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lent “Just the Way You Are” a sublimity that was greater than anything I had imagined.
    My suggestion to use Phil Woods wasn’t meant to offend Richie Cannata or his playing. In this instance, I believed that we needed a specific sound that only a specialist such as Phil could provide, and as the final arbiter, I followed my instinct.
    I’ve found that if you can justify the merits of doing something that will help make a stronger musical statement, everyone usually understands. I knew that Richie would understand—and he did.
    As Richie recalls:
    “Phil had made an album with Phoebe Snow just before TheStranger , and he had used Phil Woods on her record. All of us (Michael Brecker, David Sanborn, and I) looked up to Phil Woods; he was the Charlie Parker of our era. If Phil (Ramone) had asked Michael Brecker or David Sanborn to play on ‘Just the Way You Are,’ I would have felt hurt. But it was a real honor to have Phil Woods play on our record. Since I had to play the part on the road, ‘Just the Way You Are’ forced me to learn to play alto sax.”
    Despite all of the time we spent tweaking “Just the Way You Are,” Billy still wasn’t sure that he wanted it on the album—until the night Linda Ronstadt and Phoebe Snow visited the studio.
    We were talking about the album, and I played “Just the Way You Are” for them. They were floored, and when Billy mentioned that he wanted to eliminate it, neither Linda nor Phoebe withheld their opinions. “Are you crazy?” they asked. “That’s the hit! You’re out of your minds if you don’t put it on the album.” Thank God we listened: “Just the Way You Are” won a Grammy for Song of the Year (1978). Next to “Piano Man” it’s Billy’s most requested tune, and at many a wedding it’s been played, I’m sure.
    Two questions I’m frequently asked are, “Is there a secret to making a hit?” and “Do you follow a formula when making a record?”
    There are no fail-safe recipes for creating a hit. And, the closest thing to a formula that I follow is making sure the artist’s voice—vocally or instrumentally—is recognized within the first fifteen seconds. Establishing their identity right up front is critical.
    There are, however, three ingredients that all great records share: a good song, a talented artist, and distinctive production.
    A song that touches you as a producer is liable to touch others, too, and if you’re blessed with having an artist who can put a magical spin on that song’s melody or lyric, you’re on the road to making a record that people will want to hear again and again.
    Production style has more to do with the sound and feel of a record than anything else, and it varies from producer to producer.Like film directors, record producers bring an individual aesthetic to their work. Few things compare with the grainy distortion of an early Stones record, the euphoric tone of a Burt Bacharach production, or the irresistible funk of a Motown single. Each has a sound or feel that’s unlike any other, because of the techniques used to record and mix them. Originality is crucial.
    Although some people say that my records have a signature sound, I don’t hear it. The goal for me is to bring clarity and simplicity to every record I make, and they shouldn’t sound alike.
    In designing a sound for a record, every element must have a purpose. I love using musical color, texture, and shading to enhance a record, and using those tools to emphasize a song’s inner rhythms helps the artist and me direct its emotionality. If the music is loud and bombastic, I want whoever hears it to feel like it’s a celebration. If it’s soft and tender, I want them to linger over the sentimentality of the moment.
    Keeping my sound transparent (chameleonic, really) has enabled me to work with a wide variety of artists in many different genres.
    I used to buy things in electronics stores and guitar shops—effects pedals and gizmos—and say, “Man,