As an artist, I think that people misinterpret the notion of free form and improvisation. It’s often thought that improvisation means that anything goes, but it is quite the opposite. There is mastery to the art of self-expression—knowing just what to put in and what to leave out. It’s imperative to master your craft; then and only then can you intelligently make changes.
Louis Bellson, Pearl Bailey’s husband, was an amazing drummer who once told me: “You have to first learn form before you can be free to experiment. You can’t successfully break the rules until you learn the rules you’re breaking.” This was fantastic advice, and it came from someone who was known for his innovative improvising. Look at Picasso; his early paintings are classical in style. If you don’t know how to do the classic forms of your art, you won’t know what to do next.
By studying the great musical improvisers over the years, I’ve learned ways to keep the public’s interest. I try to give them the unexpected so they never know what’s going to happen next. They’re on the edge of their seats for the whole performance. I always admired Count Basie’s music; he was a master of dynamics—first soft, and then loud. There would be unexpected little hits and then a series of knockout punches, boom boom bam! Basie’s sound was based on the blues, but at the same time it was very modern. His philosophy was one of blending a great beat with a compelling melody.
I never heard Basie play a wrong tempo. He could change up a song in ways I would have never imagined possible. But no matter what he did, it was always in perfect time. This requires incredible care and skill. Only when you have the fundamentals of a piece just right can you experiment with it, as Basie did so successfully. Every piece has a certain beat, and if you find it intuitively, it couldn’t be better. Basie was a master of knowing how to do that. When you listen to him, you think, Yes, that’s exactly the right tempo.
You can’t talk about tempo without mentioning Louis Armstrong. He was an amazing jazz performer, and his incredible skill allowed him to be such an inventive musician. He invented swing, a strictly American form of music that will never go out of style, because it’s our national tempo. Louis invented bop; he invented rap. Whatever the next category that comes out, you’ll discover that he was the first one who did it. Even in the years of severe bigotry, he was able to cut through all the racism by virtue of his sheer genius. He was also generous in his praise of other artists. Once they asked Louis, “Who’s the greatest jazz singer you ever heard?” He said, “After Ella?” I thought that was just beautiful.
When I was starting out, I was criticized for making music my own. Musicians would tell me that I needed to sing extended phrases that people could dance to. But as a student of the bel canto technique, when I sang songs like “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” I sang very dramatically; I sang it my way.
Thankfully the composer Harold Arlen gave me the permission to make music my own. Harold, who was the musical director for Harlem’s Cotton Club, explained to me that I should use popular music as a tool to perform and experiment with. He said I should alter a song any way that I wanted, and not to be afraid to make it a waltz or a swing or a ballad; to just change it so it worked for me as an artist and performer. His attitude was very refreshing, because other composers would want me to sing their pieces note for note the way they wrote them, and they’d get bent out of shape if I didn’t sing it “correctly.” Fred Astaire once told me, “Look at the song through the composer’s eyes. Then look at it again with a new idea, but one that’s true to what was intended.” I think that really expresses how to take a song and make it your own.
Astaire also told me, “All I ever tried to do was knock people out of their seats.” And he did—in the same way that Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews did with My Fair Lady. When they performed that show on Broadway, every single night they sang like it was opening night. That’s how it has to be done—just like it’s the first time, every single time. The flatness has to disappear. If you bring that kind of attitude to your work, you’ll never go wrong.
I believe that spontaneous improvisation—free form—is the single greatest art form there is, and I’m on a mission to teach this to the younger generation. The duets albums have exposed a whole new audience to the ideas of jazz and improvising. Recording duets with such a variety of artists did present its challenges. It’s a real game to adjust to the other person’s voice, making it contrast with yours. But the contrast is what makes for a good performance. You have to feel where the accents belong, and it’s not always that obvious. So it becomes a bit of a game, a back and forth; it’s a very creative process.
When John Mayer and I recorded “One for My Baby,” I gave John the direction to imagine that we were just two guys who got jilted by their women and started talking at a bar. We threw in things that these guys would say to each other when they were out drinking. It was so much fun to do it on the spot like that for the album, and John seemed to enjoy it, too. He’s a very talented guy.
Lady Gaga really understands free form because she’s different every time she goes onstage. She played a man so convincingly on MTV’s music awards; it was an Academy Award–worthy performance. Gaga is a great example of someone who honed her craft by learning the rules—doing the difficult work of attending college—before she started to break them. She’s so creative that if people in the business allow her to be herself, she could become the next Picasso of music.
I had the privilege of getting to know and performing with Amy Winehouse on my Duets II album. To me, Amy sang the correct way; she was ready to take chances right on the spot. She would try a different phrasing in front of an audience, or on a recording. There are a lot of straight-on singers who sound wonderful, but Amy sang for the moment and in the moment, and to me, that’s a more honest approach. If there’s anything I love, it’s an honest performer. She just had an instinct about applying something different every time we ran through “Body and Soul.” She had a deep understanding that when you sing one phrase, you have to complement and contrast it with another. And that’s exactly what she accomplished on our recording.
Amy wanted everything to go perfectly the day we taped that beautiful song. She was a bit nervous because she hadn’t recorded in a while, and she confided that she was her own worst critic. She told me that even if someone else liked one of her records, if she wasn’t happy with it, she didn’t care what anyone else thought. And she admitted that she got nervous before going onstage, as all the best artists do.
We spoke about the fact that if you come out every night and sing a song exactly as it’s written, the audience knows that you don’t really care; but if you sing it a different way each time, it means something special to you, because you’re feeling differently that particular evening from the way you did when you recorded it. That’s what all the great jazz improvisers in the world know how to do. Improvisation was created by the likes of Louis Armstrong, and it was passed on to performers like Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, and Ella Fitzgerald. It’s about making a one-of-a-kind performance, not quite like anyone else’s, and being daring enough to take that chance and hope it works. It’s exciting as a performer to exist that way, because then you perpetually grow.
When I taped “This Is All I Ask” with Josh Groban, we discussed how you have to expect the unexpected. Josh said, “You work on it and pace and slide around in your socks at home, just singing the words and thinking, Maybe I could sing this note, or that. Then when you record it, every time is a different experience. A lot of what you prepared, you have to throw out the window and use the energy occurring with each new take.” Josh noticed that I like it when my band surprises me, and how it makes it that much more exciting to capture the moment. He also mentioned the importance of not being jaded, or on autopilot. All of those things are components of the free form that Louis Bellson was talking about.
When k.d. lang and I sing together, she compares it to a dance or a mulling of souls. She talks about the synergy between us, and likens the way we improvise and react to each other to a balloon bouncing on air. I took it as a great compliment when she said she felt she was being schooled by me, but in actuality she’s a true pro who needs no further schooling from anyone.
It’s all about the knowledge you accumulate over the years. Once you have all that stored in your mind, when you complement it with your emotional instincts, you are better able to knock it out of the ballpark. You have to be willing to make some mistakes if you’re going to go out on a limb. I’m eighty-six; the amount of mistakes I’ve made in my lifetime seems insurmountable. But from failure you learn to correct yourself and in the process make sure that you become a better human being.
Everyone criticized me for not following whatever new trend was happening at the time. But I found out that the more you go back, the more you move ahead, because you’re learning from the best of what has proved to last over time. Then you can take what you know and the skills you’ve developed to make any song your own, with the confidence to push the envelope.
The Zen of Bennett
You have to first learn form before you can be free to experiment.
Every piece has a certain beat, and if you find it intuitively, it can’t be improved upon.
You can’t successfully break the rules until you learn the rules you’re breaking.
The goal is to create a one-of-a-kind performance; it should be unlike anyone else’s.
The more you go back, the more you move ahead.
