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Did They Mention the Music?: The Autobiography of Henry Mancini

by Henry Mancini

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Best known for the "dead-ant" theme to the Pink Panther films, Henry Mancini also composed the music to Peter Gunn, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Orson Welles' Touch of Evil, and the Academy Award winning soundtracks to Victor/Victoria and The Days of Wine and Roses. In a career that lasted over thirty years, Mancini amassed twenty Grammy awards and more nominations than any other composer. In his memoir, written with jazz expert Lees, Mancini discusses his close friendships with Blake Edwards, Julie Andrews, and Paul Newman, his professional collaborations with Johnny Mercer, Luciano Pavarotti, and James Galway, and his achievements as a husband, father, and grandfather. A great memoir loaded with equal parts Hollywood glitz and Italian gusto.… (more)
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Henry Mancini’s autobiography is perhaps a reflection of the man himself, in that it’s understated, humble, and fair. It reflects what a nice man he was, both warm and caring, but imperfect. He doesn’t gloss over his own failings, albeit family or professional, but neither does he delve too deeply into them. Nor does he delve too deeply into the private lives of others. It wasn’t Mancini’s style. Yet what he doesn’t say comes through loud and clear, so much so, that once we reach the postscript, we feel a deep remorse that he’s gone, even though we know he passed some years ago.

There is a lot about the music here, the films scored, his relationships with Blake Edwards, Peter Sellers, David Niven, and of course, Mancini’s wife, singer Ginny O’Conner. But there is also a lot about family, Mancini’s own, certainly, including his son, Chris, and twin daughters, and the grandchild Hank and Ginny raised. But it all goes back to his humble — and in some ways horrific — beginnings, which Mancini never forgot. Mancini was Italian, but his father was actually from the old country, had led a very difficult life. He was a man unable to display affection for his son, but worse, one prone to great and brutal violence. Perhaps it was only the intervention at times by his diminutive mother, who loved both Hank and her husband, that kept it from getting worse.

And yet, Mancini makes clear that his father loved him, in a manner. He was the one who made certain that Hank got an education in music, so that he would not be tied to the mills and factories of Pittsburg, and his hometown, Aliquippa. He wanted his son to get out. Mancini struggled his entire life, quietly trying to understand his father, and yet not be like him with his own children. Mancini recalls an argument between his father and mother, in which his father took a bottle of pills away from her, perhaps to prevent her from great harm. Yet his father seemed as incapable of affection with his mother, as he was with Hank.

Though this sounds dark and dreary — as it should — everything Mancini writes about is conversational, matter-of-fact; just a tall, sophisticated gent with a nice demeanor, sitting in an elegant cocktail lounge, sipping on an apple martini, while a small jazz trio begins playing Lujon. Henry will, of course, smile and say quietly, but with pride, “I wrote that one. Let me tell you how it came about.”

In essence, that’s what you get here, a very nice, incredibly talented man, recalling both his life, and his life in music. A perfect example of the memoir’s style — and Mancini’s style — is his sometime funny, yet quietly appalling account of his time in the War. He was lucky, as he is the first to tell you. His biggest piece of luck was being drafted once he went to New York. Had he been drafted in Aliquippa, he would have ended up a tail-gunner, but instead caught some breaks, ending up in the bands. He even got to Nice. But he also was a driver for a chaplain who was so despicable that he stole stained glass from churches, and cases of champagne, selling them for profit, either to the soldiers, or sending them overseas. And in the theater in Europe, he saw former prisoners with rifles, forcing the SS soldiers to give the remaining dead a proper burial. Mancini writes of the Mautausen concentration camp:

“The smell of quicklime was everywhere. The cremation ovens were still warm, with traces of smoke rising from the chimneys.”

And then this:

“At the end of the day we left, and as we drove back to our camp I saw the villagers through different eyes than I had a few hours before. Within a mile of them, unspeakable horror had occurred; here, life went on as usual. Some of them must have known. No one could convince me otherwise.”

And then suddenly — the next paragraph! — the War is over, and Hank is recalling how beautiful the Rhone Valley and its lush countryside were, and how he joined up with some musicians in search of a flute player. A nice man who couldn’t hide the truth, yet didn’t want the reader of his autobiography to dwell on the horror of war. It was bad enough that he’d seen it, he felt lucky that he’d survived — with another shout out to Glenn Miller, who had put in a word. There is no trash here, no taking swipes at people, even when they deserve it. It’s mostly about the people who helped him most, like Max Adkins, and the wonderful people he worked with, the films he scored. Even when there are disagreements, he glosses over them. Perhaps the closest we get to that are a few comments about Benny Goodman, but the fact that Goodman was a cold cat — many have called him a jerk — is hardly news.

Actor Jeff Chandler was a good pal, and his tragic and needless death at a young age is given a moment. So is the wreck which took the eye of Mancini’s friend, Sammy Davis Jr. So is racism within the film music industry, something I’d honestly not considered much within the context Mancini places it. Mancini bristles when he recalls receiving a phone call from a studio asking if he thought Quincy Jones capable of scoring a film — because he was black. He got the gig because of Mancini. He also states how hyped Sammy was when Mancini wanted him to come out and do a song for a film. Sammy and his guys were tired of staying at the shanties; he wasn’t allowed as a guest in many of the places he was playing — even though he was getting big.

The great Johnny Mercer is in here a lot, of course, as is Mancini’s wife. But a huge amount really is about the music. From Peter Gunn to Breakfast at Tiffany’s, from Days of Wine and Roses to Charade, all the stuff surrounding the songs, and the pictures, is here. Moon River was almost cut from Tiffany’s, and might have been if not for Audrey and Blake. My favorite piece of Mancini’s music, Lujon, is never mentioned, but Hatari, The Pink Panther and so many others are, it’s only a personal quibble. I would be shocked, however, if everyone who reads this is not as surprised as I was to discover Hank’s favorite score, the one which always makes his eyes watery. Who knew?

Sophisticated yet down to earth, Mancini was a guy who never forget his time at Julliard. Once the allowance his father sent him was gone each month, he survived on a three-square diet of Hershey bars. Later, when the first royalty for the Peter Gunn soundtrack arrived, Mancini and his wife had 5 bucks in their account. The check was for $32,000. No wonder he marveled at his life, and tried to give back as much as he was able. So did his wife, Ginny. In the preface by Gene Lees, who is the former editor of Down Beat, there are two great stories. One shows Mancini’s off-beat sense of humor, the other, his quiet kindness and charity.

After the postscript, there is an appendix of awards, accomplishments, and a discography. It is a staggering body of work. Being a huge Mancini fan, I have a lot of the music. When I’m writing, more often than not, I have Mancini’s music playing quietly in the background. Writing is about mood, and no one ever did that better than Mancini. The only caveat here is that people have become so used to salacious revelations in biographies and autobiographies, some might view this as a bit too vanilla. But this is written by a guy with class, so you aren’t going to find that here in any way, shape, or form.

On a technical note, the Kindle version has quite a number of typos. It’s not enough to be distracting, but more than the three or four I’d normally allow — and expect — for a book with this page count. Mancini deserves better. This is a nice read, written by a nice man. The effect of time with Mancini is cumulative. When we reach the postscript by Gene Lees, we feel deep sadness, as though we’ve lost someone. Maybe it’s because there aren’t enough nice people like Mancini around any more, especially in the music business. Mancini’s passing was a terrible loss, but I’m sure somewhere in heaven, something pretty is being composed at this very moment, with Johnny Mercer adding some great lyrics… ( )
  Matt_Ransom | Oct 6, 2023 |
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Best known for the "dead-ant" theme to the Pink Panther films, Henry Mancini also composed the music to Peter Gunn, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Orson Welles' Touch of Evil, and the Academy Award winning soundtracks to Victor/Victoria and The Days of Wine and Roses. In a career that lasted over thirty years, Mancini amassed twenty Grammy awards and more nominations than any other composer. In his memoir, written with jazz expert Lees, Mancini discusses his close friendships with Blake Edwards, Julie Andrews, and Paul Newman, his professional collaborations with Johnny Mercer, Luciano Pavarotti, and James Galway, and his achievements as a husband, father, and grandfather. A great memoir loaded with equal parts Hollywood glitz and Italian gusto.

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