Linda Ronstadt put George Gershwin above every other songwriter, and that ranking says more about her ear than any branding ever did. She also said she would have left if she had known Frank Sinatra was in the audience, a blunt line that fits her habit of treating music as private judgment rather than public theater.
“All musicians, if they say they’re doing it for the audience, they’re probably bullshitting,” Ronstadt said, adding that “Music is a biological necessity. It’s a way that we all have of processing our feelings.” She also said, “I wanted to sing when I was little. That’s what I liked doing. It didn’t occur to me that you became famous or anything like that.”
George Gershwin over everybody
In the 1980s, Ronstadt discussed George Gershwin with Vogue and made the hierarchy plain: she said she would choose him over everybody. For a singer who was already being cast as the First Lady of Rock, the point is sharper than the title; she has long drawn a line between public stature and the artists she actually trusts musically.
Ronstadt also said she despises listening to her own music because she does not think there is anything that good about it or worthwhile when it comes to her vocals. That self-judgment helps explain why the Gershwin choice lands as more than a compliment. She was not building a pedestal for herself or for the industry around her. She was naming the writer whose work survived her own skepticism.
Frank Sinatra and the audience
In the early 1980s, Ronstadt performed with Nelson Riddle arranging her orchestra and joked, “I’ve heard a rumour,” “that Frank Sinatra’s been doing my tunes.” She later said, “If I’d known he was here, I’d have left,” after learning Sinatra was in the audience. That line tracks with the rest of her remarks: she admired Sinatra, said he was the sole reason contemporary pop music was the way it was, but still refused to play the gracious celebrity by default.
The contradiction is useful. Ronstadt is described as earning the title the First Lady of Rock, yet she does not really identify with lofty labels like that, and her comments show why. She values craft over persona, and she measures singers against the standards set by composers and interpreters she deems stronger than her own voice.
For readers, the takeaway is simple: Ronstadt’s hierarchy is not a nostalgia piece, it is a working map of taste. She placed George Gershwin at the top, set Sinatra as a benchmark, and pushed her own recordings to the side; that leaves one clear reading of her musical worldview, and it is far less decorative than the titles attached to her.
