Track listing
- Opening Overture
- "I Get a Kick Out of You" (Cole Porter)
- "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" (Stevie Wonder)
- "You Will Be My Music" (Joe Raposo)
- "Don't Worry 'bout Me" (Ted Koehler, Rube Bloom)
- "If" (David Gates)
- "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" (Jim Croce)
- "Ol' Man River" (Jerome Kern, Oscar Hammerstein II)
- Famous Monologue
- Saloon Trilogy: "Last Night When We Were Young"/"Violets for Your Furs"/"Here's That Rainy Day" (Harold Arlen, E.Y. Harburg)/(Matt Dennis, Tom Adair)/(Jimmy Van Heusen, Johnny Burke)
- "I've Got You Under My Skin" (Porter)
- "My Kind of Town" (Sammy Cahn, Van Heusen)
- "Let Me Try Again" (Paul Anka, Cahn, Michel Jourdan)
- "The Lady Is a Tramp" (Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart)
- "My Way" (Anka, Claude Francois, Jacques Revaux, Gilles Thibaut)
Frank Sinatra's Monologue About the Australian Press
I do believe this is my interval, as we say... We've been having a marvelous time being chased around the country for three days. You know, I think it's worth mentioning because it's so idiotic, it's so ridiculous what's been happening. We came all the way to Australia because I chose to come here. I haven't been here for a long time and I wanted to come back for a few days. Wait now, wait. I'm not buttering anybody at all. I don't have to. I really don't have to. I like coming here. I like the people. I love your attitude. I like the booze and the beer and everything else that comes into the scene. I also like the way the country's growing and it's a swinging place.
Contents
So we come here and what happens? We gotta run all day long because of the parasites who chase us with automobiles. That's dangerous, too, on the road, you know. Might cause an accident. They won't quit. They wonder why I won't talk to them. I wouldn't drink their water, let alone talk to them. And if any of you folks in the press are in the audience, please quote me properly. Don't mix it up, do it exactly as I'm saying it, please. Write it down very clearly. One idiot called me up and he wanted to know what I had for breakfast. What the hell does he care what I had for breakfast? I was about to tell him what I did after breakfast. Oh, boy, they're murder! We have a name in the States for their counterparts: They're called parasites. Because they take and take and take and never give, absolutely, never give. I don't care what you think about any press in the world, I say they're bums and they'll always be bums, everyone of them. There are just a few exceptions to the rule. Some good editorial writers who don't go out in the street and chase people around. Critics don't bother me, because if I do badly, I know I'm bad before they even write it, and if I'm good, I know I'm good before they write it. It's true. I know best about myself. So, a critic is a critic. He doesn't anger me. It's the scandal man who bugs you, drives you crazy. It's the two-bit-type work that they do. They're pimps. They're just crazy, you know. And the broads who work in the press are the hookers of the press. Need I explain that to you? I might offer them a buck and a half... I'm not sure. I once gave a chick in Washington $2 and I overpaid her, I found out. She didn't even bathe. Imagine what that was like, ha, ha.