More than a decade ago–before his remarkable career resurgence–Tony Bennett recorded a now-classic album titled “The Art of Excellence.”
If a recording had been made of Bennett’s performance Monday night at Park West, it might well have been called “The Art of Intimacy,” for Bennett sang as if a few hundred of his closest friends had gathered in his parlor for an evening of quiet reverie.
The performance was historic, in part because it gave listeners a chance to hear Bennett work a much smaller room than he typically does these days. So those who have seen Bennett at the Ravinia Festival or in the Rosemont Theatre encountered a very different performer on this occasion. Here was an already profound ballad singer achieving new degrees of introspection and contemplation.
From the evening’s opening notes, in fact, it was clear that this was going to be a muted and wistful performance, with Bennett singing his first few numbers accompanied by pianist Ralph Sharon alone. The soft tone and gentle syncopations Bennett brought to “The Best Is Yet to Come,” the exquisite bel canto lines he created in “Autumn Leaves” and the self-effacing way he dispatched “I Love a Piano”–consistently yielding the spotlight to Sharon, his longtime collaborator–inevitably disarmed his listeners and brought a normally noisy room to a hush.
Even when the rest of Sharon’s quartet appeared on stage, Bennett took pains to keep the proceedings soft and somewhat melancholy, with an emphasis on songs of romantic yearning. “When Joanna Loved Me,” for instance, long has been one of Bennett’s favorite torch songs, but this time its expression of pain and regret sounded all the more searing, thanks to Bennett’s understatement.
Similarly, the steely resolve Bennett showed in “I Wanna Be Around” (among the most sadistic of love-gone-bad songs) and the ultra-slow tempo he took through most of “All of Me” attested to the imagination Bennett still lavishes on material he has sung for decades.
The evening (the first of two nights to benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation), had a few sunny moments, as well, particularly when Bennett revisited his recorded tribute to Fred Astaire. For all his gifts as a screen star, the beloved hoofer never approached Bennett’s technical virtuosity, vocal control or interpretive depth.
Though these songs of Gershwin, Kern and Berlin have been sung around the world ever since Astaire’s day, Bennett effectively reinvented them. It will be a long time before listeners again encounter such crisp ragtime rhythms in “Steppin’ Out with My Baby,” sublime understatement in “A Foggy Day” and deep romantic ardor in an audaciously slow “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”
Bennett, in other words, has reached a point in his artistic maturity at which he can make complex and subtle readings seem almost effortless. It’s called the art of intimacy.
