World on a String

Joseph Cosgriff, John Pizzarelli

Description

Behind the scenes in the life of a musician—an exuberant, entertaining memoir from jazz guitarist, singer, and raconteur John Pizzarelli

John Pizzarelli, the son of jazz guitar legend Bucky Pizzarelli, is a connoisseur of American song who grew up among the legends of jazz. From teenage explorations of rock music to life on the road with his father, he worked his way from gigs in tiny clubs to opening for Frank Sinatra during his final international tour. Now Pizzarelli performs in festivals and top venues across the United States and the world, and he shares his unique journey in this revealing, charming, and heartwarming memoir.

• Includes firsthand stories of famous jazz greats and popular music icons including Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Rosemary Clooney, Benny Goodman, Joe Pass, James Taylor, and Paul McCartney
• Reveals what it was like to grow up among great musicians and storytellers and shares the day-to-day experiences of a touring musician's life
• Includes thirty-five terrific photographs that take you inside John Pizzarelli's life and music
• Part of the Wiley-Lincoln Center alliance

Absorbing, upbeat, funny, and down to earth, World on a String is an irresistible celebration of music and life that will appeal to John Pizzarelli's large and growing following.

Foreword by Jonathan Schwartz xi

Acknowledgments xv

Preface xvii

1 When I Was a Little Boy 1

2 Rock and Roll High School 15

3 Travels with Bucky 29

How I Met My Mother 49

4 Sing, Sing, Sing 53

5 The King of Swing: Benny 75

My Mother’s Eggplant 88

6 Raised on Radio 91

7 On the Road 111

8 Counting My Blessings: Loving Rosie 123

9 Come Fly with Me: My Travels with Mr. Sinatra 145

10 Team Dream 167

11 On Broadway 177

12 On the Road (Again) 193

13 Let Me off Uptown (but with a Stop at 76th and Madison) 207

This Old Guitar 223

14 The Long and Winding Country Road: James Taylor and Paul McCartney 225

Finale: The Best Is Yet to Come 239

My Favorite Things 245

FAQ 251

Discography 263

Index 267

Sujets

• Musique
• Histoire de la musique
• Lettres et linguistique
• Bucky Pizzarelli
• Biography
• World on a String
• Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts
• Music of the United States
• Autobiography
• Rosemary Clooney
• James Taylor
• John Pizzarelli
• Tony Bennett
• Joe Pass
• Music
• Benny Goodman
• Lincoln Center
• Frank Sinatra
• Paul McCartney

Informations

• Publié par: Turner Publishing Company
• Date de parution: 03 octobre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781118236185
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Contents
Cover
Frontispiece
Title Page
Copyright
Dedicatoin
Epigraph
Foreword
Acknowledgments
Preface
Chapter 1: When I Was a Little Boy
Chapter 2: Rock and Roll High School
Chapter 3: Travels with Bucky
Chapter 3A: How I Met My Mother
Chapter 4: Sing, Sing, Sing
Chapter 5: The King of Swing
Chapter 5A: My Mother's Eggplant
Chapter 6: Raised on Radio
Chapter 7: On the Road
Chapter 8: Counting My Blessings
Chapter 9: Come Fly with Me
Chapter 10: Team Dream
Chapter 11: On Broadway
Chapter 12: On the Road (Again)
Chapter 13: Let Me off Uptown (but with a Stop at 76th and Madison)
Chapter 13A: This Old Guitar
Chapter 14: The Long and Winding Country Road
James Taylor Recording Session—October Road
Paul McCartney Recording Sessions—Kisses on the Bottom
Paul McCartney Recording Sessions
Paul McCartney Rehearsals
Finale: The Best Is Yet to Come
My Favorite Things
FAQ
Music
Other
Discography
Index
Bucky and me.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Copyright © 2013 by John Pizzarelli and Joseph Cosgriff. All rights reserved
Cover image: © Christopher Jacobs
Cover design: Wendy Mount
“I Like Jersey Best,” words and music by Joseph Cosgriff, Green Monster Music (ASCAP) from ( John Pizzarelli Trio: Live at Birdland (Telarc–2003) and Pizzarelli–s P.S. Mr. Cole (RCA–1999).
Lyrics from Michael Franks “Eggplant” from The Art of Tea (Reprise–1976) courtesy of Mississippi Mud Music (BMI).
“The Waters of March,” words and music by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Corcaovado Music.
Photo credits: page ii: photograph by Jimmy Katz, from the personal collection of John Pizzarelli; pages 3, 6, 18, 21, 57, 104, 113, 138, 147, 169, 178, 187, 191, 192, 195, 227, and 228: personal collection of John Pizzarelli; pages 24, 35, and 40: personal collection of Bucky Pizzarelli; page 47: photograph by Russ Titelman, from the personal collection of John Pizzarelli; page 60: photograph by Joe Cosgriff, from the personal collection of John Pizzarelli; page 77: personal collection of Bucky Pizzarelli, courtesy of the Huddlestons; page 117: © 2009, used by permission of the Boston Red Sox; page 119: © Steve J. Sherman; pages 201 and 238: JohnPizzarelli.com, copyright John Pizzarelli, 2011; page 202: photograph by Russ Titelman; page 204: courtesy of the Jacob Burns Film Center; pages 218 and 219: photographs by Russ Titelman. Courtesy of the Carlyle Hotel and John Pizzarelli personal collection; page 240: photograph by Joe Cosgriff; page 241: Andrew Southam.
Lincoln Center and Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts names and logos are registered trademarks of Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, Inc., in the United States and other countries. Used here by license.
Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey Published simultaneously in Canada
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Pizzarelli, John.
  World on a string: a musical memoir/John Pizzarelli and Joseph Cosgriff; foreword by Jonathan Schwartz. pages; cm. Includes discography and index.
ISBN 978-1-118-06297-5 (cloth); ISBN 978-1-118-22228-7 (ebk); ISBN 978-1-118-26096-8 (ebk); ISBN 978-1-118-22228-7 (ebk)
1. Pizzarelli, John. 2. Guitarists–United States–Biography. I. Cosgriff, Joseph. II. Title. ML419.P593A3 2013 787.87–164092–dc23
2013020852
We dedicate this book to Ruth and Bucky Pizzarelli, for creating a home where everyone is welcome and where love, music, and stories have always flowed generously.
I will say, too, that lovemaking, if sincere, is one of the best ideas Satan put in the apple she gave to the serpent to give to Eve. The best idea in that apple, though, is making jazz.
–Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake
Foreword
The plane made a sharp turn to the left, not far from the San Jacinto Mountains, already snowcapped early in October. Then the plane began to descend while keeping its beeline toward the mountains.
John Pizzarelli was sitting next to me, his Red Sox hat (the same as mine) settled at a cockeyed position on his head, probably encouraged by the wild tension within the musician who wore it. But there was no music now, as the mountains grew closer. Pizzarelli's face had turned into a wild white, as if it had been painted on. His eyes were cast downward in defeat. The end, I guessed he imagined, was merely seconds away.
This was a flight I had taken fifty or more times—L.A. to Palm Springs, on the American Airlines puddle jumper that seated about twenty passengers. On one of the flights years earlier, I'd been able to see the Pacific Ocean from a rear window and the desert floor from the front of the plane.
I was scared now, and thought of my daughter Casey asleep in bed in New York.
Then, suddenly, the plane veered right, ascended a bit, and landed comfortably. Pizzarelli remained frozen in time until I straightened his hat. “What was that about?” he asked, finally.
“They wanted to come in from the north. Simple matter,” I told him.
In those days, I stayed at an inexpensive lodge with comfortable suites and a large pool. Some of the rooms, like mine, had kitchens. I'd been using the lodge for close to twenty years and was permitted to store things in an infrequently used closet, no deeper than an indentation, in the back of the lodge. I set up shop—typewriter, manuscripts, dictionaries, and books and CDs that I often used.
Pizzarelli, having fetched his guitar from the plane, settled into Room 108, right across the breezeway from my Room 320. I made a run for Scotch and beer, and then went back in my room. John began to play and sing, and I would sing, and he would play for me to sing. It must be noted that Pizzarelli is one of the finest accompanists for any singer, anywhere. He listens to what you're doing so that he becomes a part of the lyric.
And on this very first night, mellow and finally pleased with things, John began to sing Irving Berlin's “Better Luck Next Time.” At the tail end of the bridge, approaching the line about an event that happens once in a lifetime, not twice, the room began shaking—the walls squealed, bottles and cans on the kitchen table plunged to the floor. As I recall, two bottles of Corona beer were smashed all over the place, but the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch remained intact.
An ashen-faced Pizzarelli was holding his guitar closely to his chest for, I think, an umbilical protection. One must understand that the guitar has indeed played a protective role in John's life. His father, Bucky Pizzarelli, and God knows how many Pizzarellis stretching back into an earlier century, made some sort of living by playing this instrument. John looked at me as though he were viewing The Exorcist .
I said simply: “Earthquake.”
The Silence of the Lambs joined The Exorcist in the mutilated soul of what was once a guitarist and singer, and a man I deeply cared for.
An earthquake in the California desert usually lasts no longer than thirty seconds. I'd been through at least six or seven over the years, most of them arriving when I was writing at the very typewriter I'm using now (a Hermes 3000, if you really want to know).
Imagine: the plane, the mountains, the walls, the shaking room—all in about six hours.
We drank whiskey seriously and gradually forced the evening to an end.
John Pizzarelli's story is contained in the book you hold. In this little foreword, I'd like to fill in a few holes in the narrative that would otherwise remain quietly unknown.
The pages are filled with funny stuff, laugh-out-loud stuff, and Sinatra commenting on Pizzarelli's physical appearance. And musician talk (you'll find it for yourself). Most of all, this book documents, like no other, the nomadic life of any fellow or gal who picks up an instrument professionally: the discipline, the airplanes, the endless lack of sleep, and, to be sweet about it, the beer.
John, with whom I talk so very often, is a fifty-two-year-old man, and, in fact, a celebrity, who h