[Dixielandjazz] Tony Bennett biography reviewed

[Robert Ringwald]

'All the Things You Are: The Life of Tony Bennett'
A fascinating bio of the 'not fascinating' vocal legend
by Jeff Tamarkin
JazzTimes.com, October 6, 2011
Toward the end of "All the Things You Are," his entertaining and informative biography
of Tony Bennett, author David Evanier quotes jazz critic John McDonough on the book's
subject. "Tony is just kind of a regular guy," McDonough tells him. "There's nothing
that's fascinating about him. If you went up to him, he'd probably be glad to shake
your hand. You wouldn't be intimidated, because there's nothing there that's really
intimidating. There's not a lot of mystery there with Tony Bennett. He's a great
singer, but he's not a fascinating person."
This begs two questions: First, why write a biography of a person who is not fascinating?
And second, why title that book "All the Things You Are" when apparently there's
a lot more that Tony Bennett isn't than is? Not to worry though: those questions
are answered more easily than you might think, because it's that utter un-fascinating-ness
that makes Tony Bennett both a special artist and -- as the life story told within
repeatedly makes clear -- a stand-up guy whose integrity has never taken a blow and
who sincerely lives for his music (and, less heralded but no less important to him,
his painting). "All the Things You Are" -- its title taken from a song perhaps best
known from Bennett's 1962 Carnegie Hall live album -- turns out to be the perfect
title after all, because all of the things Tony Bennett is are right there for all
the world to see.
It's tempting to brand the book a hagiography, but it's not one. Evanier -- who previously
published bios of two other Italian-American singers, Jimmy Roselli and Bobby Darin
-- doesn't need to whitewash Bennett's story because the record speaks for itself.
Although Frank Sinatra adored him, Bennett is not a Sinatra hothead. When the subject
of the Mafia enters the picture -- and no Italian-American artist of Bennett's era
could evade them -- it's explained that Bennett simply did not have the temperament
to deal with their like and bought his way out of their clutches rather than play
into their game. "He was emotionally unsuited for them," Evanier writes. "He had
a sensitive, artistic and contemplative nature even as he was ferociously ambitious
and tenacious about his music."
Accordingly, the bulk of the story is given over to the music. Bennett is and always
has been a singer's singer. A voracious appetite for song drives him; he knows who
he is and what his gift is, and he has protected and nurtured that gift from the
start. On those occasions in his life when he did flare up, music usually dwelled
at the root of his anger: a producer trying to coax him into recording songs he did
not feel, a record deal gone sour, a promoter not respecting him. Bennett's much-publicized
rock-bottom period of the 1970s -- he departed Columbia Records, his home of two
decades, for the lesser MGM label; nearly overdosed on cocaine; and battled the IRS
-- could, as well, be attributed to the music. By that time singers of Bennett's
ilk had largely been cast aside by the rock-dominated music business and Bennett,
refusing to alter his style or pander by covering contemporary pop (ironic considering
that Lady Gaga is among the collaborators on his new best-selling "Duets II" album),
went down with the ship rather than embarrass himself with inferior work. Only when
he went to his sons and asked for their help in escaping his morass did his still-ongoing
resurrection begin to take shape.
For Bennett, the music has always been more than a meal ticket. Born during the Depression
he discovered early on that he could sing well and get paid for it. After having
turned professional, he began his recording career in the early '50s, modeling his
vocal approach after the coolness of Stan Getz's saxophone and the precision of Art
Tatum's piano. It was Duke Ellington who advised him to mix in a bit of grit ("He
was ready for that," writes Evanier, "because of his hardscrabble life experience."),
resulting in the signature style he maintains to this day.
Bennett's first chart-toppers came in 1951 and for the rest of that decade and into
the early to mid-'60s he was commercially golden, racking up Grammys and living the
good life. He sang only songs that meant something to him. "Like an actor," Evanier
writes, "he thought autobiographically as he sang, as if the lyrics described an
experience he had gone through." Sinatra called Bennett the "only other" saloon singer
and praised him often. He wasn't the only one -- Bennett has long been the rare artist
of his generation loved by critics and a vast variety of music fans, many of whom
did not even know who he was until Bennett was already in his 70s or early 80s (he
is 85 now). Free again to be the singer he is, and maintaining an active life (his
third and current marriage has been his most successful), Bennett has flourished
in recent years, his youthful exuberance and undiminished charm and talent bringing
to him a level of success and adoration he hasn't enjoyed since the dawn of his career.
Remarkably, through it all, the ups, downs and in-betweens, he's remained humble
and relatively untouched by it all, a regular Tony who delights in taking walks around
his beloved New York, always dresses nattily, maintains a wide smile, and continues
to love doing what he does best. "Tony Bennett can still say with utmost simplicity
that if he had been a singing waiter for the rest of his life, he would have been
happy," writes Evanier, referring to an early job the young Anthony Benedetto held.
There really aren't many others about whom that can honestly be said, and that in
itself is pretty darn fascinating.


--Bob Ringwald
www.ringwald.com
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I hate all this terrorist business. 
I used to love the days when you could look at an unattended bag on a train or bus and think to yourself
"I'm going to take that."