EXCLUSIVE: Just in time for Valentine’s Day, Paul Anka has unveiled a new album today, titled Inspirations of Life And Love, released through Green Hill Music/Sun Label Group. For those familiar with the recent HBO documentary Paul Anka: His Way, it’s evident that Anka has skillfully navigated every significant change in the music industry since his debut at age 16, performing Diana on American Bandstand and The Ed Sullivan Show in 1957. His rise to stardom was instantaneous, and he has maintained relentless momentum, currently preparing for the upcoming March leg of his A Man and His Music Tour. Despite being 84, Anka appears remarkably youthful, adhering to a strict diet and regimen—including a daily shot of olive oil with lemon—that enables him to consistently hit his vocal marks. His captivating anecdotes often highlight how he successfully embraced monumental shifts that derailed many other artists’ careers. As a teen heartthrob, Anka felt self-conscious about his weight, which he addressed by working with a trainer and weights. To expand his international appeal, he mastered multiple languages, including Japanese, French, Spanish, German, and Italian, to record his songs. When the British Invasion marginalized artists like him from radio play, Anka shifted to songwriting for others. This era produced iconic works such as The Tonight Show theme, My Way for Frank Sinatra, and She’s a Lady for Tom Jones, among numerous others. Given his history, who could offer better advice to today’s anxious Hollywood creatives grappling with the industry’s most profound disruptions in decades?
DEADLINE: I vividly recall that memorable Kodak commercial featuring you, your family, and the song “Times of Your Life.” In contrast, last Sunday’s Super Bowl included an advertisement that repurposed Phil Collins’ “Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now).” His vocals were heard emanating from flapping toilet seats, urinals, and a Port-a-Potty, followed by a voiceover urging viewers to check their urine color and hydrate with Liquid I.V. This felt rather undignified for an Oscar-nominated track. Is this the inevitable cost for artists following the recent lucrative catalog sales, where even Beatles classics are used to market coffee? How can the artistic integrity of beloved songs be preserved?
PAUL ANKA: Times of Your Life marks my sole commercial endorsement to date. We meticulously review every inquiry and decline more offers than we accept. In my specific case, I personally oversee all approval decisions. No request proceeds without my explicit consent. I am directly involved in granting or denying each one. Primary Wave and I operate as close and effective partners.
DEADLINE: The Grammy Awards recently concluded. My upbringing was in a time when we passionately followed emerging artists, purchasing their full discographies and witnessing their artistic evolution. Today, I’d barely recognize most contemporary stars if I encountered them. My children might dismiss this with an “OK Boomer,” but hypothetically, what guidance would you offer a rapidly rising artist who, like you, achieved swift fame but could potentially vanish just as fast?
ANKA: My overarching perspective is this: current popularity doesn’t impress me; longevity does. Regarding your question, I’d advise discretion and careful selection of your inner circle. Educate yourself about the industry. Be mindful of your public image, as your reputation precedes you. Maintain sharp focus and avoid being swayed by the last opinion you heard. Recognize that in our world, nearly everything is fleeting, and very few things endure indefinitely.
DEADLINE: You anticipate AI having a significant impact on music, as well as on health and extending lifespans. However, Hollywood artists often perceive it as a contentious term.
ANKA: My perspective differs. I believe we must maintain optimism and acknowledge technology’s continuous evolution. When I began my career, communication with Europe was solely via Telex. Pop music was nascent, and recordings were made on wax. We were inadvertently shaping culture even then. The emergence of AI is simply another facet of this ongoing evolution. Historically, this remarkable country always finds a way to restore equilibrium, and I believe things will settle. While I love my nation, I don’t always fully trust its leadership, which is a concern. Nevertheless, I anticipate a rebalancing where workers displaced by automation will find new opportunities through collaboration between government and corporations. They’ll receive financial support, potentially exceeding their previous incomes, enabling them to live fulfilling lives. Adjustments are inevitable, but observing AI’s trajectory in music, film, and medical fields, I fully endorse it. While regulation and oversight will be crucial, I harbor no fear.
Paul Anka: Inspirations of Life and Love
Courtesy
DEADLINE: While I’m not fond of change, I deeply respect those who welcome disruption. Your HBO Max documentary, Paul Anka: His Way, notably highlighted your consistent ability to foresee impending shifts, adapt, and flourish. Hollywood faces ongoing contraction, with Warner Bros. reportedly being sold to either Netflix or Paramount Global. The advent of AI, alongside the impact of COVID and the growth of streaming, has dramatically shortened theatrical release windows for films. The question is no longer about recovery, but rather what remnants of the traditional film industry will endure.
ANKA: The music industry has transformed so profoundly that its former infrastructure has completely vanished. Record labels no longer hold their previous significance, making it exceptionally challenging for emerging artists to secure recording contracts. Everyone is searching for the next Taylor Swift. Streaming presents a substantial issue: despite offering broad exposure, it severely restricts writers’ potential earnings. Following changes in our relationships with record companies, they’ve effectively established a monopoly. While securing a record deal is difficult, it’s also less essential now. Artists like myself, Bruce Springsteen, and many legacy acts primarily generate income through touring. My earnings come from copyrights for songs like My Way and Put Your Head on My Shoulder, as well as royalty payments.
DEADLINE: Few possess your prolific songwriting capabilities…
ANKA: Those who are prolific writers tend to thrive. Billy Joel, for instance, does exceptionally well, as does Sting. Streaming has fundamentally altered the industry. I’ve consistently maintained that we reach a point where everyone needs to remember that without the song—without the music and lyrics—there are no artists, no managers, no agents, and no record labels. I am strongly pro-writer, extending to your profession, because without written content, magazines wouldn’t exist. Who will create it? I champion writers, yet I see their craft threatened by streaming and AI. Recently, the top-charting country song was entirely AI-generated, completely lacking a human element. This disruption is tangible and is replacing nearly every human capability. It’s happening in film, too. About four years ago, my good friend Warren Buffett called me. He mentioned using Chat GPT, asking it to write My Way, and it produced four distinct versions in a single minute. That was my first encounter with such technology, and I was astonished. Now, countless stories abound. For many young people, everything is AI-driven, and they’re astute to embrace it. For most of these kids, a traditional college education may not be relevant in the future.
DEADLINE: Do you foresee this impacting the economic viability of your industry, and the one I report on?
ANKA: Cripple the business? The film industry has completely migrated out of California. The film business as we once understood it no longer exists; it’s finished. I recently attended a party David Zaslav hosted for me when HBO released the documentary. They very cleverly instigated a bidding war. John Malone is a genius. Now, the situation will likely be entangled in court for two years, as the Ellisons won’t yield easily, backed by Trump and Middle Eastern funding. Who can say? Ted Sarandos has a close relationship with Zaslav. Sometimes these figures perform favors for one another, a classic Vegas maneuver. If you want to sell a hotel, you ask a friend to submit an offer, just to feign competition. They publicize it, initiating a bidding frenzy. I still anticipate Paramount acquiring it. Ted and Netflix have historically developed content internally, never making significant acquisitions. Ted has also long shown disdain for the theatrical release model, alienating many in exhibition. However, changes are inevitable regardless of the buyer. Fewer distribution channels will remain, perhaps only three. We acknowledge the crucial role of international sales, with films now produced globally in places like Atlanta and Canada. This concerns me because we’ve lost our fundamental film infrastructure, and the Hollywood of our youth is no more.
The state of California bears responsibility for its decline. It was once a fantastic place to reside and work on studio lots. Now, it’s completely transformed; it’s fundamentally different. Change is a constant, historically impacting numerous profitable sectors. One simply must be prepared. The middle class has been eradicated, leaving too many Californians unable to afford basic expenses. The entire middle class has been erased.
DEADLINE: What do you foresee as the ultimate direction of these trends?
ANKA: I believe the situation will deteriorate. The global political climate, coupled with the concentrated wealth controlling everything, suggests that these elites will not thrive because their agenda is distinct and doesn’t prioritize the public’s interests. Hollywood holds no importance for them. We currently find ourselves in a “tribal” predicament. Democrats and Republicans once communicated; I’ve visited the White House multiple times, but this current state of division is abhorrent. As a Canadian who pursued the American dream and became a citizen, I continue to live that dream. I love this country, yet I’ve consistently maintained a distrust for those in power, not all the time, but often.
DEADLINE: A prevalent sentiment in Hollywood suggests that professionals in the entertainment industry face unprecedented challenges.
ANKA: Without a doubt, but that doesn’t imply it wasn’t destined to occur. Evolution inevitably causes various forms of collateral damage. The familiar infrastructure, where studios held sway, no longer exists. Now, we have Netflix and numerous other streaming platforms, and people are choosing to remain home. They’re disinclined to go out and spend, preferring to stay in. Currently, top-tier writers are crafting exceptional series for these streamers. The landscape has changed, it has shifted. And with this, come all the resulting scars and damage we observe—that’s simply how it is. It’s akin to a brilliant author who might produce one or two great books and then stops writing. There’s no mandate to write 50. Writing is demanding. I’ve penned one book, and they’re urging me for another, plus I have a Broadway show in the works. Yet, writing remains the fundamental core, the essence of everything thriving around us: scripts for studios, music for artists, the play itself. Without it, there is no industry.
DEADLINE: You handled it gracefully, but surely the emergence of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, and similar acts must have felt like a crushing blow. The airwaves were dominated by their sound, not yours. Watching the documentary evoked a feeling similar to what many in Hollywood experience today: uncertainty about their livelihoods and future employment. Your songwriting talent proved to be your salvation. Did you ever feel like a relic from a bygone era?
ANKA: Not in the slightest. At my core, I’m an inherently precocious individual with a keen intellect and a clear understanding of myself and my aspirations. It’s about self-honesty and self-belief. As a teenager from Ottawa, a city of 200,000, I was an anomaly, and no one quite knew what to make of me. Regardless of its origin, for those of us with inherent talents—and everyone possesses some form of gift—I was a kid who soared from obscurity to stardom. My challenge became: how do I avoid becoming arrogant when everyone treats me so favorably, and how do I sustain this momentum? At 16, while touring the United States alongside artists I admired, I found myself on a bus with Frankie Lymon. He was a heroin addict, injecting drugs directly in front of me and even offering some. Such moments demand critical decisions. My response was unequivocal: No. I understood that to achieve my goals, I couldn’t be creative or perform at my peak if I succumbed to any of that ‘stuff.’ It simply wasn’t aligned with who I was. There was also Chuck Berry, who faced legal issues involving young girls and was incarcerated during one of our tours. These were figures I idolized, yet here I was, a teenager in jeans and a t-shirt, still purchasing their records.
DEADLINE: You managed to steer clear of those hazards. You secured your initial record deal before you were legally old enough to sign a contract. What fueled such urgency?
ANKA: I dedicated myself to music, composing poetry, and began learning piano, setting my words to its melodies. I was fully immersed, discovering my purpose and passion, utterly absorbed by it all. I simply knew I possessed the capability.
DEADLINE: Yet you were merely 13 when you took the family car and embarked on journeys across Canada to participate in singing competitions…
ANKA: My mother, God rest her soul, was diabetic. I would observe her daily, administering those injections. She passed away when I was only 18, and her condition often meant early bedtimes. She owned an Austin Healey, which I’d practice driving because I needed to reach the Quebec side, the neighboring province. Ontario had liquor restrictions, but Quebec offered clubs where you could perform and drink, that’s where the excitement was. I had to cross a bridge, and walking was out of the question for a distance of 15 to 20 miles. I’d rehearse driving her Austin Healey, cruising up and down the street, preparing for major competitions. One evening at the Glenlee Club, earnings could reach up to $20. My desire was to sing, knowing that true success demands extensive experience. You don’t simply wake up and achieve it; you need 2000 hours of practice before truly discovering yourself. So, I borrowed the car and drove across the bridge, aware that Quebec was where the action was—where I could hone my skills. Crossing the Champlain Bridge, I struggled with the gearshift, transitioning from first to second. Nevertheless, I arrived and performed my Johnny Ray impression, incorporating a bit of Elvis Presley with the guitar. I was a charming, barely 14-year-old kid. Even now, I reflect and wonder, “How on earth did I maintain composure up there? What possessed me?” That sheer determination, that daily focus, is something a person must cultivate and recognize as an intrinsic part of themselves. I won that night, earning around $20.
As I headed home, a snowstorm erupted, as Ottawa is in Quebec, and it was winter. I struggled to maneuver the car, fumbling to shift into second and then third gear. My insufficient clutch engagement caused significant damage to the vehicle. A piston rod tore through the hood, and I heard metal scattering across the highway. I pulled off, taking two exit ramps, and found myself at a Chinese restaurant on Lover’s Lane, where numerous couples were parked. I drove in, the car billowing smoke. Two mounted police officers approached. “May I see your license, young man?” they asked. They then drove me home, waking my mother. It was an unpleasant experience. That marked my tumultuous beginning, after which we resorted to hitchhiking for concerts near Ottawa. Yet, it was perpetually about the music: new compositions, active listening, writing, and constant singing.
DEADLINE: It appears the car repairs significantly exceeded your $20 prize winnings…
ANKA: I was always resolute with my parents about my aspirations. They were perceptive enough to recognize my talent and often arranged for a local promoter or record store owner to hear me perform. They simply weren’t sure how else to guide a 15-year-old with such ambition.
I emerged from an era when music was still in its formative stages, a time when one could cultivate an unwavering self-dedication to mastering their craft. I consistently approach life in five-year cycles, contemplating: What’s on the horizon? What threats exist? What actions should be avoided? Where should the next strategic move be made?
I encountered The Beatles during my time living in England, having toured there as a youngster. I met them backstage; they were a cover band, not even performing original material. While socializing with them in England, they frequently expressed, “We want to do what you’re doing – writing.” I advised them, “You guys should be writing your own material, creating your unique sound.” Many acts of that period weren’t writing their own songs; compositions often came from writers at the Brill Building. While Chuck Berry penned his own music, many other teen idols relied on external songwriters. I sensed the impending rise of The Beatles.
American musical groups typically bore dignified, often regal names, such as The Royals or The Diamonds. In contrast, English bands had names like The Beatles, or were animal-themed. When I initially brought their records home, I declared they would be significant because, as a musician first, I genuinely appreciated their sound. Others dismissed me as eccentric. I persisted until I persuaded enough people; they investigated and ultimately brought the band over in ’64. To directly answer your question, I welcomed their arrival. Our own music hadn’t achieved universal acceptance; parents were often wary of us, and we faced considerable criticism. However, it was truly the Black experience that continually propelled culture forward, a trend evident as far back as jazz.
Therefore, as the music scene evolved and I traveled internationally, I recognized my potential. I could record in local languages and reside in those countries, contributing in that manner. I remained a songwriter, and my career continued to flourish. Even when bands like The Beatles dominated radio airwaves, many of us had to temporarily step back to allow the new sound to establish itself. During this period, I carved out a niche in Vegas, achieving success at an age when few others could. I diligently refined my performance skills. Consequently, I didn’t perceive The Beatles’ emergence as devastatingly as some of my peers did.
I was simply a kid who wrote songs. If that weren’t the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. In those days, there was no one available to write for me. Consider how everything converged to allow me to achieve my aspirations. I was compelled to write my own material because initially, no one was interested in hearing me. However, once people witnessed my songwriting, they recognized my profound passion and meticulous approach. I am a perfectionist; I’ve always been that way. They simply couldn’t restrain my ambition.
My journey to New York began when I won a soup contest. Records indicated that all the significant action in the music world happened in New York, which I recognized as the major city. Having never seen a high-rise, I was determined to get there. IGA Food stores ran a promotion offering a three-day trip to New York City for the person who collected the most soup wrappers in a Canadian district. I located my local IGA, secured a job packing groceries, likely earning four dollars a week as a 13-year-old. I meticulously observed women purchasing soup cans, resolved to win. After work, I’d visit their homes, knocking on doors to ask, “May I have your soup wrapper? Just let me tear them off.” I’d then write my name on the back and deposit them in a box. Winning the district contest, I, along with 40 other boys, was put on a train with packed lunches and damp sandwiches, bound for New York. We stayed at the YMCA Sloan House. I was on the 30th floor, and I’ll forever remember gazing at the city’s vibrant energy and dazzling lights.
DEADLINE: What transpired next?
ANKA: I thoroughly researched the record companies, knowing precisely where everything was located. Upon returning home, I was completely captivated and immersed myself in writing. I was fully committed to my dream, unwavering in my belief. I returned home and dedicated myself to piano practice, composing several songs, one of which was Diana, inspired by my first attraction to a young girl.
I persuaded my father to allow me to travel to Los Angeles to visit my uncle. So, my dad put me on a plane, fully aware of my true intentions. I made my way to Wallichs Music City, then the largest record store in the nation, a massive building situated on Sunset and Vine. Inside, listening booths allowed customers to sample records. I sought a song I’d heard on the radio, Stranded in the Jungle by The Cadets, which was the country’s number one hit in 1954. Examining the label, I saw they were based in Culver City, a short distance from my uncle’s place. I thought, “Hmm, I wonder if I could visit these guys and perform my songs for them.” I hitchhiked there and walked in. Two brothers, the Bahari Brothers, sat at a desk with their sister. A recording studio was located in the back. They seemed idle, still profiting from Stranded in the Jungle, pondering their next move. They asked, “Well, young man, how can we help you?” Dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt, and with papers in my pocket, I replied, “I’m here to sing my song.” They seemed surprised, asking my age. “I just want to sing the song,” I insisted. I began performing for the three of them.
Well, they were in that line of work for a reason. They possessed keen musical ears and were risk-takers. They discerned the emotion and sincerity in my performance; I wrote from my observations and feelings. They declared, “Okay, we’re going to record you.” They asked me to return in a month to meet Ernie Freeman, who later became a highly successful arranger, working with Sinatra and many others, but was then just starting. He had arranged Stranded in the Jungle. I sat with him as he took my material and crafted the arrangement. Upon my return, we entered the studio—a garage—and The Cadets, who had the number one record in the country, arrived. They provided background vocals for me. So, if you ever seek out that song, you’ll likely hear my voice on it. That marked my very first recording.
DEADLINE: Was it an immediate triumph?
ANKA: It achieved absolutely nothing. Thus, at 14, I experienced failure. However, I gleaned lessons from that setback. Having felt the initial excitement, I was determined to persevere. The subsequent year, I moved to New York, and the rest, as they say, is history.
DEADLINE: I’m curious about the reasoning behind some of the unconventional choices you made throughout your career. As a handsome young man with considerable fame, you could easily have pursued a path as a movie star. Elvis, for instance, became Hollywood’s highest-paid actor, while Bruce Springsteen chose against acting, observing how Elvis’s artistic development stalled due to it. You featured in the D-Day WWII film The Longest Day and performed its title track. You acted in a couple of other films but didn’t commit heavily to acting. Why was that?
ANKA: My primary interest lay in developing into a comprehensive entertainer and continuously diversifying my musical contributions. I aimed to write for other artists because I believed I couldn’t perpetually create hits solely for myself. Reviewing the history of the music business, I recognized that every artist’s peak is finite. Therefore, I strove to establish myself with significant weight as a songwriter. I composed songs for Buddy Holly, Connie Francis, and Lesley Gore, and then there was The Longest Day. However, my involvement was purely out of curiosity; I’ve always relied on curiosity to explore new avenues and wanted to assess if I enjoyed that particular environment. The Longest Day proved to be a remarkable experience, featuring legends like John Wayne, Richard Burton, Sean Connery, Robert Mitchum, and Henry Fonda. I also appeared in a couple of MGM films, Girls Town and Adam and Eve.
It was simply a protracted process. While I appreciated the opportunity to connect with my audience through a medium beyond records, from a time investment perspective, it diverted focus from where I needed to establish a firm foundation. Time is one’s most precious resource, particularly as one ages, so judicious use is paramount. Even back then, Bobby Darin, Frankie Avalon, and I were just youngsters, dictated to by others. I was composing songs reflecting my emotions—not dismissive, but they were melodious teenage tunes based on my observations. However, our true aspiration was to emulate the sophisticated Rat Pack figures. That place, Vegas? Observing their attire, the rakish angle of their hats, their ability to smoke, sing, and drink simultaneously, and the vibrant atmosphere—that’s where we felt we needed to be.
To succeed there, one needed to develop a polished act, revise material, and test it in various venues across the country, many of which were controlled by the mob. The ultimate goal was to make a definitive breakthrough at the Copacabana – a do-or-die moment. Considering all these commitments—continuous recording, ongoing writing—I simply didn’t have three months to dedicate to filmmaking, sitting idly for an entire day just to achieve a single minute of screen time. Therefore, I decided I would act only on my own terms. Elvis’s career suffered due to this; his involvement in those substandard movies did him no favors. His manager, Colonel Tom Parker, was siphoning vast sums from him. I was acquainted with everyone in Vegas, and we were all on friendly terms with the casino owners. I worked and resided there, so I was privy to all the happenings. It was commonplace for The Colonel to gamble away a million of Elvis’s dollars at roulette—a sum indicative of his lifestyle. Moreover, he was taking 50% of Elvis’s earnings.
Returning to my initial point: I had no desire to pursue full-time acting in films, opting instead for episodic television. My ambition was to concentrate on becoming an accomplished entertainer, to refine my vocal abilities, recognizing that my only tools were my own talent and the influences I absorbed. Today, with advancements in technology, you can sing, you’re aware of the latest trends. I question who genuinely possesses singing talent anymore. Do you understand the tools available to us as vocalists now? If you wish to create drums, or make someone with no singing ability sound proficient, you absolutely can. In my time, no such technology existed to simplify the process. You truly had to master your craft. In the studio, recordings were made on magnetic tape reels. A mistake required a razor blade to cut out the erroneous section, which was then mended with Scotch tape. That was the extent of it. The tape was then sent off, a vinyl record was pressed, and within a week, you could have a hit.
Considering the significant time investment required and how straightforward the music creation process was, I wasn’t inclined to spend three months on movie sets, enduring ten takes for a single shot. I also didn’t believe I was attractive enough, nor did I have a clear sense of my acting niche. I did act for many years, appearing in shows like Kojak and Vegas, and various other TV productions, primarily because my friends were involved. However, the prospect of diverting from my core passion to something that wasn’t truly what I desired was unappealing. My ambition was to emulate those performers in Vegas; that was the pinnacle we could envision. While traveling in England, I observed, “Wow, these countries—there’s a vast world out here with diverse cultures. We’re successful domestically, but a global stage exists.” Consequently, I acclimated to Italy, living there intermittently, and recorded in Italian. My song Ogni Volta became the first million-seller in Italian music history. I also recorded songs in German, French, and Spanish. I evolved into an international artist because I recognized the potential of the global market, simultaneously aspiring for recognition as a respected entertainer. Vegas became my stage, and I became the youngest person ever to perform there.
DEADLINE: What was your strategy for establishing rapport with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis Jr.?
ANKA: My entire focus was on Frank, Dean, and Sammy. The entertainment circles in Vegas and New York were quite insular. A select group, often referred to as “the boys,” controlled the country’s three or four premier venues, undeniably influencing the Vegas music scene. These were primarily Jewish and Italian bookmakers who operated and booked the casinos. My aspiration was to join their ranks; I declared, “That’s my vision. I must do this, as my current path isn’t sustainable.” I sought out a teacher and a choreographer, asking, “What must I do to reach their level?” I then diligently rehearsed, practiced, and developed a complete act.
I debuted this act, aiming to prove my capabilities to everyone. It was primarily myself, Bobby Darin, and occasionally Frankie Avalon. We performed at the Copa, where I achieved considerable success. The novelty of a teenager like me, singing these types of songs with big bands, coupled with my intense focus and dedication to learning, meant I began generating significant income for them. With three shows nightly, word spread, and we were brought to Vegas. Still possessing the nerve to innovate, they paired me with Sophie Tucker to gauge my potential. By the end of the first show, she insisted I close it because, as a teen idol, I drew in parents and their children. Families with young kids in Vegas, all avid radio listeners, flocked to see me, cheering and shouting. It was a fresh phenomenon for Vegas. Elvis attempted it then but disliked it and failed to succeed. Consequently, they invited me to perform at The Sands—the domain of Frank, Dean, and Sammy. Being in their presence, gaining their acceptance, yet as you observed, they still exuded an aura that I was merely a “kid,” despite being half their age. I earned their respect and a cordial demeanor, which was rewarding. Everyone, even in our profession, wears a facade until it’s removed. So, they all maintained their fronts; Sammy had his, and so did Frank.
But I grasped it. I’m a quick study and was constantly advised to stay out of trouble and maintain a gentlemanly conduct due to my youth. Consequently, I behaved appropriately and only posed questions respectfully. Respect was paramount, and I sensed their acceptance of me, driven by the fact that I was generating revenue. Ultimately, everything revolved around “the boys.” When they spoke, the individuals I knew and Frank knew would affirm, “The kid is good. He stays.” We were collectively earning money, of which they received a share. The misconception was that this dynamic was confined to the United States. Through my global travels, I discovered similar structures: in Japan, it was the yakuza, not the mafia; in France, I dealt with the Corsican mob; and in Italy, the mafia was ubiquitous. These organizations emerged everywhere, drawn by opportunity.
My point is, once they recognized my ability to generate income, my talent, and my role as a writer, my presence became permanent. Suddenly, opportunities blossomed. I was composing the Tonight Show theme and appearing in The Longest Day—a young man in a major film. After my shows, some of these mob figures who had served in the war would join me, requesting, “Make sure you sing that for me tomorrow night.” They’d proudly display their medals and hats. That was Vegas: a tight-knit community where everyone knew each other. I was earning money, and Frank and his associates were partners; they knew I was profitable. I learned early in life that ultimately, everything boils down to money. To this very day, financial considerations underpin everything. They embraced me because I was a source of revenue for them.
DEADLINE: What was the timeframe for your full acceptance into the Rat Pack’s inner circle?
ANKA: About two years. I spent time with them, joined them for performances in Chicago and New York, meeting at places like Jilly’s and socializing at the bar. Not attempting to impersonate them as the Rat Pack, but rather was simply present among them. The significant turning point arrived with My Way.
DEADLINE: Could you elaborate on the origins of that?
ANKA: The instant I composed that song, at the age of 24, and it achieved success, Frank’s demeanor toward me shifted. He was planning to quit, to retire.
DEADLINE: He must have held you in considerable regard to entrust you with his intentions before they were public knowledge.
ANKA: This conversation took place in Florida. When Frank was in town, which he often was, we’d socialize almost every night or every other night, depending on his schedule. It was during a dinner with Mia Farrow, his wife at the time, that he decided to share his news with me. He expressed weariness, stating the Rat Pack era was over. He planned one final album with Don Costa, the same man who had discovered me in 1956. It took me a few years to introduce Costa to Frank, as Frank was then collaborating with Nelson Riddle and Gordon Jenkins. I actively advocated for Costa to work with Frank on an album, despite Frank’s reservations about Costa’s involvement in pop and rock ‘n’ roll music. Jilly and I orchestrated the meeting, eventually bringing Frank and Costa together. They soon found a comfortable working rhythm, as Sinatra always had his distinct method of operations.
They had created one of Frank’s finest albums, Sinatra and Strings. For any Sinatra enthusiast, that CD is an absolute must-have; it’s phenomenal. Sinatra’s remarkable quality is that within five seconds, you recognize his voice, and he instantly transports you into a particular emotional state—that’s his undeniable magic. No one else possesses his unique ability; he is truly unparalleled. So, upon hearing Frank was retiring, I, still a driven songwriter constantly seeking avenues for my music, actively writing and traveling to Germany, was stunned. This was my idol, and he was quitting. I couldn’t believe it. His announcement left me utterly devastated.
DEADLINE: What was the reason for your profound disappointment?
ANKA: My lifelong aspiration was to compose a song specifically for him. I believed my opportunity had passed. I had one final chance. I had acquired a melody I found appealing, and as I contemplated Frank reflecting on his illustrious career, the lyrics simply flowed from me.
DEADLINE: Ironically, My Way proved so successful that it persuaded him against retirement.
ANKA: Precisely. The Sinatra connection truly blossomed with My Way, which, in turn, granted me greater access to all of them—Dean and Sammy included, though I maintained a particularly close bond with Sammy throughout the years. I adored Sammy; honestly, I believe he was the most talented among us, capable of everything. He was exceptional, and I penned the song I’m Not Anyone for him, which achieved great success. This significantly altered my standing and how I was received by them all. I was now “the kid who wrote for Frank.” This marked the twelfth distinct phase of my career, and my professional prospects further improved. Subsequently, I composed She’s a Lady for Tom Jones, continually evolving my craft. Regardless of prevailing trends, I remained relevant, consistently producing hits across decades, such as [You’re] Having My Baby in ’74. I accomplished this by staying true to my artistic identity, never altering my style to appear more fashionable or edgy.
DEADLINE: You referenced the theme for The Tonight Show. Dolly Parton once recounted how she wrote “I Will Always Love You” while impoverished, and suffered trauma when Elvis Presley was prepared to record it, only to refuse Colonel Tom Parker’s demand for half of the song’s rights. You took the inverse approach, granting Johnny Carson half of all proceeds from The Tonight Show theme. In retrospect, why was this a wise decision for you?
ANKA: The situations were fundamentally different. I was already established and understood the music business, whereas Dolly was an emerging artist facing financial hardship. Her decision was understandable, given her circumstances and the inherent challenges women faced in the industry. I had already generated substantial income and gained significant business experience, recognizing that flexibility was key to securing favorable deals and participating effectively. Interestingly, I had initially hired Johnny. I was producing a TV special for Granada TV in England. While developing the show, I realized I had an abundance of teenage hits and felt a comedian was needed to balance the music. They then sent me audition tapes of various comedians from New York to London.
I began reviewing the comedians and noticed one particular act: a man named Johnny Carson, who portrayed a heavy drinker, staying up until four or five in the morning. This persona was part of his act; while he did drink in real life, his on-stage character, host of a children’s show, would be inebriated all night yet forced to appear at nine AM, attempting to be amiable to energetic, demanding children. I found the routine humorous, so I insisted, “Get him.” Johnny subsequently joined my show, and we exchanged polite greetings. At that point, I never claimed to know him intimately.
After his departure and my show’s completion, I encountered him again, coincidentally leaving a building. “Hey, Johnny, how are you, what have you been doing?” I asked. He explained, “Well, I’m considering hosting this show for a few years; we’re making some adjustments, and we might need a new theme song.” Internally, I thought, “I’m probably not the right person for this.” But he then said, “Perhaps you could come and assist me.” I replied, “Certainly, I’ll create a demo for you.” And so we did. We rented a studio for $200. I entered, laid down my musical vision, and had a melodic concept in mind for the theme. It needed to be memorable and feature a brass band. I sent it to him, and his response was, “Great. Love it.”
Then I received a call from him saying he couldn’t use the song. Skitch Henderson was his bandleader at the time, and when you’re a young person in that industry, interacting with men twice your age, they inherently view you as a kid. They are inclined to exploit that. You gradually toughen up, but you’re still young and must contend with challenges daily. You have to discover your driving force. For me, it’s belief, and revenge. Revenge. Revenge serves as a crucial motivator, and I wish more artists would candidly admit this. It’s an incredible tool, comparable in power to learning from failure. For actors and singers, revenge often acts as their primary impetus.
DEADLINE: What makes it such a potent force?
ANKA: It’s because they face rejection. They are repeatedly dismissed. People treat them poorly. What does such treatment cultivate within an artist? A desire for retribution. If you possess strength and self-belief, you will ultimately retaliate against someone who uttered malicious remarks or claimed you’d never succeed. It’s that very sense of revenge that propels you forward.
However, this wasn’t solely about The Tonight Show. I told Johnny, “Look, it’s catchy.” In my mind, I questioned its long-term trajectory; I certainly didn’t foresee it running for 39 years. I was focused on the present. I offered, “I’ll give you half of everything. I had nothing to lose.” I continued, “I’ll put your name on it, list you as a writer. You’ll receive 50% of all earnings!” Twenty-four hours later, he called back: “You’ve got it.” Skitch Henderson was furious.
What often goes unrecognized is that Johnny became unparalleled in his field. He hosted for, what, 39 years? It generated such immense annual revenue that regulatory bodies like ASCAP and BMI were compelled to revise their rules on earnings limits, effectively reducing our share because the theme was broadcast on so many stations. They restructured the entire compensation system. Regardless, it proved highly lucrative for us, and I have absolutely no regrets about sharing those rights.
DEADLINE: Did that particular song generate more income for you than any other in your career?
ANKA: It aired nightly for what felt like an eternity. But due to The Tonight Show‘s eventual conclusion, I think Put Your Head on My Shoulder and My Way ultimately generated greater earnings for me.
DEADLINE: I presume I don’t need to inquire which composition holds the deepest personal significance for you.
ANKA: My Way—I genuinely don’t comprehend how I wrote it. I believe there’s a spiritual force at play in the universe, though I can’t identify the entities that empower one’s abilities. We are all bestowed with certain gifts. And that particular night, driven by a man I hesitate to even call an idol, the song simply materialized. I was typing furiously on a Selectric, as if he himself were dictating it. I hadn’t prepared to write anything. While my craft had improved compared to earlier in my career, to spontaneously create something as distinct as My Way, specifically for him? I have no idea where it originated, all within five hours. And it’s the singular instance—I wonder if you’ve ever experienced this with your own writing—where you think, “My goodness, this is extraordinary. I don’t know where it came from.”
I immediately picked up the phone and called him. I was, frankly, in tears, and he told me to come over; the rest is well-known history. I was so completely immersed in that moment, metaphorically channeling his voice, knowing I would never personally use a phrase like ‘I ate it up and spit it out,’ but it was so authentically him—that’s how he spoke. I performed it for him. There’s an inherent quality to him that is always Sinatra: the man who commands the room, a magnificent artist, formidable and resilient. When he first heard Strangers in the Night, he despised it, calling it “a piece of shit,” and was made to record it. But with My Way, his reaction was simply, “I like it, kid. I’m going to do it.” Two months later, the phone rang. I heard it through the speaker, him in the studio. I was in New York. That’s how I first heard his version. And as you noted, it became such a colossal hit for him that he extended his career by another ten years.
DEADLINE: My final question. Considering your ties to “the boys,” how did you manage not to appear on screen in Goodfellas, widely regarded as the definitive modern mob film?
ANKA: I was indeed slated for a role. They envisioned me singing at the Copa. Where you see Bobby Vinton. Martin Scorsese approached me and reviewed my archival footage from my performances at the Copacabana, some of which is included in the HBO Max documentary. When Scorsese began the film, no one had a clear understanding of the Copa’s interior or appearance, and he required authentic visual references. I was the only one who had ever filmed inside. Regarding the scene itself, I wasn’t keen on simply standing there to sing. He agreed, but he allowed me to have the final say.
DEADLINE: It has always astonished me that you permitted Sid Vicious, the Sex Pistols’ punk rocker, to record “My Way,” especially as his version plays during the credits of Goodfellas.
ANKA: Scorsese stands as one of cinema’s truly great directors, and his use of music is consistently brilliant, such as Derek and the Dominoes’ Layla in Goodfellas. He came across Sid Vicious’s rendition and, for his own reasons, decided to incorporate My Way. At that point, numerous artists were covering the song. I’ve always maintained an open mind regarding diverse musical styles. When I received Sid Vicious’s recording for license approval, I was initially hesitant due to its drastic departure from the original. I conducted my due diligence, making calls and gathering as much information as possible, knowing my decisions are only as sound as the intelligence I collect. I discovered he traveled to Paris, where he didn’t use his regular band, but instead collaborated with a French jazz ensemble, even modifying the amplifier by removing tubes. He invested genuine effort. While the man had a limited vocal range, and one could criticize him for that, he poured his authentic emotion into the performance. I questioned, “Who am I to object, when he approached it with such sincerity? That’s genuinely how he felt it.” I was confident the song’s legacy would endure. Some might comment negatively, but they would eventually move past it. He had every right to express himself. Had his rendition been a parody or a deliberate degradation, I would not have approved it. Concluding it was sincere, I granted the license, telling Marty he could use it.
‘Paul Anka: His Way’
HBO Max