The Good Life (33 page)

When the rest of the trio broke up, I was worried that I’d never be able to put together a group as good again. I found it significant that I was returning to my roots—going from Hollywood back to New York—-and it made sense that I’d also go back to Ralph Sharon. Oddly enough, at the very same time, Ralph had been debating whether or not he should get in touch with me.

It had been Ralph’s wife, Susan, who had pressured him into quitting the road, but they were now divorced and he had married a woman named Linda. I decided to give him a call and ask if he’d consider coming back with me. He talked it over with Linda, and soon we were back on the road together. It was 1980, and he’d been gone for fifteen years. It was a comfort to have him back.

Our new trio featured John Burr, then later Gene Cherico on bass, and the fantastic drummer Butch Miles. Eventually Joe LaBarbera, who had been Bill Evans’s drummer, took over on drums, and Paul Langosch, who has been with me for almost fifteen years now, took over on bass. They’re all exquisite musicians, and put an end to the doubts I’d had about finding the best to work with again.

When Danny first began helping me out, there was never a deliberate plan for him to manage me. He just fell into the
role. He turned out to be really good at putting it all together. Not since my sister, Mary, managed my affairs in the sixties had I felt so confident that everything was on the up-and-up. It was such a relief, and my head began to clear.

We became a team, artist and manager, as well as father and son. He and I had extensive talks and worked out a game plan. Danny asked me point blank, “What do you want to accomplish?” I answered, “I want to do what I do best, nothing more and nothing less. Above all else, I never want to compromise my musical integrity.” I told him that despite the modern notion of demographics, I was taught that it was important to perform for the whole family I told Danny that I wanted to be able to bring my music to as many people as possible, regardless of their age.

I meant that too. I wanted to reach all ages. I wanted to do it for myself, naturally but I don’t think I’m being disingenuous when I say that I also wanted to do it for Cole Porter, Duke Ellington, and all the wonderful composers, arrangers, and instrumentalists I’d ever worked with. I wanted to be one of the keepers of the flame when it came to great music. I knew that if I brought the best songs and the best orchestrations to people, they’d respond to it, because great music transcends generations.

I was singing at the Sahara in 1979, and I had a television special that year called
Live at the Sahara
, Even though I wasn’t recording and hadn’t had a major appearance in New York in a few years, I was still hot enough that the Suma Corporation, owner of the Sands, lured me away from the Sahara with a spectacular new contract. What made it unique was the amount of time they wanted me to work in their room—eighteen weeks a year, a big commitment.

But I thought I was spending too much time in Las Vegas. It was tough for me to say no at first—it was, after all, four
months a year of guaranteed income. But there was good reason for me to work less in Vegas. Business was decreasing, fewer people were coming in, and no new hotels or casinos were being built. Even the Suma people eventually sold out to the Hilton chain. Remember, this was fifteen years before Vegas started booming again in the mid-nineties; the town was going downhill, and if it did hit bottom, I didn’t want to be one of the entertainers to get blamed for it.

And there was always the danger of becoming strictly a Vegas act, and that wasn’t the route I wanted to go. I was looking to broaden my audience, not narrow it, so I went to the Suma people and renegotiated the deal so that I worked fewer dates.

I knew that my core audience would support me. As long as I was presenting songs from the Great American Songbook, I’d fill up every seat wherever I played. There were a number of labels who could give me a deal, but I thought it would serve me best to go back to Columbia Records because that’s where my catalogue was, and it would give me a chance to exploit the masters to maximum benefit and regain control of my own destiny.

Danny assured me that if we gave the young public an opportunity to get to know me, I’d once again be accepted by that audience, so he urged me to focus my efforts on youth-oriented events. Danny proved to be the ace manager I was looking for.

In May 1981, I made my first major appearance in New York since Bill Evans and I had played Carnegie Hall in 1976. I always had the philosophy that it’s best to make it an event every time I hit New York. I came up with an idea I called “Tony Takes Manhattan.” I played three hip New York clubs in the same week—the Village Vanguard, the famous jazz basement The Bottom Line, and the supper club Marty’s. The
week culminated in a grand concert at Carnegie Hall and I donated all the proceeds to the Police Athletic League of New York.

At the same time I gave an exhibition of my artwork at Tavern on the Green, which got write-ups in the
Daily News
, the
New York Post, Newsday, The Village Voice
, and
The New York Times, New York
magazine did a feature story on me. The whole week was a huge success.

Even with no new records being released during these years, I was as busy as ever on television. In 1982 Count Basie and I did a ninety-minute special for PBS called
Bennett and Basie Together!
It was taped in Boston and featured a set of piano and voice with keyboardist Dave McKenna. Between Basie and Dave there certainly was an abundance of great jazz piano that night.

I had been doing the
Tonight Show with Johnny Carson
ever since it went on the air. I knew I could count on that. Johnny was always wonderful to me, and his shows kept me popular in America over the years. But now the hip talk show for college kids came on after Carson, and was hosted by the newcomer David Letterman. Naturally, I still did Carson every year. But Danny thought I should do the Letterman show as well.

Danny and I began looking for situations in which I could appear before a younger audience because I was positive they would embrace the music I’d sung all my life. Danny also booked me on the Canadian sketch comedy show
SCTV
, a precursor to
Saturday Night Live
, where I worked with up-and-coming comedians like Rick Moranis, John Candy and Catherine O’Hara. Next he turned me on to an animated show that was just starting up on Fox called the
Simpsons
, They approached me to do a song called “Capitol City” for the show. I’d never had a chance to see it, but Danny assured
me the show would be a huge success. He went back to them and said I’d do it if they’d make me an animated character on the show. They agreed, and I became the first in a long line of animated special guests.

I was working all over the country doing more than two hundred shows a year all through the 1980s. I was no longer hampered by crises in my personal life or by struggles with the record company, and this left me with the time to carefully plan each step of my career. And things were beginning to pay off.

Bob Guccione, Jr., was the owner and editor of
Spin
, a new magazine that catered to the “alternative” college crowd. Danny told me he had read an interview with Guccione in which he was asked, “What do you think is the essence of rock and roll?” Guccione answered, “James Brown and Tony Bennett, because they’re the essence of cool and that’s what It’s about.” That really knocked me out. I had Danny call and thank him for what he’d said, and Bob decided he would do a feature on me.

I wanted to get back to recording as soon as I could. I was encouraged by the fact that a number of young singers like Natalie Cole and Linda Ronstadt had recorded albums of great American standards and the public was buying them.

I was talking to Columbia, although I have to confess that I was wary. But I had friends there now. Bruce Lundvall, whom I’d known since the sixties, was president of the label. A producer named Ettore Stratta told Danny that Mickey Eischner, head of A&R, was interested in doing a new album with me. He wanted me back on the label, but he couldn’t convince his bosses that they should invest money in me. Ettore had an investor who was willing to back the album, so in 1985 he and Danny worked out an agreement that Ettore would produce
one of my records. Fourteen years after leaving the label, I was reunited with Columbia Records.

Both my old and new records were affected by the introduction of the compact disc. CDs were officially unveiled in Japan by CBS/Sony in 1982, and by 1985 they had really started to take off. It was obvious that every new record would have to be on CD, and that turned out to be a boon for someone like me with a large catalogue. Consumers were replacing their entire vinyl collections with CDs. I decided to make a record featuring state-of-the-art technology the best in digital equipment that was then available. In addition to making a great recording, it also brought the project to the attention of the high-tech enthusiasts.

My new record would be called
The Art of Excellence
, referring not only to the songs, but also to my demand for quality. From that day forward people would expect nothing less from Tony Bennett. I dedicated the album to the beloved Mabel Mercer.

Annie Leibovitz shot the album cover. She was a hot photographer for
Rolling Stone
, and it turned out she was also a fan, and she was thrilled to do the shoot. She took a great outdoor picture of me with the World Trade Center looming in the distance.

I included a song on that album called “How Do You Keep the Music Playing” by Alan and Marilyn Bergman, which I had first heard Sinatra sing. One night I went to see Frank perform at the Universal Amphitheater in Los Angeles, I had no idea he knew I was there, but right after he finished singing the song, he said to me, in full view of thousands of people, “Tony! You should sing this song!” How could I refuse? Ettore brought in orchestrator Jorge Calandrelli to do all the charts.

Another special song on
The Art of Excellence
was “Everybody Has the Blues,” by James Taylor, on which I sang a duet
with the genius Ray Charles. It was the first time we’d ever performed together.

I proved my worth to Columbia when
The Art of Excellence
was released in 1986. There was a genuine media blitz surrounding the release of the album that prompted my first concert at Radio City Music Hall, which launched the “Art of Excellence Tour.” A special bonus that year was when WBCN radio in Boston became the first rock station to spin my new record, all because of the enthusiasm of their promotions director, Chachi Loprete. I sold 150,000 records, showing Columbia that it could indeed be done if you did it right. It really made them prick up their ears.

Along with my career straightening out, my personal life took a major change for the better. I guess because I’ve been a perpetual optimist all my life, forging ahead and willing myself to gravitate to the good things, the negativity started to evaporate. It was a lucky day for me when I became acquainted with a beautiful lady Susan Crow. She’s happy, thoughtful, truthful, intelligent, and she comes from a terrific family She’s helped me balance my life, think straight, and become a healthy person. She has a special way about her that I’ve never found in anyone else. For ten years I’ve spent all my time with her and every day feels like the day I first met her. Last year she graduated from Columbia University, and she now teaches Social Studies at the La Guardia School of Music and the Performing Arts.