There’s one dead mouse and one live Regis Philbin in Joe’s Pub. We know about the former because the staff at Joe’s Pub always speaks like they’re in the midst of an audition. Regis Philbin is simply hard to miss.
He’s probably bringing down the average age of the audience at tonight’s Neil Sedaka show. That’s a shame. Sedaka’s a truly great melodist. I’ve been recently reminded of this by the new Donny Osmond album, which covers (non-Donny) hits from the ’70s. There are some painful choices, but the take on Sedaka’s “Laughter in the Rain” reveals a truly effortless pop classic.
It’s not such a bad time to be listening to Donny Osmond or Neil Sedaka. On the way over, I walked past a poster for Henry Rollins’ show on IFC that proclaimed the host was “Wanted: For Free Expression.” That would’ve been painfully dated back in ’92. And say what you will about “American Idol,” but at least it’s provided new exposure for the likes of Sedaka.
That’s certainly part of the reason that the Razor & Tie label has put out The Definitive Collection. (Buyer beware: The 22 tracks include new recordings of Sedaka’s hits for RCA.) Sedaka’s enjoyed five decades of success as a performer, but there’s even more to cover as a songwriter. That’s made clear by the video that starts the show.
Or, more accurately, starts the show late. That’s a little weird. Sedaka’s been doing this Joe’s Pub residency for a while. You’d think they’d have the bugs worked out, if not the dead mouse.
Anyway, the footage finally gets rolling, and we see a montage of artists who’ve recorded Sedaka tunes: The Carpenters, Peggy Lee, Patsy Cline, Neil Diamond and even ABBA. (Sedaka helped out with the band’s U.S. release of “Ring Ring;” I had to look that up.). Then we see Clay Aiken and Sheryl Crow, and it’s like we’re watching a documentary on devolution. Elvis gets things back on track.
Rosemary Clooney’s photo gets the biggest round of applause. I don’t know if that’s because the audience is old or gay or both. There are quite a few men in the audience who look like they used to choreograph variety shows on the CBS network.
Sedaka finally strolls out—“Better late than never!”—and my first thought is that Jack Gilford lives. Neil’s actually in fine shape for a 68-year-old grandfather. He seems eager to show that he’s in better voice and can deliver all his hits (and some rarities) alone on piano.
Sedaka’s also nicely self-deprecating, beginning by noting that his whirlwind week has included stints at Carnegie Hall
and on the QVC Home Shopping Network. That’ll be the twist on this traditional showcase. He plays a timeless tune, goofs on himself, and then plays some more. Sedaka also acts like he’s just pulling songs from a list. He could get away with that, but tonight’s set is actually close—if not exact—to the one from a week before.
The irritating hipster in me wants to hear lost songs like “Waterbug” (from 1968’s Playgirl Killer) and “I Go Ape.” The part that doesn’t watch IFC is perfectly happy to get “Bad Blood” and “Solitaire.” The early years also get proper coverage, including 1960’s “Stairway To Heaven” and on to “Calendar Girl.” Sedaka’s accompanied on the latter by Mr. Philbin, who calls out the months much like the guys from Fountains of Wayne did at an earlier show.
Since he’s coming off the heart surgery, old pro Regis knows that he has to keep the spotlight on Sedaka. He does so with a quick speech about how tonight’s headliner is a relentlessly upbeat performer. Philbin almost says all the months in order, too.
We’re halfway through the show when I notice that Sedaka’s never mentioned his longtime lyricist, Howard Greenfield. I’m standing near pop historian Dawn Eden, who’s got some good gossip on the tensions between the two. Still, with Greenfield long dead, it’s strange not to hear a mention of the songwriter’s most successful partnership.
Sedaka hasn’t mentioned any of his lyricists. This becomes humorous once he does a spiel about how he writes a song. He uses “Love Will Keep Us Together” as an example, starting out with the beat on the piano and then improvising the melody with his voice. Sedaka skirts right over the part where someone writes actual words, and instead talks about how he won a Grammy in the wake of The Captain & Tennille’s big hit single.
Howard Greenfield also won a Grammy for that one—but why bring that up? Sedaka wakes up every morning and finds words left under his pillow. It’s a blessing.
To be fair, the best song of the evening is “Cardboard California,” and I’m pretty sure those are Neil’s own lyrics. Maybe he just doesn’t want to concede full credit for his album tracks (and a few hit singles). Anyway, Philbin sure wasn’t thinking about tunes like “Cardboard California” while praising Sedaka as the definitive feel-good artist.
I certainly don’t feel bad about Sedaka. His wife is a truly charming grandMILF, so he must have something going for him. Besides, Sedaka’s the kind of act where you’d pay $40 just to hear him talk about the music biz. He mentions that Razor & Tie has promised him his first chart record in over two decades, and says that’ll be “the ultimate kvell.”
He also brings up how the Beatles put an end to the 25 million records that Sedaka was selling back in the ’50s and ’60s. “I was the king of the doobie-doobie’s and the tra-la-la’s,” he notes, nicely summing up the impact of “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
So it’s a great show, with the audience perfectly behaved and the Joe’s Pub staff uniquely quiet. That’s because—“at the request of Mr. Sedaka”—there’s no service during the show. Good call by Mr. Sedaka. It was probably his idea not to overbook the venue, too.
The only other thing that goes wrong is Sedaka’s encores, starting with his ’70s hit version (the slow skate) of “Breaking Up is Hard to Do.” Turns out that he broke a piano string during “Love Will Keep Us Together.” I’ve never seen Jerry Lee Lewis do that. The effect is like a harpsichord. Sedaka soldiers on, and the sound is kind of pleasant. It’s even more pleasant if you go along with Dawn Eden and think of it as Greenfield’s revenge.
