Had social media in the sixties consisted of more than (a) two (or more) people speaking to one another face-to-face, (b) correspondence over the mail or (c) conversing on the telephone, it's quite possible that Nancy Sinatra would've been bashed as a nepo baby. I'm sure people knew that having a famous father opened doors for her — even if they may not have always been the doors she wished to have opened — and perhaps there had been resentment in some quarters that her connections gave her fame but this sort of criticism didn't seem to dog her. If anything, the fact that she and longtime collaborator Lee Hazelwood struggled to have a hit prior to "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" suggests that daddy's pull was either ineffectual or nonexistent.
With Frank Sinatra, he too had been coming off a US and UK number one smash from a year earlier with "Strangers in the Night" (which could do no better than number three in Canada). While no longer quite the transcendent figure he had been in the forties and fifties, Sinatra could still sell out venues around the world. Thus, it wasn't as if either of them really needed the other to sell a pop song. Fans of Nancy's probably weren't clamouring for records from Old Blue Eyes — and vice versa. It turns out, Frank didn't even need his glamourous daughter for their supposed duet "Somethin' Stupid".
Vying for crossover appeal must have been the reason for why she's even on this thing. Nancy is just a glorified backing vocalist and one, it must be added, who doesn't sound particularly excited to be there. Singing a song about a romance between a couple with your dad couldn't have made her comfortable and it's possible she wasn't especially thrilled to be going in the direction of MOR pop at such a crucial point in her career. This is where the idea of a crossover falls flat on its face: despite having her name credited first, this is a Frank Sinatra solo record in name only, one that barely has room for Nancy much less in attempting to accommodate her style.
There's a heavy doling of intimacy on the original "Something Stupid", sung by composer C. Carson Parks (the brother of eccentric singer-songwriter and Brian Wilson collaborator Van Dyke Parks) and his wife Gaile Foote. The pair sound like they're whispering the lines to each other as if it's all a big secret. It's a nice recording, one that has the duo singing the same lines while seemingly communicating different messages to each other. In his case, it's the more literal sense of feeling turning a lovely evening into something awkward by spoiling it with the L word; for her, she knows that in spilling her heart out, she's about to relinquish the power in the relationship. Parks and Foote also communicate an obvious fondness for one another, something that the Sinatras fail to do.
Frank Sinatra's status in the world of showbusiness was such that he wasn't about to take suggestions from anyone beyond maybe Nelson Riddle. His daughter? Forget about it. This is a shame since the parallel universe scenario of Lee Hazelwood composing a far more appropriate single for the pair is tantalizing. It could have catered to Frank's talents while also bringing out the best in Nancy. Instead, we get a typically good Frank vocal with little else of note going on. And not only was Nancy poorly utilized but "Somethin' Stupid" also coincided with the end of her days as a top pop diva. So, not only did her dad do little to help her get started but he also may have played a part in her premature decline. See? It's not as easy being a nepo baby as some would have you believe.
Score: 4

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