Not one, but two of the singles from Jay-Z's The Blueprint 3 catch the most successful hip-hop artist in history comparing himself to Frank Sinatra. This is not a coincidence. For most of its relatively short history, rap has prided itself on its neophilia. Always "on to the next one," no music fans chew 'em up and spit 'em out quite like rap fanatics. Prior to Jay-Z, you were less likely to see a 35-year-old rapper - much less one still selling albums - than a 35-year-old MVP in the NBA. So in the most self-referential of American musical genres, the one in which those writing lyrics are constantly crafting superlatives to set themselves apart from the crowd, Jay-Z is in a class all his own. It's really not up for debate. His unprecedented tenure on the hip-hop throne has made it futile for him to compare himself with others in the field. In fact, it's become so obvious to him that he now consciously looks to the past for his peers. As he rightly observed in "What More Can I Say?" on 2003's The Black Album, "There's never been a n**** this good for this long / this hood or this pop, this hot or this strong." So, why Sinatra? Why not The Beatles or Elvis Presley? Well, truth be told, he has drawn parallels to them as well. But, The Beatles were a group, not to mention British. And "the King," despite sharing the record for number one albums with Jay-Z until recently, has always been a slightly awkward match due to the tenuous relationship between the singer and the African-American community, segments of which have directed rancor toward Presley since an apocryphal rumor alleging he'd made racist remarks began circulating in the 1950s. Still, it wasn't mere process of elimination that nudged Jay-Z to gravitate towards Sinatra. No, the former CEO of Def Jam Recordings shares some actual common ground with the Chairman of the Board. Both have the New York connection (Sinatra from Hoboken, NJ, Shawn Carter from Brooklyn), both act as the epicenter of informal entertainment syndicates (the Rat Pack; Roc-A-Fella affiliates), but, most importantly, both count swagger - that all-encompassing commodity of confidence - among their prime assets. On Come Dance With Me!, one of the many theme albums Sinatra cut for Capitol and then his own label, Reprise Records, the singer takes an activity most tough guys consider uncool and uses his Midas touch to turn it into trend-setting gold. Billy May's big band arrangements are robust, but there's no question who's really in charge. Die-hard supporters might disagree, but Sinatra's voice has some conspicuous flaws. His gift is to make the listener forget all about these limitations as he treats these tunes like his playthings. There is a raw magnetism in his vocal personality that makes all of the tracks here sound natural and unforced. What many who followed in his footsteps (with the exception of Jay-Z) have failed to realize is that being "cool" isn't about not caring. It's about never letting them see you sweat, as if it all comes easily to you. Grade: A-
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