We'll Be Here For the Rest of Our Lives: A Swingin' Showbiz Saga
Paul Shaffer
Language: English
Pages: 352
ISBN: 0767928865
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Paul Shaffer—born and bred music junkie and longtime leader of David Letterman’s Late Show band—opens up in this candid, endearing, hilarious, and star-studded memoir. From playing seedy strip joints in Toronto, to being the first musical director of Saturday Night Live and helping to form the Blues Brothers, to being onstage every night with David Letterman and playing with the greatest musicians of our time, Shaffer has lived the ultimate showbiz life. Now—dishing on everyone from John Belushi and Jerry Lewis to Mel Gibson and Britney Spears—Paul gives us the full behind-the-scenes story of his life, from banging out pop tunes on the piano at the age of twelve to leading the band every night at the Sullivan Theater.
audience went crazy. Dave joined the James Brown Fan Club. On James’s second appearance, he wanted to bring his own drummer. He knew that Steve was brilliant, but James wanted full control—and that meant his own drummer. This was a delicate moment. Steve was my guy, and without him I knew we couldn’t re-create the magic of James’s first jam with us. On a personal note, I also knew Steve would be crushed to learn James was dropping him. Then, in a moment of inspiration, I remembered James’s song
rubbing in the fact that they were in Canada while we were in Hollywood. He talked about how Hollywood was overrun with stars. Then he’d say, “Look who just walked in the room. Why, it’s Dick York.” Dick York was one of the stars of Bewitched. Then Eugene added, “I can’t believe it, it’s Dick Sargent. Hey, you replaced Dick York on Bewitched. What are the odds?” But Eugene wasn’t finished yet. “Can this really be happening?” he said. “I’m looking straight into the eyes of Don DeFore.” DeFore
news. Then a second meeting was called. I arrived early. Lou Russo arrived late. He wore the same black cashmere overcoat. He went through the same routine of folding the coat inside out and placing it on a chair so that the red silk lining screamed at us. It screamed prosperity; it screamed power. “I got good news to report to the membership, fellas,” he said. “Two nights ago I went over to Jilly’s and left word that I need to talk to Frank Sinatra. As you know, Mr. S frequents Jilly’s on a
playing this Hammond B3; he was rocking it hard. In his hands, the two-keyboard organ sounded like an entire band, with sounds—deep moans and startling cries—that had an emotional punch that was very un-Noni. “Paul, you’ve got a good ear,” said Marvin condescendingly. “How can I make the upper keyboard sound like the lower one?” With that, I sat beside him and began to tinker along, adjusting stops and drawbars, playing a lick, learning as I was doing. “Listen to this,” Marvin said. “Here’s a
parents had flown in from Canada. As testimony to their hipness, they went directly from the airport to Jilly’s. When Dad, quick to characterize entertainers, heard Belzer, his comment was “Richard is an intellectual comedian.” Many years later, I took my father to the Friars Club, where he had dinner with Belzer and Robert Klein. He again characterized the situation, saying to himself, “Young comics zinging each other.” My dad was capable of his own zingers. Once when he and Mom came out to