No Party Like a Clive Davis Party

Mel Brooks has a classic routine in which the key line is, “It’s good to be king.” Clive Davis might express the same sentiment about being a music industry legend.

Longevity, prosperity and a remarkably resilient career put the Arista Records president in a lofty social position. Clive knows everyone, everyone knows Clive. That’s not a bad Rolodex to have when you’re putting together a party. It means his annual Grammy eve bash attracts a cross-section of record industry elite. In the competitive world of warring music tribes, this is no small feat.

Clive’s soiree began with a pre-reception for 175 guests at his Ritz Tower penthouse apartment, now on the 36th and 37th floors since he recently acquired the flat below, redesigned it, then built a connecting, wood-paneled circular staircase.

The duplex features 14-foot ceilings, black granite floors, a high-tech screening room, at least one Botero oil, and a 360-degree view so high in the sky that L.A.’s Nancy Davis described it as “the kind of apartment the Jetsons would have if they lived in New York.”

The dramatic setting, and a guest list that included Ron Perelman, Quincy Jones, Ahmet Ertegun, Terry Semel, Michael Dornemann, TLC, Sarah McLachlan and Diane Warren, imparted a glamorous glow. “This is the way parties in Hollywood are supposed to be,” sighed composer Lalo Schifrin, “but never are.”

In the screening room, where the opulence made the gritty Notorious B.I.G. rap video seem especially incongruous, Def Jam’s Russell Simmons told an anecdote that illustrates Clive’s talent--and what pays for this apartment.

“Clive’s watching this band play. When they’re finished, he goes up to the horn player and tells him he should make a record. The horn player! Nobody goes up to a horn player. Everybody laughs about this. Well, the horn player is Kenny G. He goes on to sell, like, 40 million records. You can’t tell a better story about a music exec.”

At about 7:30 p.m., guests began filtering down the elevators, walking ever so briefly in the 30-degree night air before slipping into the dozens of black limos blocking three lanes of Park Avenue traffic. It’s a four-block ride to the Plaza. Los Angeles is not the only city where the wealthy are pavement-averse.

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The black-tie crowd--among them Babyface Edmonds, Whitney Houston, Joan Osborne, No Doubt’s Gwen Stefani, Strauss Zelnick, David Foster, Bob Daly and Carole Bayer Sager--arrived at the hotel where an employee was vacuuming the red carpet that leads into the Versailles-like, gilt and mirror lavishness of the Palm Court. Martha Stewart looked around and described the decor as “New York pseudo-17th century.”

It wasn’t long before Clive made his own dramatic entrance. He was on the arm of Aretha Franklin, who was wearing a white floor-length fur coat. From the way he glowed, it was clear the exec lives for moments like this: the record industry Sun King arriving with the Queen of Soul.

The couple was preceded everywhere by a mob of photographers lighting their steps, and by friends who sang Clive’s praises: Robin Leach called him “the man with the golden ear.” Motown’s Clarance Avant said, “He’s just a great cat.”

Somehow 700 guests--including Paul Anka, Tony Rich, Alan Grubman, Arnold Scaasi, Jon and Laura Tisch, Larry Gagosian, Pat Kluge and Veronica Webb--were shoehorned into the Grand Ballroom. It was so crowded the waiters could barely squeeze between tables. They came up behind standing guests, banged spoons on trays and yelled: “Siddown. We gotta get deh food out.” People moved.

At 10 p.m., Clive took the stage and the show began. Next to the arrival this was obviously his favorite moment. “He’s a big showoff,” said an admiring Puffy Combs. “But he’s my main man.”

Acting as emcee, Clive brought on an eclectic mix. There was rock-a-billy from BR5-49, Az Yet’s urban harmony, pop singer Gary Barlow, rap from Combs, a tribute to the stars of “Waiting to Exhale” and the half-hour finale from Steve Paul’s 20th Century Pop Revue.

It ended at midnight with that fleet of limos taking guests off into the New York night. “I love a great party,” said Clive.

What’s not to love?