Sometimes I feel like a time traveler trapped between the fetishized past of supposed authenticity and the hyper-speed present, where news, culture and opinion travels as fast as it’s posted on social media. In the world I grew up in, Frank Sinatra was one of the most important men in America.

He embodied cool with a microphone in one hand, a drink in the other, and a legion of beautiful women, tough guys, and power brokers at his beck and call. Nowadays, I wonder if anyone under the age of 40 gives a crap and knows anything about him besides being the guy who sings the song they play after the ball drops in Times Square on New Year’s Eve.