Allow me to be frank...

But how well do we really know his music? To label it as an "oldie" or "mellow" does not do it justice. To me, listening to his songs brings to mind dimly lit bars filled with wisps of cigarette smoke trailing upwards like some tendrils of a wild and crazy vine. The faint sound of human chatter mixed with the tinkle of ice in glasses and the strains of a piano being played somewhere in the ensuing din. On that piano, he would perch with his ever-present cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth, jacket and shirt rumpled to give the image of it being slept in and his tie always at half-mast. A glass of fine scotch whisky, half-full and met with condensed beads would be found on top of the piano.

And when he sings, he would sing songs of a man down on his luck, beaten at every turn by life which never gives him the breaks or from women who takes his heart only to throw it away like yesterdays newspaper. Like a fighter on his last ropes, who gets knocked down a few rounds but somehow gets back up again, he sits on that piano hoping that the alcohol will numb him of the pain and the music would wash it away from his soul.

Some may argue that his lifetime of wealth contradicts his songs of loss. Be that as it may, but his songs do not only speak of him. They speak of anybody whose heart has been broken more times than once and who has been knocked down more than he can stand up. Look into the eyes of your grandfather, your grandmother, or even your parents and you will see their life being sung in each of his songs.

As you get older and your eyes lose their once idealistic blaze, when life has already dealt you with its fair share of blows, leaving your body bruised and your knees wobbly, when the dust settles and you are still left standing - ready to take on another round, then you can say that you really know what he sings about.