On Being a Softie.

I came to an appreciation of Nat King Cole quite late in life. (At around 35. It was brought to me by a woman I was seeing at the time, and who also introduced me to Frank Sinatra and Santana. She drove an open top sports car and eventually drove me to drink, the cleverness of which statement was entirely serendipitous.)

 

But the fact of the matter is this: I know it’s the oldest cliché in the book – I know, I know – but people really don’t write lyrics like this any more.

We won’t say goodnight

Until the last minute

I’ll hold out my hand

And my heart will be in it

They don’t, you know, they don't. Why not?