The Infinite Jukebox: Frank Sinatra’s ‘Strangers in the Night’


My father and his elder brother hated motorways. They didn’t like the A6 either, finding it too congested, despite the traffic taken away by the M6 (which in those days ended just short of Carnforth). So, before our next holiday, Uncle Arthur wrote off to the AA for An Alternative Route from Manchester to the Lake District Avoiding the A1.
It was a roundabout route, for obvious reasons, but we were in no especial hurry, and it took us through Central Lancashire, Bury, Rawtenstall, Nelson, and across the moors via Gisburn to the main road across the edge of the Yorkshire Limestone Country, through Settle and Kirby Lonsdale (which we passed dozens of times but never entered).
It was a gentle, friendly, familiar way that was an essential part of going away on holiday.
Whatever route we took, we always stopped for lunch in Milnthorpe, at 12.30pm every time. We would always eat at The Flying Dutchman cafe, in the Market Square, and I was allowed sausage barms for the only time in the year. We’d wallow in the break, not returning to the car until 2.00pm to resume our journey.
Which is all very well, but what has this to do with music?
The Flying Dutchman had a jukebox. One year it had the forerunner of a Video Jukebox, but in 1966 they had an ordinary one. 1966 was the first year we, amazingly, got away for three holidays in the Lakes, three separate weeks. And 1966 was the year of ‘Strangers in the Night’.
When you set it against some of the other number 1s of 1966 – The Small Faces, Chris Farlowe, the Stones, the Beatles, the Troggs – it’s an oddity, almost a throwback, but if it is it was a glorious throwback and an instant hit, charting at no 14 in its first week and number 1 for three weeks thereafter. It was one of Sinatra’s best and strongest songs for a long time, a rich and powerful melody, and lyrics that married hope, fate and circumstance into a love story that resonates with everyone.
Strangers in the Night. It’s an evocative phrase, full of mystery and possibility. Two people meet, who have never seen each other before. Two lonely people, both consciously or subconsciously looking for someone with which to share lives. Anything can happen. Love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance away.
Sinatra’s voice is rich and enveloping. It’s not the swing of the Fifties, but it’s an embracing sound on a song that could have been written for him, that may indeed have been written for him.
And indeed it is love at first sight. The Strangers who met have embraced each other, have chosen a life that bonds them. It turned out so right.
It’s a universal dream. Every one of us, practically, meets the person we will love as a stranger. Sinatra pulls us into that world of possibility, incarnates what we feel about the chance of a future. He sings us into that future with the sound of the past.
Song and singer: for me, ‘Strangers in the Night’ is the definitive Sinatra song, not the overplayed, supposed signature song, ‘My Way’. Sinatra was a familiar sound to me from endless days of playing in the living room at Brigham Street, absorbed with things like a miniature cannon that fired used matches to knock over ranks of little plastic soldiers, giveaways from Corn Flakes packets no doubt, a military band with varying numbers of instruments. And Mam does her housework and drinks her cups of tea whilst the Light Programme plays and I absorb some of the classic songs of Sinatra’s late-Fifties/early-Sixties period. In 1966, free of the impression of pop, another classic song is free to impress itself upon me. Like The Gang Show, not everything in your head is there because you chose it for yourself.
I love the song anyway, but it has significance for me from 1966. All three times we walked into The Flying Dutchman, ‘Strangers in the Night’ was playing on their Jukebox. Mam and Dad loved Sinatra anyway, and they loved the song’s association. Though they didn’t buy records, they bought this: an EP of which this was the title track. Many a time it would play at Sunday tea-time, and it was a long time before I could hear this without subconsciously expecting it to be followed by ‘On a Clear Day you can see Forever’.
When my mother died, the EP was among her things. My sister no longer had a record player but I did, and so I took it. I no longer have a record player but I still have the record, and I will keep it until my time comes, because it is an indelible link to days gone by and a rare example of my tastes coinciding with my parents’.
And because I remember meeting a stranger for the first time, in the early afternoon, not the night, but with the same outcome Frank Sinatra sung about.

2 thoughts on “The Infinite Jukebox: Frank Sinatra’s ‘Strangers in the Night’

  1. A wonderfully evocative blog post. I have similar memories of – and associations with – hearing Sinatra on the radio singing ‘Love’s Been Good to Me’ (1969) while I played happily with my toy cars and toy soldiers. I always thought the line “I have been a rover…” meant that he had previously been a dog!

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