by Tony Bennett
Fourteen years after I left Columbia, he got me back with the label. He made the good point that most of my catalog remained there, and that we would be able to leverage anything new that I released in promoting any of my previous recordings. CDs were just starting to take off in the mid-eighties, and many people were replacing their entire vinyl collections with the new format. I decided to make a record with the best digital equipment available, which became The Art of Excellence.
Annie Leibovitz shot the cover, and I got to record a duet with Ray Charles, which was the first time we’d sung together. The CD came out in 1986; there was a big tour, and I did my first concert at Radio City Music Hall. WBCN in Boston became the first rock station to play my new record, because its promotions director, Chachi Loprete, was a big fan. It sold like gangbusters, and Columbia was happy with the results—as I was.
With Danny’s management talents and Dae’s expertise in the studio, I made more albums. Each one was well received, and each sold more than the last. When Columbia was bought by Sony, it wanted to do a boxed set of my definitive recordings, which became Forty Years: The Artistry of Tony Bennett. That, too, did very nicely, but Danny felt we still weren’t getting the attention we deserved. He set up a meeting with the Columbia heads and told them that if they couldn’t sell more of my albums, then we wanted out. The executive said they wanted me to stay and asked what I wanted to do for my next project. I told them I wanted to do an album of Sinatra’s great standards. Perfectly Frank went gold, and I won my first Grammy since “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”
About that time, MTV came into the picture. They asked me to film a commercial for their “I Want My MTV” campaign, which garnered a lot of attention. Then Danny pitched them the idea for me to appear on their very popular MTV Video Music Awards show. After that, MTV decided to add my new “Steppin’ Out” video to their Buzz Bin, typically used only for the hottest new rock acts.
I was quickly picking up fans in the younger markets. In the early nineties, I was invited to perform at a Christmas festival held by a rock station in Washington, D.C. The audience went crazy when I sang “Old Devil Moon,” particularly when I held the word love for an extended number of bars.
A couple of years later, MTV invited me to do their very hip music performance series, Unplugged. Dan turned me on to k.d. lang at that time, and I invited her to do a duet with me. I also asked Elvis Costello, with whom I’d worked a few years earlier when we were guests on one of Basie’s television appearances. The broadcast performance became the second-highest-rated Unplugged for MTV. We eventually released an album of the show, and it became a huge seller, going platinum and winning three Grammys, including the coveted Album of the Year. It was a big deal and turned a lot of heads. All of this was strategized by Danny, whom I credit with revitalizing my career.
My son Dae is an amazing sound engineer. I was honored with two Grammy nominations after the first duets album was released, but he was nominated for eight—all jazz. I couldn’t believe it! Dae wound up winning six Grammys. This was just two years after he opened Bennett Studios in Englewood, New Jersey, and I was so proud of his accomplishment. Danny joined me onstage to accept the Grammy for Album of the Year, another milestone and a personal triumph for me.
When all is said and done, I’ve learned that family helps keep you sane. Over the years, there were many instances where I didn’t handle things on the domestic front as well as I could, but it takes time to learn what’s best in the long run. I’m now surrounded by my family; we work and play together. My wife, Susan, and I have been together for over twenty-five years now, and she travels everywhere with me. She brings me peace of mind. Susan spearheaded the creation of the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts in my hometown of Astoria, Queens, which had been a lifelong dream of mine. She also heads our non-profit, called Exploring the Arts, which raises money and makes important financial contributions to support and create arts programs in America’s public schools. It doesn’t get better than this. As a Benedetto, I can truly say that I am “the blessed one.”
The Zen of Bennett
It is a blessing to be able to work with family members.
When you work with family, honest communication is key.
The family circle is one that protects and enriches you throughout your whole life.
Jazz
11
War Is Insanity
In 1941, when I was fifteen, the United States entered World War II—what Studs Terkel called “the Good War.” We were just coming out of the Great Depression, my father had recently died, and the world seemed upside down. My mom really had her hands full taking care of my sister, Mary, my brother, John, and me. Toward the end of the war, when I turned eighteen, I was drafted. I had my basic training at Fort Dix in New Jersey. I knew that I was in for it as soon as I got there. As they do, they immediately started trying to tear me down. My drill sergeant was out to get me right off the bat; the seriousness of what was ahead became apparent rather quickly.
When I was first sent overseas, I was assigned as an infantryman. We landed in France and marched our way to Germany. It was right after the Battle of the Bulge, and we were sent in as relief soldiers for those who had just won that fight. It was a bloody, bloody battle, and I’ll never forget the faces and the psychological trauma of the soldiers that I met coming off the front lines. You just knew that they would never be the same. They all looked like they were going mad and heading straight to the insane asylum; they’d never get over what happened to them.
I watch what is happening today, and it deeply saddens me to see the same thing still going on. It’s absolutely disrespectful the way the veterans are being treated after they’ve put their lives on the line. They need to be taken care of in a proper fashion—given new jobs and top-notch medical care, both physical and psychological. Thankfully, the general public has a better understanding of the effect that war has on the mind now. We all knew men who suffered from post-traumatic stress during and after World War II, but it was simply swept under the rug.
My regiment’s job was to sweep German towns for any straggling Nazis. It was a very dangerous affair, and nothing in basic training could have prepared us for what we faced. We were all petrified. When I arrived in Germany, the fighting was still raging, and many nights we were awakened by bombs exploding and gunfire all around us. More than once I was nearly killed. The Germans had this one bomb that made a very distinct whistling sound. They dropped a lot of them, but one day I heard that whistle coming right toward me. It was so loud. Oh my God! I said to myself. This is it. I prayed that it wouldn’t hit me. I remember promising God that I would try my best to be a better person and that I’d go to church every Sunday, if only I would be spared.
Well, it landed right in our trench, no more than forty feet off. It could have been all over for me right then and there. That bomb landed so close that I will never forget the explosive noise it made. Afterward, I did keep my promise to try to become a better person.
That night was one of several close calls. I used to do sketches down in the foxhole as a distraction. It helped to keep me centered and kept my mind off the madness. We saw dead soldiers, dead horses, and huge craters left from the explosions. When you first go to the front line and see a dead person, even if he’s the enemy, you look at him and just say, “What a tragedy.” To me, it seemed inhuman to kill somebody. After that experience, I became a pacifist for the rest of my life. Killing is the lowest form of human behavior; it’s so ignorant for people to maim and hurt one another.
The only good thing to come out of my experiences in Germany was that this was where I had my first real taste of performing when I was transferred to the armed services band as a librarian. It was also the very first time I ever made a record, “Saint James Infirmary Blues.” The song was recorded on what they called a V-disc, which the army would put together for the troops. It was a very fragile, cheap 78-rpm record that they could easily manufacture and distribute. A f
riend of mine located an original copy of my recording a couple of years ago and gave it to me as a present; it is now one of my prized possessions. We just released it to the public for the first time last year.
The soldiers in my group were eighteen to twenty years old. We just wanted to stay alive and make it back in one piece, but many of my friends were not so lucky. The whole time I was there, I was just waiting for the war to be over so I could go home.
Our company crossed the Rhine in trucks, flushing out Germans who were hiding in towns that were already cleared. We had to fight them from house to house, in town after town, one small village after another. Early on, I was pretty naïve. I had a few close calls, like the time I was standing in front of an open window of a home, only to be suddenly tackled to the ground by an older soldier. He dragged me out of the way, and when we got up and dusted ourselves off, he explained to me that I could’ve gotten killed by walking in front of a window if a sniper was waiting to pick someone off. It didn’t take me long to learn the tricks of the trade after that.
I was passing through a town with the remaining few men from my company, on our way to meet up with the rest of the division, when out of nowhere a German tank descended upon us. Herbert Black, a good friend of mine whom we’d nicknamed “Blackie,” and who manned the bazooka, was the only guy who had any ammunition left. He got down on one knee and yelled, “You’d better get down, Tony, because I’m gonna let this fly! It’s gonna be us or them!” As the tank’s turret started turning toward us, he aimed the bazooka right down the barrel of the cannon and fired. It was a direct hit, just in time. He disabled the tank and saved all of our lives. Later he received the Silver Star for his acts of heroism.
During my time in the army, I helped to liberate the Landsberg concentration camp, which was thirty miles from the notorious Dachau. This impacted me deeply, and further shaped me into a pacifist. Words can’t express the emotions I felt when I saw the horror of what had happened there—the faces of the people who had suffered; these pitiful human beings who had nowhere to go. Simply put, it was an absolute tragedy.
Every war is insane, no matter what the reason. It is amazing to me that with all the great teachers—including Mahatma Gandhi, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and Nelson Mandela—the great masters of literature and art, and all the contributions that have been made on the planet, we still haven’t come up with a more humane approach to working out conflicts. War is archaic. Simply put, violence begets violence; history has proved this to be true. I just hope that someday the people in power will realize that war is not a solution to the world’s problems. We only live to one hundred years at most; why use that time to harm others? We should just count our blessings and be happy that we’re alive.
The Zen of Bennett
Killing is the lowest form of human behavior.
Every war is insane, no matter what it’s about.
It is wrong for people to fight and kill one another.
War is not a solution to the world’s problems.
John Heard
Louis by Bennett
12
Free Form
As an artist, I think that people misinterpret the notion of free form and improvisation. It’s often thought that improvisation means that anything goes, but it is quite the opposite. There is mastery to the art of self-expression—knowing just what to put in and what to leave out. It’s imperative to master your craft; then and only then can you intelligently make changes.
Louis Bellson, Pearl Bailey’s husband, was an amazing drummer who once told me: “You have to first learn form before you can be free to experiment. You can’t successfully break the rules until you learn the rules you’re breaking.” This was fantastic advice, and it came from someone who was known for his innovative improvising. Look at Picasso; his early paintings are classical in style. If you don’t know how to do the classic forms of your art, you won’t know what to do next.
By studying the great musical improvisers over the years, I’ve learned ways to keep the public’s interest. I try to give them the unexpected so they never know what’s going to happen next. They’re on the edge of their seats for the whole performance. I always admired Count Basie’s music; he was a master of dynamics—first soft, and then loud. There would be unexpected little hits and then a series of knockout punches, boom boom bam! Basie’s sound was based on the blues, but at the same time it was very modern. His philosophy was one of blending a great beat with a compelling melody.
I never heard Basie play a wrong tempo. He could change up a song in ways I would have never imagined possible. But no matter what he did, it was always in perfect time. This requires incredible care and skill. Only when you have the fundamentals of a piece just right can you experiment with it, as Basie did so successfully. Every piece has a certain beat, and if you find it intuitively, it couldn’t be better. Basie was a master of knowing how to do that. When you listen to him, you think, Yes, that’s exactly the right tempo.
You can’t talk about tempo without mentioning Louis Armstrong. He was an amazing jazz performer, and his incredible skill allowed him to be such an inventive musician. He invented swing, a strictly American form of music that will never go out of style, because it’s our national tempo. Louis invented bop; he invented rap. Whatever the next category that comes out, you’ll discover that he was the first one who did it. Even in the years of severe bigotry, he was able to cut through all the racism by virtue of his sheer genius. He was also generous in his praise of other artists. Once they asked Louis, “Who’s the greatest jazz singer you ever heard?” He said, “After Ella?” I thought that was just beautiful.
When I was starting out, I was criticized for making music my own. Musicians would tell me that I needed to sing extended phrases that people could dance to. But as a student of the bel canto technique, when I sang songs like “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” I sang very dramatically; I sang it my way.
Thankfully the composer Harold Arlen gave me the permission to make music my own. Harold, who was the musical director for Harlem’s Cotton Club, explained to me that I should use popular music as a tool to perform and experiment with. He said I should alter a song any way that I wanted, and not to be afraid to make it a waltz or a swing or a ballad; to just change it so it worked for me as an artist and performer. His attitude was very refreshing, because other composers would want me to sing their pieces note for note the way they wrote them, and they’d get bent out of shape if I didn’t sing it “correctly.” Fred Astaire once told me, “Look at the song through the composer’s eyes. Then look at it again with a new idea, but one that’s true to what was intended.” I think that really expresses how to take a song and make it your own.
Astaire also told me, “All I ever tried to do was knock people out of their seats.” And he did—in the same way that Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews did with My Fair Lady. When they performed that show on Broadway, every single night they sang like it was opening night. That’s how it has to be done—just like it’s the first time, every single time. The flatness has to disappear. If you bring that kind of attitude to your work, you’ll never go wrong.
I believe that spontaneous improvisation—free form—is the single greatest art form there is, and I’m on a mission to teach this to the younger generation. The duets albums have exposed a whole new audience to the ideas of jazz and improvising. Recording duets with such a variety of artists did present its challenges. It’s a real game to adjust to the other person’s voice, making it contrast with yours. But the contrast is what makes for a good performance. You have to feel where the accents belong, and it’s not always that obvious. So it becomes a bit of a game, a back and forth; it’s a very creative process.
When John Mayer and I recorded “One for My Baby,” I gave John the direction to imagine that we were just two guys who got jilted by their women and started talking at a bar. We threw in things that these guys would say to each other when they were out drinking. It was so much fun to do it
on the spot like that for the album, and John seemed to enjoy it, too. He’s a very talented guy.
Lady Gaga really understands free form because she’s different every time she goes onstage. She played a man so convincingly on MTV’s music awards; it was an Academy Award–worthy performance. Gaga is a great example of someone who honed her craft by learning the rules—doing the difficult work of attending college—before she started to break them. She’s so creative that if people in the business allow her to be herself, she could become the next Picasso of music.
I had the privilege of getting to know and performing with Amy Winehouse on my Duets II album. To me, Amy sang the correct way; she was ready to take chances right on the spot. She would try a different phrasing in front of an audience, or on a recording. There are a lot of straight-on singers who sound wonderful, but Amy sang for the moment and in the moment, and to me, that’s a more honest approach. If there’s anything I love, it’s an honest performer. She just had an instinct about applying something different every time we ran through “Body and Soul.” She had a deep understanding that when you sing one phrase, you have to complement and contrast it with another. And that’s exactly what she accomplished on our recording.
Amy wanted everything to go perfectly the day we taped that beautiful song. She was a bit nervous because she hadn’t recorded in a while, and she confided that she was her own worst critic. She told me that even if someone else liked one of her records, if she wasn’t happy with it, she didn’t care what anyone else thought. And she admitted that she got nervous before going onstage, as all the best artists do.