Pop-jazz singing legend Tony Bennett died July 21 at age 96, after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease seven years earlier. His 75-year career followed a classic three-act structure: a rise through the 1950s and early ‘60s that culminated in his biggest hit, “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” in 1962; the loss of pop opportunities as rock took over, resulting in deeper explorations into jazz; and a return to superstardom in the 1990s as he won the album of the year Grammy for “MTV Unplugged.”
Actually, “we had a fourth act, with Lady Gaga, that lasted 10 years,” says his son, Danny Bennett. Danny became his dad’s manager in 1979 and oversaw one of the great comebacks in music, which began with multiple MTV appearances, ran into all-star duets albums and ended with Bennett and Gaga taping a final special at Radio City Music Hall on his 95th birthday.
Danny Bennett spoke with Variety on Monday about his father, who he, like everyone, called “Tony,” and is celebrating as well as grieving. Excerpts from our conversation with him follow.
We’re kind of following Tony’s wishes, and he was very low-key with all that. Everyone stay tuned on that. We’re just trying to stay true to him. His wife, Susan, was just incredible, 24/7. We’re all a little dazed right now, but we have plenty of time to figure that out.
This was a broad shot heard around the world. With the outpouring of love for this man, I knew that he touched a lot of people, but with the comments I’ve been getting from people who are calling me from over the decades, I’ve been very, very overwhelmed. … I’ve never been starstruck, but I’m certainly heartstruck.
He understood his instrument so well. He did scales all the time — bel canto — and was a firm believer in that. Even though it’s a cliche, like a a good bottle of wine, he just got better. When we were touring with Lady Gaga, they alternated going out, and she watched him every night. He’d pull the mic away, and she’d go, “What’s he doing?” I said, “Watch the audience. He pulls the mic away and they all lean in because they want to hear it.” She’s like, “Oh my God.” Your instinct is to get louder, but no — Tony said, ‘Come to me.’ That understanding is why artists like Bill Evans, who didn’t really even like vocalists, or the Count Basies and Duke Ellingtons appreciated that aspect of him, as a musician. He sang every day; so does Gaga, and that’s why the two of them were like peas in a pod — just their ages were different.
I always said that Sinatra was like the Rolling Stones and Tony was like the Beatles. You had that dichotomy happening… People wanted to take him home.
But Sinatra was on a pedestal for Tony. He named the school that he founded after him — the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts, in Astoria. I battled with him on that! I’m like, “That’s your legacy!” And he said, “No, this is what you do. You honor your mentors.” He was always very humble like that.
He always wanted to wear a tie, to be different (from his contemporaries). He talked about how Lenny Bruce said, “There is nothing sadder than an aged hepster.” So When they had the big earthquake in L.A., he was staying at the Peninsula Hotel; it was 3 in the morning and they had evacuated the hotel and everyone went out on the median on Little Santa Monica. Everyone’s in their pajamas, and there’s Tony in a suit and tie!
In the ’50s, he and Mitch Miller [Bennett’s mentor at Columbia Records] argued like crazy. They were cats and dogs. To Mitch’s credit, ‘Because of You” and “Rags to Riches,” those hits were all Mitch’s records. But Tony just wanted to sing jazz. Tony said that when he was playing the Paramount at one point during that time, he felt like he was ripping the audience off, because he wanted to be playing with Duke Ellington, and he thought this was just kind of bubblegum, pop Idol stuff. And then Mitch almost dropped him from the label, until “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” happened (in 1962).
Mitch called me up two months before he died, and he was like, “Oh my God, jazz, that’s all he wanted to talk about. Jazz, jazz, jazz. I told him not to sing jazz, and jazz is a thing that saved his career. You gotta tell Tony — I was wrong.” And I was like, wow, OK. okay. I was meeting with Tony a couple days later, and I said, “Hey, by the way, Mitch Miller called and he wanted me to tell you….” Our meetings often consisted of him painting while I’m talking… I said, “Mitch wanted me to tell you that he was wrong.” And Tony didn’t even look at me. He just said, “Tell me something new.”
After the ’90s, people kept saying I helped reinvent him. I say: He never changed. That’s not reinvention. I kind of reinvented the audience, but I didn’t touch him. That’s the beauty of it. I saw that vision that he had. He hated demographics. But everyone says, “Oh, MTV. Who would’ve thought of that?” Well, I was in my office one day and he stuck his head in and said, “Hey, I’m watching MTV… I can do that.” And then he walked out. I knew those were my marching orders! So I had to kind of figure that out. When I first pitched the idea of Tony being on the MTV Awards, (presenting) with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, you wouldn’t believe the phone calls I got beforehand — like, “You’re destroying his career; you’re alienating his audience.” I don’t know if it was overconfidence, but I was like, “Call me the day after the show.”
He did “MTV Unplugged” after that, and when he got the Grammy album of the year award for the album, I know it sounds corny, but I told everybody that Tony spelled backwards is “Y-N-O-T.” He always said, “When they zig, I want to zag.”
At one point when I was putting him on those Christmas shows that the alternative radio stations were doing. I remember the first one, with WHSF in RFK Stadium in Washington in 1995, with 60,000 kids, and he’s going on between PJ Harvey and Nine Inch Nails. For him, that was like he was in outer space. He turned to me in the wings and said, “Let me ask you something. Do you think Frank would do this?” And I said, “Nope. And that’s why you are.” He looked at me and gave me that Tony thumbs-up thing, and he went out and killed it.
We loved taking chances. But he took chances on stage every single night. I always say he never sang the same thing twice, and this is why musicians were just so enamored of him.
Doing the final special with Gaga at Radio City Music Hall two years ago was nerve-wracking. We’re finishing this documentary called “The Lady and the Legend,” which is going to be on Paramount+ in September, and it chronicles their 10-year relationship. What you see in this documentary is not what you saw on the special. You’re seeing backstage, where people are like, “He has no idea where he is.” And Gaga, rightfully, was like, “Is this the right thing to do?” But I just knew that when he hit that stage, it was going to all come back. It went so well that I actually got accused of saying that he had Alzheimer’s as a publicity stunt, because people didn’t believe it. I was nervous, but I thought, “I see it in his eye. This is how he would want to go out. This is what he needs.” And I’m very proud that we were able to do that for him.
What’s great about the doc that we met Gaga at a time when she was not feeling great about things — you know, “Artpop” and splitting up with Troy (Carter, her former manager), and she was doubting herself. And you watch Tony nurturing her, and telling her to move straight ahead and believe in herself. And then all of a sudden at the end, she is supporting him. It’s a full circle and it’s beautiful.
I’m very excited for people to see this because you really gain understanding of these two great artists and their passion for music — and look, that’s what Tony represented. He enveloped the American dream and showed that if you stay with your passion, if you stay with quality, if you stick to your guns, opportunities will open up. And then it’s up to you to take advantage of those opportunities. And, and he showed us the possibilities, you know?
When he was working with Amy Winehouse on their duet, they were friends, and he kept going, “I gotta talk to her. I gotta tell her … Bill Evans called me up before he died, and he was like, ‘I’m sinning against my talent.’” That, to him, was abhorrent. His message was to take those opportunities and not waste them.
He was always approachable; didn’t have security around, didn’t want any of that. Any time a fan came up, he said, “I wouldn’t be here without them.” He had an undying belief in the public. And in this crazy, mixed-up, upside-down world we live in these days, he brought sanity.
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