This came out in 2003 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
Ring-a-ding-ding, pally. The boys are back in business — and as the none-too-subtle title to their latest posthumous production proudly proclaims, they are very much Live and most decidedly Swingin.’
This two-disc set delivers a perfectly matched pair of lubricated, loosey-goosey, laff-riotous live sets from those lovable Las Vegas lounge lizards Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. — aka The Rat Pack, aka The Summit, aka The Chairman Of The Board and his two merriest of hooch-swilling henchmen. Disc the First captures a famous and typically ca-razy set taped at mobster Sam (Momo) Giancana’s Chi-town club circa ’62, with Frankie, Dino and Smokey (so named for his chain-puffing, you dig?) making with the hey-hey. Betwixt (and sometimes during) snazzy, jazzy renditions of finger-popping classics like Chicago (natch), Volare, Birth Of The Blues and Me And My Shadow, the boys cut loose, cut up, crack up and crack wise with their cosa nostra clientele (Frank to the boisterous Sammy: “Quiet! There’s a gangster trying to sleep upstairs!”). It’s a gas, chickie-baby.
But the real trump card in this deck of jokers is Disc the Second, a 90-minute DVD featuring a restored closed-circuit concert from St. Louis in ’65. High-voltage sets from the mighty three, the swellegant strains of the Count Basie Orchestra, the consummate conducting of Quincy Jones, and Johnny Carson serving as host, comedic foil and unofficial fourth wheel — only a certified Clyde could fail to fathom the swingeriffic superbness of the soiree. The cooler cats and kittens, of course, will lap it all up like cream. Watch Frankster roll dem bones during Luck Be A Lady; hear tipsy Dino end his set by quipping, “I’d like to do some more for you, but I’m lucky to remember these ones;” witness the supercharged Sammy going off like a firecracker, scatting up a storm, offering mid-set dance lessons and even delivering a devastating impression of Dean (“Say, pally,” he queries the pianist, “which way is the audience?”).
So loosen your tux tie, light up a Lucky, pour yourself a Jack on the rocks and pretend your den is a two-drink-minimum big room from back in the day. Take it from us, chum — you couldn’t dig Live And Swingin’ any more if you had a shovel.
