Life Is a Gift: The Zen of Bennett

by Tony Bennett

  Achieving excellence in the things you’re attempting to create is truly a matter of patience and learning proper technique. By looking at the paintings of the French Impressionist Manet, another of my favorites, I discovered how important it is to paint what you see. Manet was criticized for making some of his religious figures too humanlike, but he went ahead and painted Christ and the angels that way anyway. Manet’s example taught me that you have to take note of what the critics say, but then go ahead and follow your own instincts.

  I have so many favorite artists, but two others that really set the mark for me are John Singer Sargent and the Spanish painter Joaquín Sorolla. They were both post-Impressionist; they broke things down into values, as opposed to just color. Nature itself is made up of values; every leaf is different, and no one snowflake is the same as the next. Even though a leaf may be green, it is unique unto itself. Sargent and Sorolla painted in that way, replicating a sense of nature.

  Of course they learned from the master, Diego Velázquez, the father of modern art. His painting Las Meninas showed for the first time the subjects reflected from different perspectives in a mirror. This is how Picasso came up with the Cubist approach. It’s so amazing to think how much there is to learn from these great artists. I always say that I learn more by looking back.

  I’ve had the privilege to become friends with and learn from David Hockney. I attended one of his lectures in Toronto, and afterward he invited me to his studio, and we hit it off. I consider David a teacher first, and a painter second. He’s a big fan of ancient Chinese art, and whenever I get to hang with him in his art studio in Los Angeles, he always pulls out his Chinese scrolls and walks me through the way they tell stories.

  As David carefully unrolls a scroll, he describes the difference in perspective that comes and goes, so the viewer’s eye is constantly in motion. As he explains it, this is how our eyes perceive images in real life. We are always scanning different views of what is around us, including those from our peripheral vision. When you look at David’s paintings, you can see that he has taken the Cubist approach to a new level, due to his intense study and understanding of those classic works. It serves as another example to me of how important it is to learn from what has been done before.

  A funny story happened with David. One day in my office, the fax machine started spitting out about fifty sheets of printed paper. Each page had an image on it, and we soon realized that it was like a big jigsaw puzzle. When we put it together, it was a six-by-six-foot scan of a new painting David had done. On the image in the painting was a coffee table with a folded Los Angeles Times newspaper lying on top, on which David painted a portrait of me as the front-page headline. That’s just one example of David’s creativity, and also his great sense of humor.

  Recently David told me that the young people today aren’t learning how to draw, because they’re doing everything on computers. But drawing is essential; it’s like the foundation of a house. I feel strongly that if you can’t draw, you can’t paint. It’s about mastering the basics before you can move forward.

  Interestingly enough, people tend to think that it’s an expensive proposition to buy art supplies, but quite the contrary. David turned me on to these certain drawing pencils that you can find in any corner stationery store, and on top of that, they’re really cheap. They have the perfect lead point and texture to get the job done right. It just goes to show that you can never underestimate the hidden qualities of the things around us.

  British art professor John Barnicoat has had an important influence on my work, as well. I met John when I lived in England in the early seventies, and he gave me private lessons in my flat near Grosvenor Square. He was so inspiring to me, and encouraged me in my determination to become a skilled painter.

  I never had an ambition to become a famous artist. Instead, I paint because I have a passion for it. It’s as simple as that. When the Smithsonian announced that it was going to include one of my pieces in its permanent collection—in the company of artists like John Singer Sargent, Winslow Homer, and James McNeill Whistler—I felt so honored. I paint for myself and to express myself, but it is still a very rewarding feeling to have my work recognized, as the Smithsonian has done.

  Cary Grant was another person who always made me feel really good about my pursuit of art. He had seen my painting South of France when I showed it to Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show, and he wanted to buy it. I told him I’d like to give it to him as a gift, but he insisted on paying for it. Later when I visited his home, I realized why he liked it so much—the painting looked exactly like the view from his window!

  Cary never agreed to do television interviews; he was truly a movie star. But the one time he did was when he bought that piece of artwork. I was playing at the Hollywood Bowl and Cary said, “Let’s tell the press I bought the painting.” I’ve never seen that many press agents in my life—thirty reporters were there. I felt so proud that he’d used the occasion to tell people about my work.

  The more you learn about art, the better you get at it. Painting should seem to be effortless; it’s a matter of concentration and study. I feel that I have a good ten years to go before I can consider myself a highly competent painter—not excellent, but competent. If you’re really an artist, you always feel that you could fail at any level. But you have to keep plugging away at it and have faith that at some point you can achieve the art of excellence—or at least come as close to it as possible.

  The Zen of Bennett

  Nature is the master artist.

  We can always seek beauty and inspiration in the world around us.

  Painting is a difficult process that has to appear effortless.

  Have faith that at some point you can achieve the art of excellence—or at least come as close to it as possible.

  Rosemary Clooney

  6

  Fame on the Brain

  I have to be honest: sometimes when I look around, I feel as if I’m from another planet. Over my lifetime I’ve seen so many things change, and the values of today’s society can seem so foreign to me. I grew up at a time when Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers filmed a movie at the famous Rainbow Room atop Rockefeller Center, and you weren’t allowed to cross that threshold without donning a tuxedo. Today when people ask me why I always wear a suit and tie, I tell them it’s because I want to be different.

  My point is, our values have shifted so much that the world is full of hidden pitfalls. The kids are just starting to reach for the stars, and they really don’t realize that there isn’t always gold at the end of the rainbow. I know that keeping your eyes on the prize is particularly challenging these days, as we are all inundated by a commercial world. Greed is everywhere; Wall Street is all about “I’ve got mine, the hell with the rest of the world,” and in the end this attitude certainly breeds contempt. We put so much value on how much money we are making that it sends the wrong message, especially to younger people.

  Early on in my own career, the legendary singer Pearl Bailey was a huge supporter and believer in my talent. Fortunately for me, she took me under her wing and opened up opportunities for me that changed my life. In fact, the owner of a club in Greenwich Village called the Village Inn would let me hang out there and perform whenever he had an opening. One night when I was sitting at the bar, I overheard him say that he wanted to bring in some larger crowds, and that he was trying to get Pearl Bailey to headline there. After I sang a few numbers, he came up to me and said, “I talked to Miss Bailey, and she agreed to perform here on one condition: that you are on the bill with her.”

  I couldn’t believe it; you never know when lightning is going to strike. That turned out to be my big break, and it’s why I became a firm believer in meeting opportunity with preparedness. After Pearl and I worked together, we became fast friends. She gave me many “pearls” of wisdom about the business, but most important, she drummed into me a very important lesson about staying humble. “Son, look out for the fame on the brain,” she to
ld me. “Success can be great, but it can also destroy you. Watch out for that helium on the brain.”

  There is so much truth to that statement. I’ve seen it happen time and time again—even more so today, when fame is held in such high esteem. You have to make sure that you take care of yourself and don’t get a swelled head. You’re only as good as your next show; the last one is already in the past. But it’s hard to realize this when you are riding the tide of early popularity.

  There has to be a sense of longevity about your career—not only instant fame, because fame can go just like that in a flash, as fast as it comes. But if you dedicate yourself to your passion and do it with care, you will always have that to fall back on. So I try to show people that by sticking with quality and staying true to their integrity, they’ll have a better chance of being around a lot longer.

  Pearl also warned me about how much hard work was ahead of me, and the dues I would have to pay before I could call myself a professional. “It will take at least ten years before you really learn how to walk on the stage,” she told me. That was the best advice; I think seasoned performers should tell new artists this, so that any early success doesn’t create “fame on the brain” and cause problems later on down the line.

  When Pearl married my good friend Louis Bellson, the incredible drummer, we became even closer. Eventually she introduced me to Bob Hope, who had come to see her at the Village Inn. He got a big kick out of me because I was the only white kid in the show, and he ended up inviting me to open for him at the Paramount theater.

  At that time, I was using the stage name Joe Bari (after the town in Italy of the same name). Bob thought it sounded a bit corny and asked me what my real name was. I told him that it was Anthony Dominick Benedetto, and Bob said that was too long for the marquee. Then he added, “Let’s just shorten it to Tony Bennett.” Isn’t that amazing? Bob Hope ended up giving me my name. You see, one thing can lead to another. You just have to keep yourself out there.

  I have experienced so many humbling moments over the years. Not too many people know this, but Rosemary Clooney and I were the original “American idols.” I first appeared with Rosie on an early television talent scout show. A group of producers would then vote for the winner. Rosie came in first; rightfully so. She was a beautiful singer and a good friend.

  As it happened, a few weeks later we were both chosen to do a summer television slot on a show called Songs for Sale, which was a talent contest as well, but for aspiring songwriters. Rosie and I would sing the songs, and a panel of experts judged the tunes. We didn’t have time to memorize the lyrics, and professional cue-card holders didn’t exist back then, so the producers just used stagehands to hold up the words on cards.

  The stagehands were bored out of their minds and only wanted to get back to their poker games, so they’d hold the cards upside down or sideways; anything to mess us up. The songs were already hard to sing, and we were in a panic every show because we had to practically make up our own lyrics on the spot, live. Somehow we managed to struggle through it.

  We’d try to sneak out at the end of the show because the losing songwriters would come after us and blame Rosie and me if they lost; they would corner us and harass us for ruining their songs. We got to be experts at coming up with inventive ways to duck out of the studio, going down the basement stairs or out through the fire escapes. All for the sum of a hundred bucks a week! So this was the start of my big television career. It was very discomfiting, but it was good practice at honing my skill in improvisation. It did feel great to have been discovered like that when we were young, and when I think of the hit talent shows we see on television today, it only proves to me that everything old becomes new again.

  Even though the world of showbiz can be full of excitement and new experiences, sometimes getting all that attention can have its downside. There were many occasions when the fans could get out of control. There was one particular time in the early fifties when I was badly mobbed by a group of teenage fans whom we called “the Bennettones.”

  I was appearing at a girls’ school graduation ceremony in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, right when “Because of You” was topping the charts. The students hadn’t been told ahead of time that I was going to be there, and as soon as one of the teachers stood up and announced, “All right, don’t get too excited, but we have Tony Bennett here to perform for you,” the young women went absolutely crazy and started stampeding the stage. I had to make a mad dash, and they ended up chasing me all over the park.

  These girls were running after me like they were possessed; I felt that I was fleeing for my life. I wound up hiding in a little park shelter, but when they finally got hold of me, they ripped my clothes. I was just relieved to get out of there in one piece.

  Aside from incidents like that, I was happy with my newfound success. The best thing was that I was finally able to buy a house for my mother. My dream had been to get her to be able to retire from her seamstress job; that was my number-one goal, and anything after that was icing on the cake.

  I always tried to remember Pearl Bailey’s words of wisdom about not letting praise or success go to my head. Any artist working today—particularly people who enjoy even a small bit of fame—would do well to heed her warning. When Fred Astaire gave me one of the best compliments I have ever received, I thought back to what Pearl said, even though it was difficult to be humble when receiving praise from a legend like Astaire.

  Fred mentioned to me once that he liked the song “I Used to Be Color Blind,” which he had introduced in a film. “You know,” I told him, “I just made a record with Torrie Zito, and we did that song.” Fred asked to listen to the recording, and when he was done, he said to me, “You’re it.” I thought, All the humbleness has left me now. But, joking aside, I was blown away by those simple words. Coming from him, they were very powerful. Still, I remembered what Pearl had said and tried to not let his praise go to my head.

  I also try to surround myself with other artists who don’t have fame on the brain. k.d. lang is one of these artists. Besides the fact that she sings like an angel, what I love about her is her amazing mind. I first met k.d. when I invited her to sing a duet with me for MTV’s Unplugged. We performed “Moonglow,” and we had so much fun that we’ve been good friends ever since.

  Over the years we’ve toured together and collaborated on an album of our favorite songs, and she participated on both of my duet records. k.d. is so quick and intelligent with her musical choices and with the moves she makes onstage, which always turn out to be right on. Not to mention that she has a God-given gift in her voice; no one sings like she does. And we both are very honest people, which makes for a genuine performance. She’s also a painter, and we always compare notes. Recently she gave me three volumes of The Complete Letters of Vincent Van Gogh, which was such a thoughtful present.

  k.d. and I did concerts together for a month in Australia, and she’s a tough act to follow because the audience loves her so much. One night while we were on tour in Melbourne, I was having dinner with her at the home of my watercolor teacher, Robert Wade, and his wife. When the meal was over, k.d. jumped up and said, “Can I help you with the dishes?” They were so impressed with the fact that she offered to help clean up; it’s just so unexpected for that to happen. I love that kind of down-to-earth attitude, particularly from someone who’s a big star like she is.

  I feel that you have to keep yourself grounded and stay in touch with the things around you that are important. I don’t understand performers who get too big for their fans. If it weren’t for my fans, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I never lose sight of that, and that’s why I don’t like having an entourage and security guards. I think those trappings just invite trouble. I strive to keep things as normal as possible; I love doing things for myself. There are many days when you will find me with my easel quietly painting in Central Park all alone. Most people are very respectful of my privacy, and I appreciate that. I believe that what you give, you
will receive.

  The Zen of Bennett

  Look out for the fame on the brain—if you’re not careful, success can destroy you.

  It takes ten years to learn how to walk out on the stage.

  You’re only as good as your next show—the last one is already in the past.

  Carmen McRae at the Blue Note, May ’90

  7

  Never Underestimate the Public

  Respect plays a big role for me in life. Respect for oneself and for others eliminates hate, and encourages love in those around us. I’m a firm believer in “do unto others.” As long as people are not hurting or imposing their beliefs on others, we should live and let live. Serving the community and giving back are what America is all about.

  I’ve been able to apply this concept as a performer, and I see firsthand how it works. I never underestimate the power that we have to effect change. It’s popular these days to put down the public as uneducated, and insist they don’t know what’s best for themselves. In particular, politicians and corporations have an attitude that they are better than everyone else. This is a joke; they forget that without the people, they are nothing. They think they can just hand them something stupid, and they’ll all go for it. Sure, sometimes that works, but it’s momentary. There will always be fads, yet those are only temporary. Poor material always ends up in the junkyard.

  In a way, I consider myself a public servant; I feel I have a responsibility to do my job with quality, and trust that listeners know what they like, and what they don’t. If I were to walk out onstage thinking I’m superior to the people in the seats, I would lose them right then and there. They can sense your attitude. You can’t fake it; they’ll pick up your body language, see right through you, and say, “This guy is trying to pull something over on us, and he isn’t going to be any good.” But if they see someone who’s in shape, walking out with energy, they’re gonna say, “Boy, this is going to be a fabulous performance.” They know right off the bat; they’re sharper than you could ever imagine. Once you respect them, they’ll immediately respect you. But if you disrespect them, they’ll do the same. There’s no such thing as a cold audience—there’s only an inferior performance.