When I came on board, it was halfway through his [Frank Sinatra] 72nd year, and when he did his last show he was gaining on 80. He knew it, the audience knew it, and there was never any attempt to conceal such a thing. His vision wasn't what it had once been. His hearing wasn't. His memory was fading. He knew these things. He was very much in need of help, and I was so happy to be able, in a small way, to render that help.

For many, many years I wouldn't sing 'My Way.' It seemed pretentious for me to sing [my father's] song 'My Way.' Now it must be in the show to help us tell the story.

A man once said when the legend gets bigger than the man, you've lost the man and you have an unrealistic picture.

So what's happening with the audio/visuality, for the first time we are doing the music - the people who would come to the concert love the music - they loved him and loved his music - for the first time in concert it's not only the music. Now it's time to know the man. We know the music, but what was the man like?

This disease they call 'rap' - some kind of rhythmic pulse is going by, while some sociopathic idiot is belching out grade school poetry.

I was able to put something back. I was able to be of help to [Frank Sinatra] when he needed my help - and he did need somebody's help.

Tony Bennett is still giving concerts, still singing. It's keeping him alive. He's in his late 80s now and he keeps going and going. I maintain, God bless him, it's this devotion to duty and working and being in front his audience.