For girls,
anxious to follow in parental footsteps,
family fame might be regarded as an
obstacle in building a showbusiness
career. The tendency is to dismiss the
aspirant as "just a pretty
face", yet two names can be recalled
who have succeeded on the tricky climb to
stardom - Liza Minelli, daughter of the
late Judy Garland, and Nancy Sinatra,
elder daughter of the greatest star of
them all. Her 1966 million-selling These
Boots Are Made For Walking must rate
as one of the more durable items from a
world of instantly-disposable pop. It is
difficult to believe that it was recorded
over a decade ago, for it remains
appealing and dateless.
Until that 1966
blockbuster, the giant shadow of her
father was not one from which she could
easily escape. There was no argument that
she qualified for the "pretty
face" description. The problem was
prefacing it with the words "not
just a ...."
Nancy struggled for years to establish an
identity of her own, concentrating on
trying to develop a reputation as an
actress. But inevitably a singing career
beckoned and she signed with her father's
Reprise label and made a number of
modestly successful, but relatively
undistinguished, records.
The dramatic
change in her fortunes coincided with the
decision to team her with the record
producer Lee Hazlewood. Under his
guidance the image of the well-scrubbed,
fun-loving girl was abandoned and at 26 a
new Nancy Sinatra emerged - a mature
woman-of-the-world and a rather cynical
protagonist for Women's Lib, before the
movement had gained fashionable momentum.
These Boots
Are Made For Walking epitomised the
tough new approach. The anonymous male of
the song was relegated to the status of a
doormat. In How's That Grab You
Darling? she once more plays the
ruthless dominant partner, asking the
question when she simply walks out after
the failure of her man to arrive on time.
Jackson, her 1967 hit, continued
the saga of the independent woman who
reacts with a terse "see if I
care" to the announced intention of
her partner to take a trip and indulge in
a little hell-raising of his own. Friday's
Child was a further defiant notice of
determination to succeed against the odds
of being born with less than a full
endowment of beauty. The partnership with
Lee Hazlewood delivered another hit in
1971 with Did You Ever.
Earthy and belligerent the
Hazlewood-Sinatra view of human
relationships may have been, but there
were mellower moments during that
hit-filled five year period. There was Somethin'
Stupid, with father Frank, which hit
Number One in 1967, a reworking of the
old Bobby Darin hit Things with
Dean Martin, and two mysteriously
romantic songs, Some Velvet Morning
and Summer Wine, not among her
best known recordings, but both worth
rating as among her best and eminently
worthy of inclusion here.
- Brian Mulligan
