April 1, 2004

And on Horns, the Marine Corps Band

loryosky, what a Boldface gang turned out for the Apollo Theater's 70th anniversary party Sunday night. On stage, in a benefit concert that will be televised in June, we saw QUINCY JONES, HERBIE HANCOCK, BRANFORD MARSALIS, NATALIE COLE, BOB DYLAN, HARRY CONNICK JR. and WILLIE NELSON. The green room resembled a party: JESSE L. MARTIN, AMY IRVING, BLAIR UNDERWOOD, VIVICA A. FOX, ARTURO SANDOVAL. Celebrities with digital cameras, to our surprise, photographed each other, and DENZEL WASHINGTON appeared to be the celebrity they wanted to be photographed with most.

The only performer we saw with a bodyguard was ASHANTI, in her stage costume of tight white capris and white jacket, over a black bra. She had on huge hoop diamond earrings and black spike heels.

"Get over here!" Mr. Washington hollered when she walked in, and she did.

For much of the evening, however, she sat in a chair that became a kind of throne, with her bodyguard standing beside her. When she went over to OSSIE DAVIS and RUBY DEE and another woman started to sit on the chair, someone gestured for the woman to move.

Ms. Irving, who has short, curly blond hair, was wearing faded jeans and a suede jacket and sitting on a couch with her teenage son, GABRIEL BARRETO, who had a guitar propped against his knee.

"I came with my friend Willie Nelson," she said shyly. "We're old friends."

(Historical note: The friendship dates back to 1980, when the two made "Honeysuckle Rose," and was very irksome to Mr. Nelson's wife of the time, CONNIE KOEPKE, who later said she broke her hand giving Mr. Nelson a right to the eye.)

Ms. Irving slipped out to watch Willie Nelson perform. Inside the green room, meanwhile, everyone's attention turned to the television screen where AL SHARPTON was screaming out JAMES BROWN's anthem, "I Feel Good." (Yes, Columbia J-School young 'uns, the word "anthem" is a bit hackneyed. But wouldn't the world be a happier place if "I Feel Good" was our national anthem? If state visits were kicked off with DICK CHENEY or DONALD RUMSFELD jumping in the air and yelling, "So nice! Sugar and spice!" Then doing a few little swiveling hip maneuvers. "So good! So nice! I've got you here!")

Why was Mr. Brown so important to Mr. Sharpton?

"The only memories I have of my father, because my parents split up when I was 10, was when I used to stand in line in front of this building with him as a kid, waiting to see James Brown and JACKIE WILSON," Mr. Sharpton told us. "This is culture at its best. When we were told by general society we were nothing, we would come to the Apollo and see people successful and changing outfits. Nobody could tell us we couldn't be Superman because we saw those kinds of acts here, so it really was a place where our dreams were born."

Perhaps We Shall C*R*A*S*H

Broadway publicist BOB FENNELL has informed us that JULIAN SCHLOSSBERG, the lead producer of the LARRY GELBART comedy "Sly Fox," as well as the show's other producers, do not wish to have us at the opening or the party when the Broadway show opens tonight. (Ironic, no? Mr. Gelbart being the writer of the irreverent sitcom "M*A*S*H," and us the writers of an irreverent, but far less remunerative gossip column. We would have thought they'd have sent us a plant.)

Someone, we fear, does not understand that when a producer says, "No, I do not believe in gossip columnists, especially that one," the hopes of a celebrity somewhere out there dies. Not an A-list or a B-list celebrity, nothing can penetrate their hides; but those little C- or D-list actors whose dreams, nay careers, may soar with the appearance of their name in Boldface type.

We think we hear their plaintive cries now. What are they whimpering? "I'll be your waitress, My name is {hellip}" Is that what they're saying? Their little voices are failing. And they can't afford a personal press agent, you know.

Do you believe in gossip columnists, dear readers? Do you? If so, clap your hands. Better yet, send an e-mail to Mr. Schlossberg and tell him it's just not any fun without Boldface there. Come to think of it, maybe you should write Mr. Gelbart.