Swinging hard

TOMMY DORSEY was the inspiration for the headstrong bandleader in “The Godfather” who was made an “offer he couldn’t refuse.” In Mario Puzo’s book, a mob-connected singer wants out of his contract to pursue a solo career. In reality, the singer was Frank Sinatra, who had become a star during the nearly three years he spent with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. In 1942, he borrowed money from Dorsey to establish himself as a solo act and signed a new contract indenturing him to the bandleader. (In exchange for seed money, he had signed away a third of all his future earnings.) But he wanted out of Dorsey’s contract almost as soon as he had signed it.

According to Peter J. Levinson’s excellent new biography, released to coincide with the centennial of Dorsey’s birth, threats were made against both the bandleader and his family. But Dorsey was not the type to scare easily, and there would be no hasty resolution to the high-profile dispute. After eight months of negotiation among some of the most powerful players in the music industry, Dorsey pocketed a large buyout and cut the crooner free.

Having spent 40 years in the music industry as a publicist, agent and manager, Levinson is uniquely qualified to write about the brass-tacks arena where music, money and egos collide, as he demonstrated in biographies of Harry James and Nelson Riddle. Dorsey was a logical next step for the author, connected by the common thread of Sinatra, who got his start in James’ band, became a star in Dorsey’s and reached artistic maturity with Riddle.

In this new backstage study, Levinson skillfully reveals not only the life of a major figure in 20th century popular music but also the complicated machinery of the business in the days of the big bands, made up of sidemen, song pluggers, agents, union officials, ballroom operators and many others. The book is well-researched and has just enough musical discussion for the average reader, but for Levinson the core of the story is the human drama. Dorsey is brought to life through interviews with those who were by his side; they reveal an extremely driven man, both charming and tyrannical. This book, an absolute treat for big band and Sinatra fans, easily stands on its own as a fascinating portrait of a show business character of mythic proportions.

Tommy Dorsey was at his peak in the 1940s, a self-made millionaire with the most popular band in the country and a small empire that he ran from his penthouse offices in New York’s Brill Building. Although he was considered by many to be the greatest trombonist alive, music alone was never enough for Dorsey. He was a ferociously competitive businessman, always expanding, always looking to edge out rivals and middlemen. He bought a ballroom, formed music-publishing companies and a booking agency, hosted a radio show, launched a music magazine and kept his own songwriters on staff.

Dorsey had seemingly unlimited energy, ego and ambition, and he wanted to do everything “in a great big way” as Levinson’s title -- a line from the band’s arrangement of “Marie” -- suggests. He wanted the biggest and best from life -- clothes, bands, boats, women, food, houses -- and he wanted people to know he had it. In the glamorous, hyper-competitive world of the big bands, he was the ultimate alpha male.

Despite their bitter parting, Sinatra would always acknowledge how much he learned from Dorsey, in particular citing Dorsey’s legendary breath control and elegant phrasing as a major influence on his singing. According to Levinson’s book, the debt was far greater. What the skinny kid from Hoboken, N.J., saw in the high-living celebrity bandleader was everything he aspired to be. The entire Sinatra persona -- the hard drinking, the arrogance, the fancy clothes, the musical perfectionism, the tough talk, the fistful of hundreds to hand out to old friends -- was learned from Dorsey. Sinatra admired his former boss to the point of aping his walk and using the same obscure brand of English toothpaste he favored.

Dorsey’s career spanned more than three decades, from his early days as a sideman and studio musician, appearing on essential 1920s jazz records alongside Bix Beiderbecke, to his role as elder statesman, introducing a 21-year-old Elvis Presley to a national television audience. He put nearly 200 songs on the charts under his own name, many more if the hits of the Dorsey Brothers Orchestra he led with his brother Jimmy in the 1920s and ‘30s are included. But it’s the Sinatra band for which he is best remembered, in part because Sinatra is Sinatra, but also because that band was a stunner. Dorsey had used his money and clout to build an unbeatable team, raiding bands like Benny Goodman’s and Jimmie Lunceford’s for star performers and writers and then coaxing their best work from them. At the height of the swing era, Dorsey trumped his competition with a roster of talent so impressive -- and expensive -- that it was compared to the then-supreme New York Yankees.

After Sinatra left at the end of ‘42, and the draft took most of Dorsey’s other stars, his orchestra lost some of its spark. The great appeal of the early-’40s band was its fresh sound and format. By mid-decade, it had become formulaic, however popular and lucrative. Still, the war years were good to Dorsey, who was too old to be drafted. He married actress Pat Dane (who features in some of the book’s racier anecdotes) and capitalized on draft-weakened competition, scoring hits, appearing in frothy MGM musicals and increasing his band to 46 musicians, most of whom he referred to as merely a tax write-off.

The swing era collapsed at the end of 1946, and so did Dorsey’s feeling of invincibility. Although he railed against bebop and television, it was the singers who had supplanted the big bands. Stars like Sinatra and Jo Stafford -- and their arrangers, Axel Stordahl, Nelson Riddle and Paul Weston -- were all former employees he’d once owned for as little as $125 a week. It became increasingly obvious that the business had changed and that Dorsey had not. If Levinson offers a minimum of musical discussion for the last decade of Dorsey’s career, it is because little of significance occurred.

By 1953, Jimmy Dorsey, who also had led a successful band throughout the swing era, was up against the wall with drinking and money troubles. Tommy put him on salary and revived their 1930s moniker, the Dorsey Brothers Orchestra. In 1954, longtime admirer Jackie Gleason buoyed the brothers’ careers by arranging for them to host a weekly television show. They were, however, now working hard just to make a living. After 30 years of one-nighters and well over 300 hit records between them, they still couldn’t afford to take it easy. Two years later, when Presley appeared on their show, Tommy Dorsey predicted a big future for the singer, possibly sensing the sea change that would obliterate any lingering relevance he had in popular music.

By 1956, Dorsey seemed shaken, depressed by the music business and headed for a third divorce. He agreed to a reunion with his former singer. It was Sinatra’s idea, a weeklong engagement at New York’s Paramount theater, where the bobby-soxers had once swooned, to generate some publicity for a film he had coming out. Sinatra had long before eclipsed Dorsey’s popularity, and the trombonist was painfully aware of the power shift. Sinatra’s record “Songs for Swingin’ Lovers!” was then everywhere on the radio. Riddle had arranged the music and would be on hand for a week before the show to help the band rehearse. The arranger spent a weekend at his ex-boss’ house, detailed in one of the book’s most affecting scenes. At dinner one night, Dorsey began to cry, confessing his fear that Sinatra would order him around or embarrass him in front of his musicians. “I couldn’t stand that,” the bandleader sniffed to his stunned guest.

Just a few months later, at age 51, Dorsey died of drug-related causes. A bitter note to his wife, left by the side of his bed, suggested his death might have been suicide.

Dorsey left no will, and no money. He had spent every dollar he made to support a lifestyle as large as his self-image, and it may be that for Tommy Dorsey a life that wasn’t large was a life not worth living.

Nearly half a century has passed since the bandleader’s death, and many of his original fans and those who knew and worked with him are gone. If people are still listening to Dorsey’s recordings in another 50 years -- and I suspect they will be -- most of what they’ll know about the man behind the music will be thanks to Peter Levinson’s definitive and invaluable work. *

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From Tommy Dorsey: Livin’ in a Great Big Way

BOBBY BURNS recalled the time when after a one-nighter in Pennsylvania Sinatra vowed to beat Dorsey, who had driven his own car, to New York by driving the band bus: “ ... Frank yelled, ‘Hold on to your hats. Tommy keeps saying what a wonderful bus this is. Let’s prove he’s right.’ Not that Frank was driving recklessly. But he sure did kick that crate along as briskly as the law allowed. When we finally got to the New York ferry, the car ahead of us belonged to one Tommy Dorsey. I thought he’d have apoplexy when he saw us, especially when he found out that we had burned out various essential parts during the trip.”