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that’s cool!” Once in a while I’d take one of those contraptions into the studio and use it as an effect on a song. Then I’d wrap it up and say, “I’m really glad that I had that, ’cause it worked well for this song and the record did very well.” But I’d rarely (if ever) use that effect or pedal again. I didn’t want people to say, “That’s a Phil Ramone production” every time they heard a certain effect.
    It’s easy for artists and producers to get lulled into complacency and rely on what’s been successful in the past, but I’ve found that it’s inaccurate to say, “This (or that) always works.” Nothing in this business is a slam dunk; each record has to stand on its own. I’m forever cautioning young artists and producers to avoid repeating themselves or copying whatever’s in vogue.
    Yet some producers pigeonhole themselves by only making rock, jazz, or hip-hop records—or by working with just one artist for fear that they’ll lose their momentum. I understand why a producer who’s become known for a specific style or particular sound might be afraid to do a Broadway album or a film soundtrack; there’s comfort in security. But that kind of thinking is precisely what leads to predictable, formulaic records.
    George Martin is a good example of a producer who has been successful because of his willingness to grow. The reason that groups like the Beatles endured is because neither they nor their producers were afraid to experiment. Early Beatles albums like With the Beatles and Please Please Me are as far removed from The Beatles (aka The White Album ) or Abbey Road as Mozart is from Stravinsky.
    Take Rod Stewart, a rocker whose renaissance came via the classic pop standards written during the 1930s and ’40s.
    Rod’s a singer who’s constantly reinventing his image, and after many years in the limelight he has attracted a broad fan base. When Clive Davis asked me if I would work with Rod on his first two Great American Songbook albums, I was intrigued. Could it work? I thought so. Were we guaranteed success because it involved Rod Stewart? No. Just because an artist has had success in one genre doesn’t mean that a crossover project will work, or that their record will be a hit.
    Luckily, the Great American Songbook concept came at a time when Rod and his faithful audience were open to something new. As a result, Rod’s versions of gems like “It Had to Be You,” “These Foolish Things,” and a couple dozen other standards have endeared him to a more mature audience who may never have heard “Maggie May” or “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” The album also exposed his younger fans to the classic songs of the 1940s. Best of all, Rod did it all without sacrificing his foothold in the rock and pop world, which proves that meaningful interpretations of quality songs never go out of style.
    While having a hit record and garnering accolades is thrilling, the rewards should never come at the expense of artistic integrity. If there’s one single artist I know who has bridged the gap between old and new songs and audiences—and done so without relinquishing his commitment to quality—it’s Tony Bennett.
    Tony began his career in the late 1940s as a singer in the Army, and became a sensation in the early 1950s with hits such as “The Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” “Because of You,” and “Cold, Cold Heart.” But while he became famous for the catchy pop numbers of the day, Tony was always a jazz singer at heart.
    “When I began my career at Columbia Records in 1950, I wanted to sing the great songs by Duke Ellington, Johnny Mercer, and the Gershwins,” Tony explained. “But, producer Mitch Miller insisted that I sing novelty tunes, which he had a hand in popularizing at the time. We had vehement disagreements, and the only way I could stomach recording some of the tunes that Mitch wanted me to do was to compromise: For every two novelty records I recorded, I’d get to make one