It is the quintessential sound of the 1960s. That punchy brass opening, the walking bassline, and a voice so smooth it could sell ice to an Arctic explorer. When people talk about Frank Sinatra Fly Me to the Moon In Other Words, they usually think they’re talking about a romantic ballad. They aren't. Not really. By the time Sinatra got his hands on it in 1964, the song had transformed from a slow, triple-meter waltz into a finger-snapping anthem of the Space Age.
It’s everywhere. You hear it at weddings, in whiskey commercials, and in the closing credits of legendary anime. But the path this song took from a cabaret stage to the literal surface of the moon is weirder than most people realize.
The Song That Didn't Belong to Frank
Let’s get one thing straight: Frank Sinatra didn't write this. He didn't even record it first.
Bart Howard wrote the song in 1954. Back then, it was titled "In Other Words." It was a cabaret tune, performed mostly by Howard’s partner, Thomas DeWolf. It was slow. Dreamy. Almost melancholic. Felicia Sanders sang it at the Blue Angel in New York, and it was a hit in the way a quiet poem is a hit. It didn't swing.
Then came Kaye Ballard. She made the first commercial recording in 1954. Then Portia Nelson. Then Nancy Wilson. By the time 1962 rolled around, Joe Harnell gave it a "bossa nova" arrangement that actually cracked the Top 20. But it still wasn't the song. It was just a nice melody about being in love.
Then Frank walked into the studio.
Quincy Jones and the Art of the Swing
In 1964, Sinatra teamed up with Count Basie and his orchestra for the album It Might as Well Be Swing. He didn't want another ballad. He had plenty of those. He wanted something that felt like a martini—crisp, cold, and a little bit dangerous.
Enter a young Quincy Jones.
Before he was producing Michael Jackson’s Thriller, Quincy was the master of the big band arrangement. He took the 3/4 time signature—the waltz feel—and absolutely gutted it. He rebuilt the song in 4/4 time. He added that iconic flute flourish at the beginning. He told the brass section to hit the notes like they were throwing punches.
When you listen to Frank Sinatra Fly Me to the Moon In Other Words, you’re listening to the genius of Quincy Jones as much as the swagger of Sinatra. Frank didn't just sing the lyrics; he toyed with them. He shortened the vowels. He stayed behind the beat just long enough to make you think he might lose his place, only to snap back in right at the climax.
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It was perfect. It was also incredibly lucky timing.
NASA, Buzz Aldrin, and the Lunar Soundtrack
You can't separate this song from the Apollo missions. It’s impossible.
In the mid-60s, America was obsessed with the moon. We weren't just looking at it; we were trying to claim it. Sinatra’s version of the song became the unofficial anthem of the NASA program. It wasn't just PR, either. The astronauts actually liked the guy.
During the Apollo 10 mission, the crew played the song while orbiting the moon. But the real moment of immortality came during Apollo 11. Buzz Aldrin had a portable cassette player. As he stepped out onto the lunar surface, the voice of a kid from Hoboken, New Jersey, was echoing in his ears.
Think about that. Of all the music ever created by humans, this was the one we took to another celestial body first. It wasn't a symphony or a folk song. It was a swing track about wanting to hold someone's hand.
Why the Title is So Confusing
People still argue about what the song is actually called. If you look at the original sheet music, it’s "In Other Words." Bart Howard fought for that title for years. He thought the "Fly Me to the Moon" part was too literal, too kitschy.
But the public didn't care.
People kept going into record stores asking for "that moon song." Eventually, the publishers gave up. They officially changed the title to "Fly Me to the Moon (In Other Words)."
When Sinatra recorded it, the association became so strong that "In Other Words" basically became a subtitle. Today, most digital streaming platforms just list it as "Fly Me to the Moon." If you call it by its original name at a karaoke bar, people will probably just look at you funny.
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The Technical Brilliance of the 1964 Recording
Let’s talk about the sound. Seriously.
If you listen to the 1964 Reprise recording on a good pair of headphones, the separation is insane. You have the Count Basie Orchestra panned across the soundstage. You can hear the physical "thwack" of the bass strings. Sinatra is dead center.
He was using a U47 tube microphone, which captured the grit in his voice. He wasn't young anymore. He was nearly 50. You can hear the experience. You can hear the cigarettes. It gives the song an authority that the earlier, "prettier" versions lacked.
Key Elements of the Sinatra Style:
- The Backbeat: Frank rarely hits the note right on the "one." He lingers.
- The Enunciation: Every "k" and "t" at the end of a word is sharp. "Let me see what spring is like on Jupit-ER and Mars."
- The Dynamics: He starts at a conversational volume and builds to a roar by the final "In other words... I love... YOU."
The Neon Genesis Evangelion Connection
It’s kida weird, right? How did a 1960s swing song become the ending theme for one of the most depressing, psychologically complex anime series of all time?
In 1995, Neon Genesis Evangelion used various covers of "Fly Me to the Moon" for its closing credits. This introduced Sinatra's signature song to a whole new generation in Japan and the West. It created this strange, haunting juxtaposition. You’d watch an episode about the end of the world and the fragility of the human soul, and then you’d hear a bossa nova version of Bart Howard’s lyrics.
Because of licensing nightmares, many modern streaming versions of the show (like on Netflix) had to strip the song out. Fans were devastated. It proved that the song isn't just "old people music." It’s a piece of the cultural fabric that feels wrong when it's missing.
What Most People Miss About the Lyrics
The song is actually a series of metaphors that explain themselves.
"Fly me to the moon / Let me play among the stars."
"In other words / Hold my hand."
It’s a song for people who aren't good with words. It’s for the guy who wants to say something poetic but realizes that the simplest gesture is better. Bart Howard was basically writing a manual on how to be romantic without being a cheeseball.
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Sinatra understood this perfectly. He sang it with a "wink." He knew the space travel stuff was a fantasy. He was grounded in the reality of the relationship. That’s the secret. You have to sing the "moon" parts like a dream and the "in other words" parts like a fact.
How to Listen to It Today
If you want the real experience, stay away from the low-bitrate YouTube rips.
Find the 20-bit remastered version of It Might as Well Be Swing. Or better yet, find the Sinatra at the Sands live album from 1966. That live version is arguably better than the studio cut. You can hear the clinking of glasses in the audience. You hear Frank joke with the crowd. You hear the Count Basie Orchestra in full, roaring flight.
It reminds you that music used to be about people in a room together making noise. No autotune. No loops. Just a guy and a band.
The Actionable Legacy
If you're a singer or a musician trying to tackle this song, don't try to out-Sinatra Sinatra. You'll lose.
Instead, look at what he did: he changed the rhythm to fit his personality. If you’re a fan, take a second to look up the original Bart Howard versions. It’ll make you appreciate the 1964 transformation even more.
Go listen to the At the Sands version immediately. It’s the definitive document of the "Chairman of the Board" at the absolute peak of his powers. Pay attention to the way the drums drive the transition from the bridge back into the main verse. That’s how you build tension.
The song isn't just a relic of the past. It's a template for how to take a simple idea and make it universal. It took a songwriter, a legendary arranger, a world-class orchestra, and the most famous voice in history to make it happen. And maybe a few astronauts too.
Next time you look at the moon, remember that for a few minutes in 1969, it was actually playing this song. That’s a legacy no other piece of music can claim.