The Beat: Paul Shaffer hits right notes with autobiography

You might know that Paul Shaffer wrote "It's Raining Men."

You might even know that he performed in the first house band for "Saturday Night Live."

But did you know that he was briefly in the Patty Smyth-fronted'80s band Scandal and played the synth solo on its hit "Goodbye To You"?

Or -- brace yourselves that Jerry Seinfeld wanted him to play George Costanza on "Seinfeld," but, because of a combination of busyness and arrogance, Shaffer never returned the comic's recruitment call ("What kind of show could he possibly have?" Shaffer wondered at the time).

Such are the revelations in "We'll Be Here for the Rest of Our Lives: A Swingin' Showbiz Saga," the brisk autobiography from David Letterman's right-hand musical man.

The book, much like Shaffer's onstage persona, is amusing, corny and occasionally a bit too faux-hip (does he really need to refer to every person as "cat"?).

But it will make most people develop a new appreciation for the Canadian-turned-New-Yorker, an often unsung giant among musical talents.

It's funny, really, that Shaffer, with his garish outfits and outlandish sunglasses (a habit he picked up during a brief, miserable turn in Los Angeles when he was brought to a sunglass shop and told that Elton John bought his crazy frames there), swipes the spotlight because of his appearance.

Yet, as a musician, he's such a chameleon that he blends in to any situation.

Years after landing his gig as Letterman's band leader in the early'80s, Shaffer was approached by Atlantic Records' head Ahmet Ertegun to be musical director for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony in New York.

Shaffer writes about his dilemma -- that this inaugural ceremony fell on the same night as a Letterman anniversary special during which the talk host wanted to tape the show on an airplane headed for Miami (one major peeve with the book: Shaffer never gives dates, so the reader has no idea of specifics, such as WHICH anniversary special).

Letterman and Rock Hall co-chair Jann Wenner paid for a private jet to whisk Shaffer back to New York immediately after touching down in Miami. Every year since, Shaffer and his crew have served as the backing band at nearly every Hall of Fame induction, playing behind everyone from Chuck Berry to John Fogerty to Percy Sledge.

That incident dovetailed into one of Shaffer's most enlightening stories about his tenuous relationship with Eric Clapton.

Shaffer, a musical perfectionist schooled in studio work, prefers to plan and prepare. Clapton, whom Shaffer refers to as "God" (in a good way), apparently does not.

As Shaffer tried to organize a rehearsal among Clapton, Buddy Guy and B.B. King for one Rock Hall ceremony, Clapton snapped, "Please, Paul. This is the blues. Just let it develop. . . . You're prescribing a format and killing the spontaneity."

Shaffer is an astute enough musician to acknowledge that "God" was right.

With so many detailed stories from a life lived colorfully -- his unrequited love for Gilda Radner, blossoming into Letterman's sidekick, his priceless run-in with Britney Spears ("You're Dave's DJ, aren't you?") -- Shaffer's memoir is filled with facts that any pop culture student should know.

Oh, and by the way, did you know that Shaffer is also responsible for assembling The Blues Brothers band?

. . .

Also on the recommended list is "Corn Flakes With John Lennon: And Other Tales From a Rock'N' Roll Life," from the impossible-to-emulate Los Angeles Times pop music critic Robert Hilburn.

Though the book, which boasts a reverential intro by Bono, would have been an enjoyably superficial read had Hilburn merely dumped his decades of interview notes with such rock royalty as Janis Joplin and Bruce Springsteen onto a few hundred pages, it's much more rewarding because Hilburn wants it to matter.

Sure, it's a voyeuristic thrill to read about the gentle fawn who was a 20-something Michael Jackson, a young man paranoid about sharing too many personal details, yet relishing and chasing every second of his fame.

And what U2 fan won't chuckle when Hilburn describes his first meeting with Bono: "Once he learned that I had met many of his heroes, he wanted to hear stories about them. . . . [During the interview] he was asking as many questions as I was."

But Hilburn also shares shreds of himself, such as his uneasiness about being summoned by Yoko Ono to the Dakota apartment building the day after Lennon's death.

"I picked up my wallet and notebook, but I left the tape recorder on the bed. I didn't want to send Yoko the wrong signal," he writes, demonstrating that a journalist, even one whose job it is to write about rock stars, can operate with sensitivity.

As it turned out, Ono had plenty to share with Hilburn. Good thing for music fans that he brought the notebook.

Contact Melissa Ruggieri