1950s, a confidence and swagger which came from ruling the world in the post war years. Here was Sinatra, coming from rags to riches, handsome as they come, Oscar winning actor and incredible singer, the finest interpreter of popular music and American standards the century ever saw (although maybe Ella would have something to say about that). The future surely never sounded as bright with this album in the background. Here was lyrical romance for the average Joe and Jane, songs comparing love to regular coffee and tea - not high falutin' poetry of mountains and valleys and skies - everyday life, your life and my life, but sounding so sweet in Sinatra's smooth swing voice. The story of the album's finest moment - I've Got You Under My Skin - shows what great art comes from adversity. Sinatra was due to fly to Palm Springs but the music label head, excited by the pre-orders for the album granted the album an extended length, which meant recording three more songs in a hurry before Sinatra disappeared. Calling up Riddle late at night, Sinatra suggested three tunes to try and so Riddle, still feeling an eagerness to please Frank, despite a collaboration of a few years' standing, ferociously works through the night to come up with arrangements for the recording session the next day. Still scribbling in the cab on the way to the studio the next morning on virtually no sleep, Riddle delivers the manuscript to the orchestra who work through the first and second before arriving at I've Got You Under My Skin. Legend has it the band upon playing it through, applauded Riddle for the arrangement (no mean feat impressing cynical, world weary musicians such as these). Sinatra was so keen to get it right that take after take was recorded. The trombone player, Milt Bernhart, whose incredible solo plays during the middle eighth, following the almighty crescendo from the horn section, knowing Sinatra rarely goes beyond four or five takes, saved all his good stuff for the first few recordings. Knowing something special is here, though, and Frank keeps pushing to go again. Exhausted around take ten Bernhart is seething when the booth tell him they can't pick him up on mic clearly enough - could he get closer? Not able to grow in height and saying so, who should be so determined to get it right but there is Sinatra, rolling up his sleeves, fetching a box for Bernhart to stand on. Ahead of take 22, Bernhart is sweating, unsure if he's got another in him. But push on he does and there, there goes the take, the pure magic, with Sinatra batting back everything thrown at him in that final, verse of unalloyed joy. Magic happened that day and we get to enjoy it still to this day. Songs for Swingin' Lovers. One of the greatest achievements of the 20th century.