Approximately one year ago – 28 September 2025 but who’s counting – I attended, and reported on in these very pages, an event billed as “The 70th (And Final) AGM of the Sinatra Music Society”. It wasn’t too difficult to understand why SMS UK had run out of steam; it was founded in the Midlands in June 1955, and any 20-somethings who became members in that year would now, by definition, be in their 90s, if indeed they are still in this world. Sinatra has now been dead for 28 years and although younger generations still listen to him and younger performers continue to feature songs associated with Sinatra, neither of these factions are moved to actually join SMS; ergo, dwindling and unreplaced membership equals dwindling revenue, equals swan song.
No one founds and continues to run what we must be brutally honest and call a fan club with the aim of floating it on the Stock Exchange. They do it out of admiration, respect and, yes, love of a given performer and in the hope of attracting like-minded people, who can then wallow at regular intervals, usually once a month, in the output of their performer of choice. Back in the day, fan clubs were thicker on the ground than Forest Gump sleeping rough. When I myself were nobbut a lad, in the northern quadrant of those same Midlands, even the roadies and groupies enjoyed a mayfly moment of fame, before linking arms with the hula hoop and the cha-cha-chá, and sashaying into the sunset.
Some of those fan clubs proved to have legs; Bing Crosby’s produces a 56-page magazine on high-quality paper, three times a year; the Duke Ellington buffs rejoice in Blue Light, albeit a member friend tells me that their membership is also in decline, which brings us back to SMS, whose own magazine, Perfectly Frank, continues to appear online four times per annum. At its height there were branches nationwide. As I write, only the Leeds branch remains, and in their altruism they offered to host one more AGM, staging it in the venue they use for their own monthly meetings, providing serious sumptuous refreshments and, as if that were not enough, securing the services of Sinatra tribute singer Phil Fryer, who donated those services gratis. For a cygnet (rather than a swan song) that failed to reach three figures, it was a fairly decent turn out with notable absentees; only half the committee made it, Elaine’s day job at Anfield claimed her, as did Alan’s new paramour, and Wendy Squires just wasn’t up to the rigours of travel. What it lacked in numbers the attendees made up for in enthusiasm – for SMS itself, for the palpable sense of comradeship, and last but far from least, for Phil Fryer.
I chatted at length with Mr. Fryer, both before and after his set. He has made a decent living for some 25 years performing Sinatra material, initially with a big band, of late with a quintet. On this day he performed to backing tracks reminiscent of those arrangements created for Sinatra. He gave us a fairly representative selection, albeit uptempo and gentle swing at the expense of ballads, coming closest with Moonlight In Vermont, and it was good to hear the slightly less done-to-death titles like The Summer Wind, and Young At Heart.
Phil will be the first to tell you that no one can really do Sinatra – and I’d be the second. The fact remains that Mr S, was blessed – or cursed, depending on your point of view – with a unique timbre, which is at once instantly recognisable and impossible to replicate. Even a gifted impressionist like Sammy Davis fell light years short of “getting” Sinatra. Unlike several “modern” singers, Mr. Fryer doesn’t struggle to reach middle C. He has a fine, strong set of pipes that can sustain a note. He is, alas, a victim of Catch–22; because he chooses to associate himself with Sinatra and perform only Sinatra material, he runs the risk of being compared – certainly by the likes of me – with the master. On the other hand, whilst I would happily shell out top dollar to hear him performing the kind of songs that were contemporaneous with Sinatra, I doubt if any promoter would engage him on that basis. Ergo he’s stuck with the label – not to say the loot – Mr. Success, a lesser-spotted example of the Sinatra songbook.
It’s both true and fair to say that every single person, myself included, left Seacroft Village Hall with a smile on their face, and a glow in their heart. And like the man (Ira Gershwin, if anybody asks you) said, “Who could ask for anything more?”
Sinatra Music Society AGM: Seacroft Village Hall, 980 York Road, Leeds, LS14 6JS. Sunday, 11 October 2026