Joan Rivers
came through Central NY about twelve years ago performing at the Turning Stone
Casino in Verona, NY. A local contractor called me and asked me to direct a
12-piece pick-up band of local musicians for the Joan Rivers comedy act. The
directions were: “play her on” and “play her off.” This simply means when she’s
introduced the band needs to play an uptempo number as she walks onto the stage
and play it again when she exits. This seemed to be a simple task for the Music
Director (in this case yours truly), starting and stopping. There was one
issue, no music was forthcoming from the Joan Rivers people. So I went the
extra mile and wrote 12 measures of uptempo swing that would bring Joan on with
appropriate fanfare.
An afternoon
rehearsal was scheduled and the band assembled on the stage at the venue. Joan
proved to be likable and attentive to detail. Many artists never show for the
rehearsal, they send someone in their place. Joan talked us through the show
and made clear of one thing that the musicians were not to do. “At some point in my act,” she said, “I’m going to ask
you to help me move these potted plants at the front of the stage. Under no circumstances are you to help me in
any shape or form, no matter how I plead or beg.” It sounded like a direction
that was easy enough to follow.
Ah, now for
the fanfare. “Here’s what we’ll do,” she directed her comments to me. “We have
a warm-up comedian, Tony Romeo. I’ll be in the wings and I’m going to hype
Tony, and when you hear me announce his name to the audience I want you to
launch into that fanfare and Tony will stride onto the stage.” It sounded easy
enough. The band retired to their dressing rooms and awaited the downbeat.
Showtime. The
band assembled on stage, the curtains opened, and Joan Rivers is in the wings
unseen to the audience but laying it on thick with her microphone, or so I
guessed. Unlike the rehearsal, Joan was not standing next to me, and to my
consternation I realized all I could hear from her was an unintelligible echo-laden
slur of words. Joan Rivers was not a mild, calm personality. As she is in the
wings waving her arms wildly and shouting into the mic, I’m trying to guess will
I hear the words “Tony Romeo”? I’m standing with my hands up, musicians are
watching me and I’m watching Joan, trying to sort out this indiscernible
tirade. There! I think she said it. The downbeat. The band launches into the
fanfare and I’m conducting wildly. As I look to the wings I see Joan Rivers
staring at me. She hands the mic to an assistant, and to my horror strides onto
the stage, grabs the stage mic and proceeds to exclaim, “no, no, no! That’s not
how we practiced it. I’m supposed to
say the guy’s name and you then
launch into the music. Don’t you remember that?” I shrunk in horror but soon
realized that Joan, the ultimate pro, was making it part of the act. I managed
to nod my head, “okay, okay, let’s try it again” and she strode back to the
wings with one of those comments like, “the help these days, can you believe
it? Let’s try it again.” This time there was no doubt when she announced the
name “Tony Romeo.” Take two on the fanfare. Out comes Tony, does his bit, we
play him off, and out comes Joan.
As she did her
act I sat at the piano feeling as small as one can be. I had just proceeded to
mess up Joan Rivers’ act, or so I thought. Indeed, Joan did berate the
musicians — actually I can’t print what she called the musicians when they
refused to help her move the plants, but it all was part of her shtick, and the
professional demeanor made the whole act seem like a well-oiled machine.
I’ll never
forget my Joan Rivers encounter and the ultimate pro that she was.
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