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From "YOUNG at HEART":

LES PAUL

By Anne Snowden Crosman

diet and started to exercise. By the time he went for a post-surgery checkup, he'd lost 45 pounds.

"My doctor didn't recognize me," he laughs. "He really didn't know me! I've kept to that health plan."

Les did one more thing. Before he left the hospital, he made a list with two columns, labelled "positive" and "negative."

He asked himself, '"Where am I happiest?' With all the different hats I wear, where am I happiest? And I was surprised to find out it was playing in nightclubs.

"NOT playing for presidents, or the Queen of England, or 50,000 people at a slug," he tells me. "Those were not the important things. It's playing in an intimate little nightclub, like this one, that I'm the happiest. I like playing the guitar with the real people, the rock people who have been loyal fans, the newcomers, and people coming in from different countries."

Many fans are Japanese, who have followed his career and collected all his records and CDs. They tell him so when they shake his hand. Before the Iridium gig, Les played at Fat Tuesday's downtown every Monday for eleven years. He loves his schedule.

"It gives me time to do creative work at home the rest of the week," he says. He practices and experiments in a state-of-the art studio that he built.

Where do you get this zest for life? I ask.

"Mother lived to be 1011/2," he says promptly. "She had all the get-up-and-go, all the energy, UNBELIEVABLE energy. When she had her one hundredth birthday party, she leaned over to me and said, 'Lester, do I still have my marbles?' Ha! I said, 'Yep, you've got 'em, Mom.' She was just sharp as a tack, justlike a

At 88, he is a pop music icon. Decades ago, Les invented the electric guitar and still plays weekly to standing-room-only crowds.

Every Monday night, he drives into New York City and takes the stage at the Iridium, a Broadway nightclub. He and his trio— "kids half my age," he jokes-play two sets of mellow, jazzy music, including his signature piece, "How High the Moon."

The fans love his intricate improvisations. Between sets, they line up for autographs, which he signs enthusiastically, on napkins and items presented to him: postcards, photos, sheet music, record albums, even a T-shirt worn by a comely young woman.

Born: June 9,1915, Waukesha, WI Profession: Musician, song writer, inventor Home: Mahwah, NJ

A consummate gentleman, Les asks her to turn around and signs his name on her back. They both laugh.

"Hey, how're you doing?" he gives a hearty handshake to a German tourist. "What kind of guitar do you play?" The young man, clearly thrilled, replies, "A Les Paul electric." Les smiles warmly. "Gee,

lawyer. So quick.

"I was always very enthusiastic about most everything I got into," he continues. "I had to know why, when you throw the switch, that light LIGHTS! It's a curiosity. It's a curiosity where you not only want to know, but you CAN."

Do you want to live to be 101 V2, too? I ask.

"Absolutely," he says, without hesitation. If you have all your marbles, I add.

"If I have all my marbles," he laughs, "and if I'm enjoying myself fine. If it so be that things aren't that fortunate, then I would like to check out. I don't see any sense in being around if it's just lingering on." He sips his beer.

"I feel like a million bucks, better than I did before the surgery. I feel young, I feel real young. I smoked five packs of cigarettes a day for ten years, from the age of 65 to 75. I stopped that after the bypass. I stopped drinking. I'll drink a little now, I allow myself two beers a week. I went on the Pritiken Diet. I'm very careful not to wander off on some flaky diet. I eat oatmeal, and a lot of popcorn! No saturated fats," he says crisply.

What about plastic surgery? I ask.

"I don't believe in it," he says. "I think that if the body is growing old, your face should go with it. I think the whole body should grow old together." He smiles at me, eyes flashing.

Les is rarely idle. He needs only five hours of sleep every night, sometimes less. "Just this last week I didn't sleep for two days, be-

that s nice. Enjoy it.

He jokes and banters with the crowd during sets. "You want to hear THAT old tune?" he laughs. Then he invites anyone to come on stage and perform a piece. "You're something else!" he tells a young man after his lively guitar rock number.

"I'd hate to follow your act." The youth blushes and grins.

After the show, Les invites me to his tiny dressing room.

He sips beer from a bottle, leans back in his chair, and asks me about myself and the book. We have a mutual friend and an interest in music, so talk comes easily. I say I've always enjoyed his music. He laughs in appreciation.

"I can't express how much I look forward to WORKING every week," he says. "I can't express how much my trio means to me. They are so much younger than I am! The bass player is quite young and the guitar player is half my age. We all look forward to Monday night. It's almost like we're being GIVEN something, rather than working a job."

Quiet and well-spoken, Les is a slight man with fair skin, freckles, and light blue eyes that dance when he gets excited.

Wispy red hair combed straight back gives him an elfish look.

He wears a royal blue turtleneck and pressed, faded jeans.

"I never at one moment EVER stopped being grateful for all the people who like what I've done, or like me or my music," he goes on. "I love to be with the people. I love to hear

their negative comments or their constructive criticisms. I LOOK for em.

"Yes, I look for 'em!" he says. "My son Les, Jr. is my engineer. He videotapes each set and I watch the videos at home.

Every week I come down here and say, 'I'm gonna try again. I didn't get it right last week, so I'm down here this week to get it right.' And I enjoy it."

He plays guitar despite gnarled fingers. Diagnosed with arthritis 20 years ago, he despaired of ever playing again. Then he hit on a new method.

"I jam the pick between two fingers of my right hand," he demonstrates. "Then I use two, not the usual four fingers, on my left hand. Those two left fingers are my only good fingers now. In some ways, I play better than when I had use of all my fingers."

He looks up and shrugs his skinny shoulders. Les also survived advanced heart disease. In 1980, he had quintuple-bypass surgery, a new technique at the time. On doctor's orders, he stopped smoking and drinking. He radically changed his

cause I was busy," he says nonchalantly. "At home, I'm building a second recording studio, writing my memoirs, and always practicing to keep up my musical skills.

"I surround myself with young guys like Jimmy Page, Billy Joel, and George Benson," he explains. "I'm in a studio with all young players. I've done a country album, a jazz album, a rock 'n' roll album, and a blues album. They're all with young guys, except the jazz album.

"I learn from the young guys," he says excitedly. "I learn from my son Les, Jr. He's divorced, has three children, but lives with me. He'll ask me something, some advice, and I'll take a deep breath. Because I want to tell him, 'Look, I tried that 40 years ago, it don't work.' But it will work NOW, see, because he does it a little different."

His passion for work can take over, and Les has to watch it. "I get terribly busy, which is selfish," he admits. "Which is selfish," he repeats gently.

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	From "YOUNG at HEART": LES PAUL By Anne Snowden Crosman diet and started to exercise. By the time he went for a post-surgery checkup, he'd lost 45 pounds. "My doctor didn't recognize me," he laughs. "He really didn't know me! I've kept to that health plan." Les did one more thing. Before he left the hospital, he made a list with two columns, labelled "positive" and "negative." He asked himself, '"Where am I happiest?' With all the different hats I wear, where am I happiest? And I was surprised to find out it was playing in nightclubs. "NOT playing for presidents, or the Queen of England, or 50,000 people at a slug," he tells me. "Those were not the important things. It's playing in an intimate little nightclub, like this one, that I'm the happiest. I like playing the guitar with the real people, the rock people who have been loyal fans, the newcomers, and people coming in from different countries." Many fans are Japanese, who have followed his career and collected all his records and CDs. They tell him so when they shake his hand. Before the Iridium gig, Les played at Fat Tuesday's downtown every Monday for eleven years. He loves his schedule. "It gives me time to do creative work at home the rest of the week," he says. He practices and experiments in a state-of-the art studio that he built. Where do you get this zest for life? I ask. "Mother lived to be 1011/2," he says promptly. "She had all the get-up-and-go, all the energy, UNBELIEVABLE energy. When she had her one hundredth birthday party, she leaned over to me and said, 'Lester, do I still have my marbles?' Ha! I said, 'Yep, you've got 'em, Mom.' She was just sharp as a tack, justlike a At 88, he is a pop music icon. Decades ago, Les invented the electric guitar and still plays weekly to standing-room-only crowds. Every Monday night, he drives into New York City and takes the stage at the Iridium, a Broadway nightclub. He and his trio— "kids half my age," he jokes-play two sets of mellow, jazzy music, including his signature piece, "How High the Moon." The fans love his intricate improvisations. Between sets, they line up for autographs, which he signs enthusiastically, on napkins and items presented to him: postcards, photos, sheet music, record albums, even a T-shirt worn by a comely young woman. Born: June 9,1915, Waukesha, WI Profession: Musician, song writer, inventor Home: Mahwah, NJ A consummate gentleman, Les asks her to turn around and signs his name on her back. They both laugh. "Hey, how're you doing?" he gives a hearty handshake to a German tourist. "What kind of guitar do you play?" The young man, clearly thrilled, replies, "A Les Paul electric." Les smiles warmly. "Gee, lawyer. So quick. "I was always very enthusiastic about most everything I got into," he continues. "I had to know why, when you throw the switch, that light LIGHTS! It's a curiosity. It's a curiosity where you not only want to know, but you CAN." Do you want to live to be 101 V2, too? I ask. "Absolutely," he says, without hesitation. If you have all your marbles, I add. "If I have all my marbles," he laughs, "and if I'm enjoying myself fine. If it so be that things aren't that fortunate, then I would like to check out. I don't see any sense in being around if it's just lingering on." He sips his beer. "I feel like a million bucks, better than I did before the surgery. I feel young, I feel real young. I smoked five packs of cigarettes a day for ten years, from the age of 65 to 75. I stopped that after the bypass. I stopped drinking. I'll drink a little now, I allow myself two beers a week. I went on the Pritiken Diet. I'm very careful not to wander off on some flaky diet. I eat oatmeal, and a lot of popcorn! No saturated fats," he says crisply. What about plastic surgery? I ask. "I don't believe in it," he says. "I think that if the body is growing old, your face should go with it. I think the whole body should grow old together." He smiles at me, eyes flashing. Les is rarely idle. He needs only five hours of sleep every night, sometimes less. "Just this last week I didn't sleep for two days, be- that s nice. Enjoy it. He jokes and banters with the crowd during sets. "You want to hear THAT old tune?" he laughs. Then he invites anyone to come on stage and perform a piece. "You're something else!" he tells a young man after his lively guitar rock number. "I'd hate to follow your act." The youth blushes and grins. After the show, Les invites me to his tiny dressing room. He sips beer from a bottle, leans back in his chair, and asks me about myself and the book. We have a mutual friend and an interest in music, so talk comes easily. I say I've always enjoyed his music. He laughs in appreciation. "I can't express how much I look forward to WORKING every week," he says. "I can't express how much my trio means to me. They are so much younger than I am! The bass player is quite young and the guitar player is half my age. We all look forward to Monday night. It's almost like we're being GIVEN something, rather than working a job." Quiet and well-spoken, Les is a slight man with fair skin, freckles, and light blue eyes that dance when he gets excited. Wispy red hair combed straight back gives him an elfish look. He wears a royal blue turtleneck and pressed, faded jeans. "I never at one moment EVER stopped being grateful for all the people who like what I've done, or like me or my music," he goes on. "I love to be with the people. I love to hear their negative comments or their constructive criticisms. I LOOK for em. "Yes, I look for 'em!" he says. "My son Les, Jr. is my engineer. He videotapes each set and I watch the videos at home. Every week I come down here and say, 'I'm gonna try again. I didn't get it right last week, so I'm down here this week to get it right.' And I enjoy it." He plays guitar despite gnarled fingers. Diagnosed with arthritis 20 years ago, he despaired of ever playing again. Then he hit on a new method. "I jam the pick between two fingers of my right hand," he demonstrates. "Then I use two, not the usual four fingers, on my left hand. Those two left fingers are my only good fingers now. In some ways, I play better than when I had use of all my fingers." He looks up and shrugs his skinny shoulders. Les also survived advanced heart disease. In 1980, he had quintuple-bypass surgery, a new technique at the time. On doctor's orders, he stopped smoking and drinking. He radically changed his cause I was busy," he says nonchalantly. "At home, I'm building a second recording studio, writing my memoirs, and always practicing to keep up my musical skills. "I surround myself with young guys like Jimmy Page, Billy Joel, and George Benson," he explains. "I'm in a studio with all young players. I've done a country album, a jazz album, a rock 'n' roll album, and a blues album. They're all with young guys, except the jazz album. "I learn from the young guys," he says excitedly. "I learn from my son Les, Jr. He's divorced, has three children, but lives with me. He'll ask me something, some advice, and I'll take a deep breath. Because I want to tell him, 'Look, I tried that 40 years ago, it don't work.' But it will work NOW, see, because he does it a little different." His passion for work can take over, and Les has to watch it. "I get terribly busy, which is selfish," he admits. "Which is selfish," he repeats gently.

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