Tony Bennett preps for 91st birthday concert
CHICAGO—On Aug. 4, one day after he turns 91, Tony Bennett will take the stage of the Ravinia Festival, in Highland Park, Ill.
If past performances—such as last year’s—are any indication, he’ll perform about two dozen songs from memory. Some will be up-tempo, and Bennett may soft-shoe alongside the piano in swing time, drawing instant ovations for his energy and grace. Many tunes will be ballads, and if he follows precedent, he’ll stretch vocal lines and sustain long notes longer than most people his age, or any other, can.
In the end, he’ll remind listeners of the depth and breadth of his repertoire and his lifelong commitment to what some call the Great American Songbook and he terms simply “the silver lining songs.” Meaning that even at their darkest, these masterworks by George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Duke Ellington, Billy Strayhorn, Jerome Kern, Irving Berlin and others inspire optimism and hope through the sheer poetry of their melody lines, poignancy of their harmonies and eloquence of their lyrics.
Yet the overriding question remains: Why does he still do it?
Why, after more than half a century before the public, does Bennett still feel compelled to jet around the globe, invite comparisons to his more youthful work and, just before showtime, experience “butterflies, right in the little tummy,” as he put it to me in 2013 (when he was a mere 87)? At such moments, Bennett continued, “I just say, ‘I hope everything works.’”
So far, it always has, but why put yourself through this when you really have nothing left to prove?
“I like to make people feel good,” says Bennett today. “I’ve always liked that. I still enjoy doing that. I feel that it’s a gift to be alive, and I just try to communicate that to the audience, that they should all feel very good about their lives.”
If this sounds a little Pollyannaish, don’t be fooled. For all of Bennett’s well-known joie de vivre, some of his best work—past and present—has emerged in the most profound jazz arias ever penned. Certainly he has created definitive versions of ballads such as “How Do Keep the Music Playing?” and “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?,” both with music by Michel Legrand and lyrics by Alan and Marilyn Bergman. Earlier in Bennett’s career, his recordings of bleak, sharp-edged classics such as “While the Music Plays On,” “Cold, Cold Heart” and “I Wanna Be Around” pointed to an artist unafraid of exploring the darker recesses of the human psyche.
So though Bennett remains optimistic to the core—“I believe in that all the time,” he says—he has a very specific intent when he veers from his more exuberant repertoire.
“If you perform,” he explains, “you have to do things in contrast, so that it stays interesting for everybody.”
Part of doing so, of course, con-
cerns vocal control and tone, and Bennett obviously sounds somewhat different than he did long ago. But unlike his close friend and colleague Frank Sinatra, Bennett in his youth never was a purveyor of a silken sound, instead offering a sinewy tone and quasi-operatic delivery. So the cragginess one hears in Bennett’s voice today (and in late Sinatra, as well), doesn’t feel like a great departure from earlier work.
In both instances, though, these two master song interpreters proved late in life that the grain and grit of their vocals only enriched the meaning of their work.
Bennett, of course, has been widely lauded for his enormous contribution, the Library of Congress recently announcing that he will be the next recipient of its Gershwin Prize for Popular Song (an honor previously bestowed upon Stevie Wonder, Paul McCartney, Carole King and the songwriting team of Burt Bacharach and Hal David, among others).
What does this latest accolade mean to Bennett?
“In the music business, it’s going to number one,” says the singer, who knew lyricist Ira Gershwin (composer George Gershwin died in 1937, at age 38, before Bennett was on the scene).
“He was a wonderful man,” says Bennett of George Gershwin’s songwriting partner. “They had a way of communicating musically so that everybody just looked at it like the best kind of American music.”
Bennett knows full well that this year is a big one in jazz, for it marks the centennials of several key figures. And Bennett is old enough to have known many of them personally, starting with singer Ella Fitzgerald.
“She was the finest entertainer I ever met,” says Bennett. “She lived next door to me. We became great friends. And she was always so happy to be so accepted by the public. She just adored the audience.
“I was so impressed with her . ... There’s nobody who sang better than that. She was one of a kind. Every year she becomes bigger and bigger.”
Trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie “was my neighbor in Englewood, N.J., and he would come by,” remembers Bennett. “And I couldn’t believe it. The biggest entertainer at that time . ... He had the greatest spirit. He led the way to show everybody that America presented the best kind of music.”
By which, of course, Bennett means jazz: “It’s beautiful,” says Bennett, “it’s the most progressive thing that happens throughout the world.”
Jazz, in other words, like Bennett himself, continually evolves.
As for another singular centenarian, singer Lena Horne, Bennett observes that “she was so glamorous and so talented at the same time.”
Remarkably, it seems just possible that Bennett could be around to celebrate his own centennial.
“I’m going to 110,” he says, with characteristic optimism.
“I’m hoping for that.”
So are millions of listeners.