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 told 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.
