Tony Bennett: Silky Smooth, But a Testament to Grit
Bennett performing in Hot Springs, Ark., in 2003 and, above left, in a promotional shot for his 1956 summer TV series.
(By Alison B. Harbour -- Sentinel-record Via Associated Press)
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Sunday, December 4, 2005
NEW YORK Tony Bennett was hosting a 50th birthday party for himself out in Beverly Hills, deep in the palm trees, and skipping from conversation to conversation. He happened to spot Cary Grant in the crowd and strolled over to tell Grant about his interest in doing some movie work, or maybe sitcoms.
Grant shook his head no-no-no-no.
"Cary Grant said: 'Don't do films. It's boring,' " Bennett recalls. " 'You sit around all day long waiting to film a scene. Keep doing what you're doing: Go around the world. Be in front of live audiences.' "
And that's exactly what Bennett has been doing. Going around the world. Crooning and smiling, a 50-year balladeer, achieving that rare feat of square-shouldering himself into one decade -- the '50s-- then another, the '60s, then into another, the '90s.
The great Lena Horne once went on the road with him. Sinatra used to brag on him. He was the first white singer to record with Count Basie's band.
From the beginning, the hits stacked up like dominoes -- "Because of You" in 1951, "Rags to Riches" in 1953, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" in 1962, "The Good Life" in 1963. There have been Grammys aplenty.
The life, of course, has not been without slides, dark moments. Some years he seemed to vanish. Some years he seemed to be looking for the right music. There were two divorces and problems with drugs. But endurance matters. And there came wonderful second and third acts in the life of Tony Bennett. Reissues of old albums and the recording of new ones.
The midnight crooner is 79 now and on his way to Washington to receive the Kennedy Center Honors. A "singer's singer," proclaims the center.
A lot of decades and crazes and fads lie behind Bennett. But the songs are still being sung.
He's always been hard to categorize. One of his early hits was a pop version of Hank Williams's "Cold, Cold Heart." Some mention him in the same breath with Sinatra and Mel Torme. If so, he's Sinatra without the angst, without the vulgarity. He'll sign autographs till his hands are sore. He walks Manhattan streets alone. As if he realizes how magically sweet it is for the public to see a legend by himself, without bodyguard or entourage.
So, a life that started in Queens has come to the Kennedy Center. "Imagine that," Bennett says, his voice a velvety hoarseness, as if it's coming from behind a pair of curtains. "What a great country it is."
Hard Times, Bright Dreams
Bennett is sitting in his apartment overlooking Central Park South. He's wearing a dark green suit, white shirt and lime green tie. A red pocket square is puffed just so from the suit jacket. It might as well be 1947. He might as well be crossing a bar to jawbone with Art Tatum or Nat King Cole or Philly Jo Jones.
