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In other words
Friday, June 11, 2010 at 12:44AM 
The tickets. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010As a kid in the '60s I was exposed continuously to popular music, as well as to standards from the '40s and '50s.
The songs of the day streamed into my consciousness the old-fashioned way: via the radio.
When I was a really little tyke I believed the musicians and singers were all standing around quietly at the radio station, lined up out the door and into the parking lot, waiting their turn to perform.
I didn't know beans about records.
Welcome indeed. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010
Around 1969, after getting savvy to records, I was given a mono turntable encased in an avocado-colored plastic shell, purchased at K-Mart, on which to enjoy my cherished Glen Campbell -- and, in due time, Carpenters and Neil Diamond -- LPs, as well as a stash of 45s (Dionne Warwick, Jackie DeShannon), shared by my sister and me.
We listened to The Monkees quite a bit too. While not permitted by our parents to be Beatles enthusiasts, we were huge-ish fans of the fab four's mop-haired, mostly American follow-ups.
Plus which, The Monkees had their own -- eponymous -- TV show that we rarely missed. Between that, the short-lived David Steinberg's Music Scene (in afternoon reruns), and General Hospital, we were covered for extracurricular exposure to culture.
(This was years before we got turned on to The Osmonds and The Partridge Family … or perhaps I should speak for myself. My sister rose above those particular artists.)
Facade of newly-renovated Township Auditorium. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010
My all-time favorite was Neil Diamond … he who wrote The Monkees' smash hit I'm a Believer (bet you didn't know that*) in addition to dozens of other songs. I eventually owned a complete collection of his albums.
All Things Have A Genesis
But in the beginning it was all about the radio. We listened constantly, both in our (stolen, no lie) car (where we spent a great deal of time on account of, we were transient penniless nomadic gypsies perennially on the lam) and at home, when we actually had one.
A home, that is.
It seems we always had a radio, if only the tinny transistor that provided entertainment at our occasional domestic alternative: a tent pitched on a campsite in the pine-needly interior of the Seminole Indian reservation.
Those times when we slept with genuine shingles over our heads, our furniture may have come from the junkyard (no lie) but we always had a hi-fi stereo speaker mounted somewhere, mysteriously connected to FM radio.
Inaugural performance! Photo Jennifer Weber 2010
The tunes came forth abundantly like water, poured into my ears, swirled around my brain and pooled in my heart.
In those days it was all people like Andy Williams, Matt Monro, Vic Damone, Frank Sinatra, The Ray Conniff Singers, Roger Miller, Jack Jones, the Ray Charles Singers … to name a fraction of the stellar talent available.
There were lady singers too … Dusty Springfield, Vikki Carr, Petula Clark, Eydie Gorme, Peggy Lee, Barbra Streisand. You know. I could go on and on but I won't.
Some People Are Standouts
And there was Tony Bennett, who in my mind occupied a class all by himself. A very classy class.
There was just something about his voice. Its quality of sound reminded me of what I imagined an Italian sunset might have looked like in Marco Polo's time. The faint suggestion of city grit cocooned in layers of golden velvet, the distinct phrasing and styling of every romantic lyric.
It was full of fire and sugar and magic.
My handsome date surveys the crowd. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010
It was exciting, that voice.
There is a term for the way Tony sings: bel canto. Somewhat of a lost art, except in his case. The strict translation is "beautiful singing" but according to Wikipedia, to sing bel canto involves an impeccable legato throughout a seamless range; the use of a light tone in the higher registers; an agile, flexible technique; the avoidance of aspirates and a loose vibrato; a pleasing well-focused timbre; a clean attack; limpid diction; and graceful phrasing rooted in a complete mastery of breath control.
In other words, Tony Bennett.
As a preteen budding-romantic listener I wanted so much to understand the words to the songs. Fly Me to the Moon was an especial favorite … its melody and mystery haunted me.
The inimitable Mr. Bennett. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010
Would anyone ever feel that way about me … whatever way that was? Because you see, I didn't understand; age-wise I was barely in double digits. I just wondered.
Now I know.
The Second And Last Time
TG and I saw and heard Tony Bennett perform twenty years ago, at Ravinia Festival in Chicago.
And thanks to our four wonderful kids, who presented us with the tickets in honor of our 31st wedding anniversary coming up on June 16th, we saw and heard him again tonight.
Tony Bennett will be 84 years old in August. The concert was not quite sold out, but the empty seats were scarcer than Democrats at a Sarah Palin campaign barbecue.
Tony has left the building. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010
Mr. Bennett sang for ninety minutes with all the charisma, style, technique, verve, emotion, and class that fans the world over have for sixty years equated with his legendary talent.
I was sad when he left the stage without singing Fly Me To The Moon.
When he returned in response to a thunderous ovation to bring an encore, it was with the plaintive How Do You Keep The Music Playing that Tony bared his soul.
I will tell you that I became verklempt.
In other words … I cried.
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*Another thing I'll bet you didn't know is that Betty Nesmith, mother of Michael Nesmith of The Monkees, invented Liquid Paper.
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Reader Comments (5)
What an awesome anniversary gift. Glad you had such a great time and shared it with all of us via this blog!
By the way, I wouldn't bet against Tony Bennett still being around in twenty MORE years to serenade you and Mr. Greg on your 51st anniversary! Yes, he'd be 104 years old then, but who cares? He's Tony Bennett!
By the way, part two, I *did* know that little tidbit about Neil Diamond writing The Monkees' I'm a Believer. Don't ask me how I knew that, though. My brain is just full of random info like that! :)
@ kev ... OK OK but didja know a Monkee mother invented Liquid Paper? Huh? Didja? LOLOLOL
@Jenny: Know about it?? I wrote a paper on it in college!!!
Haha. Not really. That particular tidbit, I must say, was not in my database. :)
Good for you, looks like a great evening with your honey.
I remember my first turntable. Wasn't much to look at and I only had two records I think. I played them over and over. One was Elvis.
Tony Bennett -- he's great! Lucky you!