"The arm was lifted and then dropped in its proper groove at the beginning of the record. There were a few whispered syllables, the intimate conversation of the needle and the groove before the waxed impressions were captured. And then the record started. Frank Sinatra. At 5.15 a.m. At least there was one old friend in the room.
'He don't sing so hot,' Fred said.
'I like him.' If Fred would said another word about the merits of my old friend Frank Sinatra's voice, i would have punched him right in the nose. At the moment, Sinatra seemed like the only sane thing in the world, the only sure thing i could count on".
(Ed McBain. "Vanishing Ladies")