Grammys Producer Ken Ehrlich, from his book, on that performance:
"OK, if that's what you want."
Those words, spoken very quietly by Aretha Franklin in a cramped, hot,
fourth-floor dressing room at Radio City Music Hall, on the night of the 40th
Annual Grammy Awards, are the closest I can come to answering the question that
I am most frequently asked - "What was the most tense moment in your career as
a television producer?"
This is a tale of terror, unpredicatability, and ultimately, the truly amazing
grace of a woman whose anthem song "Respect" took on a new and eternal meaning
for me as a result of this one day in Grammy history.
Here's the situation: that afternoon at the dress rehearsal for the show, a
tired but seemingly cooperative Luciano Pavarotti had worked his way through
"Nessun Dorma," the operatic aria that we had all hoped would be the high point
of a Grammy show that also contained performances by an amazing number of
superstars, including Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac, Will Smith and Stevie Wonder.
But now it was showtime, and Pavarotti hadn't returned from his Central Park
West apartment. He was scheduled somewhere in the middle of our three-hour show
,
so although my unwritten rule is that all talent is in the house before we go o
n
the air, I wasn't overly concerned. There were plenty of other things to worry
about.
We were about an hour into the show when my assistant Ron Basile rushed up to m
e
offstage with a hastily scrawled number for Pavarotti at home. I found a quiet
phone deep in the depths of Radio City, took a breath, and made the call.
You know what's coming.
"Ken, I'm sick. I can't come and sing. I will sing for you next year, but what
will you do now?"
"First, Luciano, I will get off the phone and try to figure out how to fill
four-and-a-half minutes of the Grammy Awards when we're already a half-hour int
o
it."
Said with less harshness than the words indicate in print, it was still a
critical situation that needed to be dealt with - and fast. And I might add,
in my 20-plus years of doing live television, though we had faced artists
dropping in and out of shows prior to their airing, this was the first time I
had ever faced an act canceling after the show was already on the air.
My first thoughts were random. You don't work with people for 20 years without
creating some long-term relationships in the business - and the Music Hall was
filled with many of those folks that night. Should I go to Sting (who was
introducing Pavarotti, but not performing that night) and ask him to perform?
Among the performances still left in the show was one by Fleetwood Mac, and I
thought about going to Lindsey Buckingham and asking him to extend their medley
,
which I had already trimmed to a tight five-and-a-half minutes. But how could I
go to them after we had delicately negotiated them down from nine minutes in th
e
beginning? Or should I think about going to Stevie, my old friend and someone
who was always ready with something and ask him to do a second performance, in
addition to his duet with Babyface?
One thing was certain, however. Though Kelsey Grammar was hosting the show, his
strengths as an actor did not include ad-libbing - and I couldn't put him in
the position of "stretching" for up to five minutes without material.
And then it struck me. Three days earlier Aretha (with whom I've worked for
nearly 20 years) had sung the aria "Nessun Dorma" at the Musicares benefit
dinner ... in another key, with another arrangement, without a full orchestra.
She had told me numerous times over the years we've worked together that she
always wanted to sing opera, but to ask her to sing it in front of millions ...
She was scheduled to perform about 30 minutes from the present moment in a
brief, but fun Blues Brothers medley with Dan Aykroyd and John Goodman, doing
"Respect" as only she could.
I called for my long-time friend and coordinating producer Tisha Fein and Phil
Ramone, who had produced the Musicares event, and we raced up the four flights
of stairs. We had about fifty minutes before we got to the highly anticipated
Pavarotti performance (the nonperformance). When I got to Aretha's small,
overheated dressing room, complete with vaporizer and hangers-on, she was
fanning herself, quietly waiting to go on. And then we hit her with this
lightning bolt of a statement.
"Aretha, we have a problem. I know it's short notice, but how would you like to
sing twice tonight? Go out there and do 'Respect' and then 20 minutes later,
supported by a 65-piece orchestra and a 20-voice chorus, do 'Nessun Dorma'?"
And that's when she uttered those words. I knew she would, even before I had
taken the first steps up the heart-attack stairway in the bowels of Radio City
Music Hall. I will always love the Queen of Soul.
And though to many people, that was the Night of Soybomb disrupting Bob Dylan's
triumphant Grammy performance, and Ol' Dirty Bastard storming the stage to
interrupt Shawn Colvin's well-deserved acceptance speech, for me the 40th Annua
l
Grammy Awards will always be the Night Aretha Franklin Saved the Grammys - and
not incidentally, my professional life.
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