Remembering Prolific Rock 'N' Roll Drummer Hal Blaine

DAVID BIANCULLI, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm David Bianculli, editor of the website TV Worth Watching, sitting in for Terry Gross. Hal Blaine, who died Monday at age 90, was one of the most prolific drummers in the history of rock 'n' roll. He recorded with such artists as Elvis Presley and Roy Orbison, Aretha Franklin and The Supremes, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, Sonny and Cher and Nancy Sinatra, and The Beach Boys and The Byrds.

The list of the hit singles on which he provided unforgettable drum fills and back-beats is ridiculously long. He added the rock to The Byrds' folk rock recording of "Mr. Tambourine Man," and he added his distinctive touch to Herb Albert's "A Taste Of Honey," the Beach Boys', "Good Vibrations" and Simon and Garfunkel's "A Hazy Shade Of Winter."

In 1963 alone, he played drums on "Then He Kissed Me," "Another Saturday Night" and "Surfin' USA." As a member of the fabled Wrecking Crew session band and on his own, he performed on 40 No. 1 hit records and on many other famous releases.

Terry Gross spoke with Hal Blaine in 2001. They started with this hit from 1963, which has one of rock's most famous opening drum lines.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "BE MY BABY")

THE RONETTES: (Singing) The night we met, I knew I needed you so. And if I had the chance, I'd never let you go. So won't you say you love me? I'll make you so proud of me. We'll make them turn their heads every place we go.

So won't you please be my, be my baby. Be my little baby, my one and only baby. Say you'll be my darlin', be my, be my baby. Be my baby now, my one and only baby. Whoa, oh, oh, oh.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

TERRY GROSS, BYLINE: Hal Blain, welcome to FRESH AIR.

HAL BLAINE: Thank you very much.

BIANCULLI: Now, is the opening on "Be My Baby," was that drum line your idea?

BLAINE: You know, that's a very difficult question to answer because Jack Nitzsche was a pretty prolific writer, but he wrote very, very thin in those days. You know, this was the beginnings of rock 'n' roll. Somehow, with my experience, I was an awfully good faker, and it could be that the lick went boom (ph), boom-boom (ph), boom, boom-boom with a backbeat. Boom, boom-boom (clapping), boom, boom-boom (clapping).

And at one point while we were rolling, I may have missed the second beat. So we went boom, boom-boom (clapping), boom, boom-boom (clapping), and it stuck. It became a hook and of course, one of the most famous hooks in rock and roll.

That also happened to me - just to get off the beaten track, it also happened to me with the Tijuana Brass when we did "A Taste Of Honey." The song went (singing) duh (ph), duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh. And everybody comes in (singing) duh-dum (ph), ba-duh (ph) duh.

Well, unfortunately nobody was coming in together. It was like a train wreck. So at one point, me and my comedic mind, they went (singing) ba-duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh. And I looked at the band, and I started slugging with my bass drum, boom, boom, boom, boom, diddly (ph), diddly, diddly, diddly.

Everybody came in and, once again, that became a major hook for that song. It happened to me my first record of the year.

GROSS: Why don't we hear that part you're talking about?

(SOUNDBITE OF HERB ALBERT AND THE TIJUANA BRASS'S "A TASTE OF HONEY")

GROSS: Hal Blaine, what are some of the other records that had the most memorable beats that you played?

BLAINE: Well, I remember doing a record with Tommy Roe. The record was called "Dizzy." That was another one where I played as kind of a hook drum sound (singing) boom, dink (ph), go-diggy (ph), diggy (ph), diggy, diggy dink, dink, go-diggy, diggy, diggy, diggy, diggy.

I learned very quickly in the early days of rock 'n' roll that there were certain hooks that people wanted to go with - guitar players or bass players. And I found that I could do that with drums. And it worked beautifully by repeating a particular - every four bars or every eight bars, repeating a particular lick.

One of the great records that I did with Sam Cooke was "Another Saturday Night," it was called. And that was another one with that same drum lick every eight or 16 bars, whatever it was. (Singing) Diggi-dig (ph), dig (ph), dig, dig, dig, dig, dig. And, you know, all these drum licks kind of became the standard for rock 'n' roll.

You know, all the drummers that I've spoken with through the years have told me that they grew up listening to the records that I played on, and that's how they learned. And I grew up listening to Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich, and that's how I learned.

GROSS: In fact, I bet you've been to countless restaurants where people have been playing your rhythms on the table.

BLAINE: That has happened, I guess, in the past, you know. Sometimes, I've actually - you know, funny you mentioned that. I've actually turned around to someone and said, do me a favor, and let me play the drums...

GROSS: (Laughter).

BLAINE: ...In a nice way.

GROSS: Right.

BLAINE: Or I would explain to them that they were trying to play their fingers along with whatever the music was playing coming out of the speakers in the restaurant. That actually has happened to me, which is kind of funny that you would hit on that.

GROSS: Now, you did a lot of records with Phil Spector including "Be My Baby."

BLAINE: Yes.

GROSS: What are some of the things he had you do that other session heads didn't? What was different about working with Phil Spector?

BLAINE: Well first of all, every Phil Spector session was a party. Everyone on the session were the first-call people, the A gang. Everyone wanted to work with Phil Spector because they knew that some kind of a hit record - I mean, it was the talk of the town.

Phil Spector was the guy that everyone wanted to see how he worked. He had a big sign on the door that said, closed session. And yet, anyone who stuck their head in, he'd grab them, and he'd shove them in the studio. And he'd say, Hal, give them a tambourine or a shaker or some cloudies (ph), some noisemakers. Let them play something.

GROSS: Did Spector hum for you or clap for you the kind of things that he wanted, the sound that he wanted?

BLAINE: Not for drums. Phil used to use me like a racehorse. He would have me sitting there while he rehearsed, rehearsed, rehearsed. He would keep me from rehearsing, and I'd be chomping at the bit. I want to play. And finally, he would point to me.

He used to be in the booth, and he'd run back and forth. They had a huge window, and he'd run back and forth like he was conducting a symphony. And he'd look at the strings and use certain, you know, symphonic movements or the way a conductor would do. He knew - certain times he would look at me and he would say, now. And I knew he was saying, now, which meant go for it.

And I (laughter) guess I used to go nuts sometimes on those drums because if you listen to some of the fade endings on just about all those records, we used to go into double times and all kinds of things that were unheard of on records. And everybody would go wacko. It went on forever.

And finally, when everyone had had enough - and I always kind of had that feeling I knew when it was - I would go into my quarter-note triplets against whatever was being played.

GROSS: Clap a quarter-note triplet for us.

BLAINE: Well, in other words a - (singing, clapping) ba-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh, duh-duh, duh, duh, duh-duh, duh, duddly-duh (ph), duh.

It's over and I go duh-duh, duh, dud-n-duh-duh (ph), duh-duh, duh, dud-n-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh (ph), duh, dud-n-duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh, duh, dud-n-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh.

So everyone knew here it is. This is it. And Phil would never stop the machine until I played those quarter-note triplets. So they're on the end of every record.

BIANCULLI: Hal Blaine speaking to Terry Gross in 2001. He died Monday at age 90. More after a break. This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "FAKIN' IT")

SIMON AND GARFUNKEL: (Singing) When she goes, she's gone. If she stays, she stays here. The girl does what she wants to do.

BIANCULLI: This is FRESH AIR. Let's get back to Terry's 2001 interview with longtime session drummer Hal Blaine. He died Monday at age 90.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

GROSS: You were the drummer on a lot of The Beach Boys' records.

BLAINE: Just about all.

GROSS: But I think it was Dennis who was actually...

BLAINE: Yes.

GROSS: ...The drummer with the band. I imagine, at the time, nobody knew that he wasn't the drummer on the records.

BLAINE: A lot of people did not know, in the early days, that Dennis did not play on those things. Sometimes, Dennis would come in and overdub with a tambourine or something. But Dennis was - happened to be a friend of mine. And we each had our yachts very close to each other. We were both motorcyclists. But Brian used to come into the Spector sessions. He wanted to see what so many people wanted to see. Everybody wanted to know what - who was this Phil Spector? What was he doing?

GROSS: So did Dennis feel bad that instead of...

BLAINE: No. No.

GROSS: ...Him, it was you on the records?

BLAINE: I tell you. I've told this story before. Dennis loved the fact that while I was in the studio in the afternoon making $35, $40 for the afternoon, Dennis that night was making 35- or 40,000 on stage. I mean, they were making a lot of money. And he was thrilled that he could just be on his boat. He didn't have to be in the studio. He didn't have to rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.

GROSS: Well, let me rephrase the question. Did you feel resentful then (laughter) that he was making all this money on stage and you were making next to nothing in the studio?

BLAINE: Not at all because I knew what it was leading to because my phone started ringing off the hook with - from Phil Spector dates and Beach Boys dates.

GROSS: Right.

BLAINE: All of a sudden, I was getting calls for Elvis Presley and Johnny Rivers. And the 5th Dimension came along and the Mamas & the Papas. I mean, everybody came out of the woodwork.

GROSS: Is there a Beach Boys track that you particularly like your drumming on that we can play?

BLAINE: Well, you know, I'd have to think about that a little bit. There are certain songs that make you cry, songs like "God Only Knows" - one of the beautiful songs. "Good Vibrations," of course, was another sort of a trilogy of - Brian put that song together. Sometimes, we would do, you know, five minutes on a session. And he'd say thank you. And sometimes, we would work for days putting that song together. He just used to use little bits and pieces of this, that and the other.

I remember that on one of the sessions - and I think it was part of the "Good Vibrations" - Brian wanted something different, a different sound on it with drums or percussion. We used to drink a lot of orange juice. And they came in little, small bottles out of a vending machine. And I took three of those bottles, taped them together, cut the tops off to various sizes - almost like the tubes on a vibraphone. And there were three different sounds. And I used a mallet that would be used on a vibraphone. And I got this knocking sound - (imitating knocking sound) - three different knocking sounds. And I used it on that section where we were playing ba-da-da (ph), boo-doo-doo (ph), ba-da-da while I was playing (imitating knocking sound) ba-da-da (imitating knocking sound) ba-da-da - different tones.

GROSS: Why don't we hear that part of "Good Vibrations?" This is Hal Blaine.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "GOOD VIBRATIONS")

THE BEACH BOYS: (Singing) I love the colorful clothes she wears and the way the sunlight plays upon her hair. I hear the sound of a gentle word on the wind that lifts her perfume through the air. I'm picking up good vibrations. She's giving me the excitations. I'm picking up good vibrations. She's giving me the excitations. I'm picking up good vibrations. She's giving me the excitations. I'm picking up good vibrations. She's giving me the excitations. Close my eyes. She's somehow closer now.

GROSS: That was Hal Blaine on drums and percussion. Now, Hal Blaine, we've been talking about your rock 'n' roll sessions. You also worked with Sinatra. Did you have to get a different kind of beat when you were working with Sinatra? As a jazz singer, Sinatra was more behind the beat. Rock 'n' roll tends to be very on the beat.

BLAINE: Well, one of our secrets to rock 'n' roll was learning to lay back. And we used to - in other words, if you were looking at a scale on a ruler, every time your backbeat came on - one, two, three, four - every time we'd hit two and four, it would be just a hair behind that actual two and four. That was how I got the great feeling going all the time with Joe Osborn, the great bass player, and Larry Knechtel.

You know, we were known as the three killers who used to come in and make these - like "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - records like that that were just so incredible - all Grammy winners. You mentioned "Be My Baby" - boom, boom, boom, bang - boom, boom, boom, bang. When I did the record "Strangers In The Night" with Frank, which was record of the year and his only gold single, believe it or not - that went right to No. 1. I was playing the same beat quietly. (Singing) Strangers in the night, boom ba-ba-ba-ba boom, ba-ba-ba-ba-ba boom.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT")

FRANK SINATRA: (Singing) Strangers in the night exchanging glances, wondering in the night, what were the chances we'd be sharing love before the night was through? Something in your eyes...

GROSS: What was a rehearsal like with Sinatra? And what was a recording session like?

BLAINE: Well, generally, when you got a Sinatra call, it was a six-hour call. Now, the standard is a three-hour session. With Frank Sinatra, we would have a six-hour double session call - three hours, an hour break and then three hours of recording. Now, the reason for that was that Frank - not Frank, but in this case, Jimmy Bowen, who was producing - we would go in for the first three hours and rehearse whatever the song or songs were to make sure that we absolutely had it down pat.

The engineers would go through all the lines to make sure that there were no glitches, no squeaks, no white noise, no red noise. They would go through all the chairs that the strings, specially, were sitting on, make sure that there were no squeaks, make sure that everyone had the lights on their music stands. No music stand rattles.

I mean, it goes on and on and on because, when Frank Sinatra walked in to record, he walked in. He walked around with two, three of us, four of us, said hi. How you doing? Let's make a record. And bang. He was in the vocal booth. And we were making a record - no fooling around, no mistakes, no nothing. Rarely did he ask to do a second take. Frank always knew what he was doing. He had rehearsed himself. He knew the songs. And it was unbelievable.

GROSS: Say somebody else required a second take because they made a mistake. Would he get annoyed?

BLAINE: You know, we were not - we never said anything because, by the time we were working with Frank, they could do a lot of things electronically. If a guy had a glitch, you know, in the string section, they could somehow key him out, overdub them and fix it up. Frank was the kind of guy that, once he walked out of the vocal booth, he'd say, thank you all. He was gone with his entourage. That was it. Only once - I think it was only once that Frank Sinatra - I heard him say, Jimmy, I really would like to do one more take please, if you don't mind. And, of course, we would do one more take. And, you know, instead of a full three hours, he would work for 15 minutes, and then it was over with.

GROSS: You've been on about 8,000 different songs that have been recorded. Do you actually remember what you were on? Or do you have to consult a list to figure out if you were on something or not?

BLAINE: Well, it depends. Obviously, I had all those records of the year, the Grammy winner of the year. And I don't have to think about those records. I know those records backwards. When it comes to certain songs, there are certain songs out there that I didn't even realize - I mean, when I was working with people like Dusty Springfield, I couldn't even tell you the song or songs. It was just a blur of so many songs and so many sessions. I just - I don't know. It's very difficult to explain, Terry. I just played what I felt. And they let me play. You know, once you kind of make a name for yourself - then when producers would come in, they would say, oh, Hal, just do your thing. You know, don't worry about it - just whatever you feel. They felt that I would always do the right thing.

BIANCULLI: Drummer Hal Blaine speaking with Terry Gross in 2001. He died Monday at age 90. After a break, we'll visit with TV host and cookbook author Lidia Bastianich, whose memoir is now out in paperback. And film critic Justin Chang reviews the new Chinese drama "Ash Is Purest White." I'm David Bianculli. And this is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "ANOTHER SATURDAY NIGHT")

SAM COOKE: (Singing) Another Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody. I got some money 'cause I just got paid. Now how I wish I had someone to talk to. I'm in an awful way.

Dig this.

(Singing) I got in town a month ago. I seen a lot of girls since then. If I could meet 'em, I get 'em. But as yet I haven't met 'em. That's why I'm in the shape I'm in. Here, another Saturday night that I ain't got nobody. I got some money 'cause I just got paid. Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to. I'm in an awful way. Now...

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
DAVID BIANCULLI, HOST:

Lidia Bastianich has a devoted following from public TV cooking shows, her cookbooks and her restaurants. In her memoir, "My American Dream," which just came out in paperback, she describes how she came to love preparing food and how being a refugee and immigrant shaped her life. Those two parts of the story are interconnected. The year she was born, 1947, the peninsula on which her family lived switched hands from Italy to Yugoslavia, which was under communist rule. Many of her earliest memories are of spending time in her grandparents' village where their food came from animals they raised and the vegetables and fruits they grew. It was farm-to-table cuisine poverty-style. She learned a lot about food from her grandmother. When Bastianich was 8, she, her parents and brother fled communist repression, became refugees in Italy and then, in 1958, immigrated to the U.S. When they arrived in New York, they had nothing and couldn't speak English. Bastianich married at the age of 18 and eventually opened a small Italian-American restaurant in Queens. Its success led to other restaurants, including for Felidia in Manhattan. Along with her daughter and son, she now owns restaurants in New York as well as in several other cities. Terry interviewed Lidia Bastianich last year when her memoir was first published.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

TERRY GROSS, BYLINE: Lidia Bastianich, welcome to FRESH AIR. So let's talk about your life. You spent the first few years of your life on the peninsula of Istria on the Adriatic Sea. It had been part of Italy but. After World War II, it became a part of Yugoslavia. It's now a part of Croatia.

Your parents lived in the city of Pula, your grandmother and - your grandparents in a farming village, Busalar. Your grandparents had pigs and chickens and goats and a big garden. And a description that sticks in my mind that I want you to talk about is one in which one of the family pigs is being butchered, and then you describe how every part of the pig is used and turned into food or something useful. So can you just describe some of your memories from the live pig to the table, (laughter) like that process?

LIDIA BASTIANICH: Yes, I can go way back. Every sort of February, we would go to - grandpa and grandma would go with a horse - actually donkey-drawn cart, and we would go to an animal fair. And there, my grandfather would go around, and there were pens set up in a park situation where little piglets were for sale.

And he would choose and really be careful about choosing. He would usually choose two little piglets and, you know, kind of pick them up, stretch their legs, see that they would grow into big pigs because that's what you want. You know, when you slaughter, you want a lot of meat and bacon and the fat, and all of that was needed for the family. And then he would choose two. We would put it in this little kind of basket and bring them home. And they would squeal all the way home.

And then the whole year of raising them and feeding them and seeing them grow until about November, and November was usually the slaughter because it was a cool month, and so the curing - in the - in the slaughter of the animal, you know, every - as you said - every part was cured or save or preserved for the rest of the year to cook and to feed the family. And usually as kids - you know, I was small. We were just kind of runners helping - whether it was to bring the hot water, whether it was to bring towels - whatever it was - but we would be always around. And there was always a big commotion in the courtyard.

GROSS: Did you ever, like, bond with the pigs and feel like, oh, no, now we have to kill them?

BASTIANICH: We did. As children, we did. We had the same - in the same sort of cycle - the chickens, the ducks, the rabbits, the goats. You know, I loved the bunny rabbits. The small rabbits, when they came, we played, and we cuddled them and whatever. And, you know, two weeks later, they were part of the dinner table.

And somehow you - this cycle of life, you accept it. You bond. You learn. You connect. You help to raise these little animals, and they become adult animals or - and they become food. And, you know, when food is scarce, every morsel is really appreciated. In a sense, you know, you are grateful to these animals.

You know, you kind of celebrate them in a way because they are giving us life. I continue to, you know, certainly cooked all kinds of meats and all that. But I love animals, and I respect them.

GROSS: So you grew up on the peninsula of Istria on the Adriatic Sea, as we said before. And after World War II, it switched from being part of Italy to being part of communist Yugoslavia. The language where you lived changed to Croatian from Italian, and the secret police were keeping an eye on your family because - go ahead.

BASTIANICH: Yes, absolutely. The whole thing changed. There was two parts of my existence and that was the security part in the house, whispering in Italian, sometimes talking about religion, and then the oppressive side growing under communism and having to follow the Communist dogma.

They changed our names. We couldn't speak - I couldn't speak Italian openly, certainly not go to church. My mother was an elementary school teacher, so she was really watched. And so, you know, the whole kind of anti-Democratic dogma and this adoration for president - or Josip Broz Tito and, you know, the kind of one-for-all communist doctrine if you will - you know, everything became communal.

Farms were taken away. My father had a business with two trucks, and, you know, he certainly was deemed a capitalist. The trucks were taken away. He was put in prison for about 40 days until they clarified that he didn't have other alternative motives of, you know, kind of undermining this communistic dogma that he wanted, you know, to profess capitalism and so on.

So it was a tough period, and that's why we ended up spending a lot of time in Busalar with my grandmother in the courtyard, which for me, was ideal.

GROSS: So in 1958, you and your family immigrate to America with the help of Catholic Relief Services. And Catholic Relief Services emerges as a real hero of this book and your life story. They helped you get passage to America. They found you a hotel room to stay in when you first arrived. They found a house or an apartment for you to rent afterwards. They helped your parents find jobs. They gave you money, and they didn't want to be repaid. Even though your mother insisted on repaying them, they wouldn't accept it.

But anyway, so you were how old when you came to America?

BASTIANICH: Twelve. I was 12 - 1958.

GROSS: Didn't speak any English, but you learned it...

BASTIANICH: None of us.

GROSS: ...Within a year. And then you were in school being...

BASTIANICH: Yes.

GROSS: ...Like an outsider, a newcomer, without any facility with English. And it was, I imagine, pretty hard for you. And you still had to deal with food, but with food in a foreign country with very little money and no garden or animals or, you know, fruit trees or (laughter) any of that to deal with. So how did the world of food change for you in America?

BASTIANICH: Well, it changed tremendously. You know, at 12 years old, you are - at least I recall being very - I was happy. I was so happy that finally we came to a place that where we are going to stay. We are going to build our home.

I was excited about making friends, you know, whose language I didn't know, and I was excited also by the food. You know, I must say initially things like Yodels and...

GROSS: (Laughter).

BASTIANICH: ...Bread cakes and all of that stuff amazed me, you know? And then...

GROSS: Did you like yodels? 'Cause I'm going to confess here...

BASTIANICH: I did.

GROSS: My mother used to buy Yodels all the time. I thought they were a little - I don't know - bitter or something. They looked like they'd be really sweet, and I thought that they didn't taste quite right. I was never a big fan, but you love them.

BASTIANICH: Well, I love them...

GROSS: I love that I'm talking to you about Yodels, by the way.

BASTIANICH: (Laughter) I love them because, you know, there you go. You went, you opened this package. And you get this kind of delicious texture and taste. You know, we didn't have that, you know, or any desserts or cake. When it was the festivities, we made it, and it was limited and so on.

So, you know, to just be able to throw it in your cart and bring it home, and I saw kids had it in school.

GROSS: Wrapped in tinfoil (laughter)...

BASTIANICH: Yes, yes.

GROSS: ...Like a tinfoil wrap?

BASTIANICH: Yes, yes.

GROSS: I love in the book - you basically become the cook for your family for dinner because your mother's working. It's a long commute. And she doesn't get home early enough to prepare dinner, so you're preparing dinners. And then you start making, like, a Duncan Hines cake from a cake mix box. And, like, you're totally fascinated with the idea (laughter) of this...

BASTIANICH: Well...

GROSS: ...Cake mix in a box.

BASTIANICH: Well, you know, it made me so successful. Yes, my mother worked late. And so she came home just in time - 6 o'clock - for dinner. And she would prepare for me just, like, a regular recipe, you know - the potatoes, the beans, whatever it was that I was cooking - put it in, cook it half an hour, and so on all the instructions. So I would do that.

But then I discovered the cake mixes. These wonderful kind of boxes that you added one egg to that mix or maybe some butter, put it in the oven and - voila - this fluffy, delicious cake would come out. And then, you know, even the icing - they gave you on the side how to make the icing with powdered sugar or whatever. So I was thrilled. And I - almost every night, we had a cake for dessert.

BIANCULLI: If you're just joining us, our guest is Lidia Bastianich, who is famous for her restaurants and her cooking shows on public television. Her new memoir, now out in paperback, is called "My American Dream: A Life Of Love, Family And Food." We'll be right back with more of her interview with Terry after a break. This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF CARL VERHEYEN'S "GOOD MORNING JUDGE")

BIANCULLI: This is FRESH AIR. And if you're just joining us, our guest is chef Lidia Bastianich. She has several restaurants and is the Emmy-winning host of public television's "Lidia's Kitchen." Her new memoir "My American Dream" has just come out in paperback. Let's get back to our conversation with Terry.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

GROSS: You became engaged at age 18 to Felice Bastianich. You and your husband decided to open a restaurant in Queens, N.Y. Was that a tough choice for you? - because it's a big investment. It's a big responsibility. And you never know what's going to happen when you start your own business.

BASTIANICH: Absolutely. But, you know, my husband, he also was an immigrant from the same area. He had come before me as a man - a young man and was working in restaurants. He had worked up to being a maitre d', was frugal, saved some money and worked very hard. So we had some money. And taking challenges - I think, maybe that was the beginning of, you know - together, especially if you take it with somebody - if you're the same mind. Then I had my mother, my father, who - always kind of with us in the same home. They had their own apartment but lived with us. They encouraged, too. You know, we'll help you, or whatever. So we weren't really afraid. Although, you know, it took for this little restaurant - nine-table restaurant in the suburbs of N.Y. - it took all of our savings. Then I ultimately ended up in the kitchen as a sous-chef learning much more.

GROSS: Was the menu in your first restaurant an Italian menu as you understood Italian food to be from - having lived in Italy? Or was it an Italian-American as Americans understood (laughter) Italian food to be?

BASTIANICH: Yes. Yes, it was Italian-American because, you know, we had worked in restaurants. Most of them were Italian-American food. So we weren't going to be different. You know, we were going to go along. We hired an Italian-American chef. And that's when I became the sous-chef and worked with him in the kitchen and learned Italian-American cuisine. And we were quite successful. But, you know, I must say that, slowly, I began adding some of the specialties that we ate at home.

GROSS: So after having your restaurant in Queens, you expanded that restaurant into the store next door. And then you opened yet another restaurant and sold those to have a restaurant in Manhattan. Why did you want one in Manhattan? What did that signify to you?

BASTIANICH: Well, Manhattan was the epicenter of, you know, this big city. And Felice, my husband, had worked most of his time in Manhattan in elegant, Italian restaurants. And sort of, you know, his clientele - oh, Lidia and Felice, you need to come to Manhattan. That's where you belong - your food. And, of course, that was the draw and also being in the big times, if you will. And that's when the press and people in the industry really began to notice this Italian, woman chef that cooks odd Italian food.

GROSS: It's funny because it sounds like some of the foods that you were cooking were foods that were cooked by, like, poor villagers, like your grandmother.

BASTIANICH: (Laughter).

GROSS: But they were being served in an expensive, elegant restaurant.

BASTIANICH: Yes, absolutely. But that's the reality. You know, you can place food. You can even manipulate it. And much of it is being done by chefs today. But I was kind of true to form because, you know, that message way back - this is who I was. And this is who I wanted to present - you know, the Lidia that came from that area and the Lydia that is now in America and wants to connect her two cultures together. So I cooked the reality of, you know, real peasant food but presented it - great service. You know, we had our souvenirs. They're all - so we brought the simple dishes to a level of service and presentation that was above what would be in a home.

GROSS: Were there many women chefs when you became a chef?

BASTIANICH: There were not that many but there were - you know, Joyce Goldstein, Barbara Tropp, Mary Sue Milliken. All of those were women that were really kind of, you know, working in our industry and that were good. But it was - you know, it's a tough industry for women. It still is.

GROSS: What makes it tough?

BASTIANICH: I think that, you know, maybe it's an industry that has been dominated by men. Even though, you know, for me, maybe, I took it a little lighter because in Italy, women are in restaurant kitchens, and their husbands are outside. So it wasn't - but beginning with France and America, the position of chef, if you will, was dominated by men. Men made it into a profession, and they took it over from women. And, you know, it was their domain. And, you know, they felt the kings of their kitchen, and they'd really practiced that. So it was tough - tough for a woman to grow into position in a restaurant.

GROSS: It's kind of hilarious in the sense that - it was always, like, in the traditional gender days, like, a woman's job is in the kitchen cooking food. That's not a man's job. But once there was, like, pay and prestige behind cooking, that's a man's job (laughter).

BASTIANICH: They just took it over from us.

GROSS: (Laughter) Yeah.

BASTIANICH: You know, I always - I'm very, very much involved in women's organization and, you know, I founded also Women Chefs & Restaurateurs. I always say, you know, you just got to make yourself. Invest in yourself. Be a professional. Be as good as you can. Be - go out there and get the position. Make it happen.

GROSS: So you have worked with Mario Batali. And he is one of the people who've been accused of sexual harassment. And I'm wondering if you've seen a lot of sexual harassment in kitchens over the years.

BASTIANICH: You know, it's a sad subject. And it is real. There's - maybe because of my matriarchal, if you will, position, I was always looked on with respect. But, you know, as I said, you know, I tell women in the industry - and for that matter, everybody - you need to give respect, and you need to actually demand and get respect back. Have I seen it? I think, you know, it's unavoidable to see different things. And I corrected it along the way as much as I've seen. But it really makes no difference who that person is. It needs to be addressed immediately. It's like an apple. You must take the rotten part out. Otherwise, the whole apple goes.

GROSS: If you're just joining us, my guest is chef and TV host Lidia Bastianich. So what's it like for you to hear how immigrants are spoken of today with such, you know, distrust from our own president?

BASTIANICH: Well, you know, my story certainly is non-political, but it's a human story. And I can't help it when I watch the television to see those children in camp. And yes, they run. They're joyful. But I know, I know what they feel at night when they go to bed and how they think, what's tomorrow? Are my parents going to be with me? Are we going to have a home? Am I going to make friends? You know, am I going to see my relatives again? - my grandma and whatever.

I know that those children have the same thoughts, and so I feel really connected. And, you know, hopefully, me telling my story - it's a story - a good story. It's a story of somebody that, yes, faced adversity, like, you know, a lot of people are facing today but, you know, given a chance and working hard and being spiritual and staying strong to those basic values can take you to great places. So I hope that, you know, with this book, that message comes off for many people, maybe, that are wondering.

GROSS: Well, Lidia Bastianich, it's really been a delight to talk with you. Thank you so much.

BASTIANICH: Thank you very much. Thank you for having me on FRESH AIR.

BIANCULLI: Lidia Bastianich speaking with Terry Gross last year. Her memoir "My American Dream" is now out in paperback. Since their conversation, the Bastianich family has severed business ties with Mario Batali. Coming up, film critic Justin Chang reviews the Chinese drama, "Ash Is Purest White." This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF YOUNG-HOLT UNLIMITED'S "SOULFUL STRUT")
DAVID BIANCULLI, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. Many critics consider the Chinese writer director Jia Zhangke to be one of the most important filmmakers in the world. Over more than two decades, he has garnered widespread acclaim and major festival prizes for his movies about how individuals are affected by China's rapid globalization. His latest, "Ash Is Purest White," is a contemporary drama of crime and punishment that spends 17 years following a woman and her gangster boyfriend. Film critic Justin Chang has this review.

JUSTIN CHANG, BYLINE: Jia Zhangke is the cinema's foremost chronicler of life in modern-day China, a country that seems to be changing more quickly than its own citizens can keep up with. His style as a filmmaker has evolved as well. In 2006, he made "Still Life," a blend of documentary and fiction that examined the Three Gorges Dam project and its monumental human and environmental impact.

His 2013 thriller, "A Touch Of Sin," used Western and even martial arts movie elements to tell a story of downtrodden individuals driven to commit terrible acts of violence. Jia's new picture, "Ash Is Purest White" is one of his finest - a sprawling, deeply moving gangster romance that begins in 2001 and ends in 2018. Over the course of those 17 years, the movie will track China's ongoing identity crisis as people and lifestyles are uprooted by social and economic upheaval.

But as always, Jia measures these shifts in intimate human terms. His protagonist is a tough-minded woman named Qiao who lives in a coal mining city called Datong in northern China. Her boyfriend is Bin, a small-time mobster who runs a mahjong parlor and a few illegal side businesses. Bin lives according to the traditions of the jianghu, a vast community of people living beyond the margins of mainstream Chinese society. Theirs is an underworld bound by spiritual beliefs and strict codes of honor even when violence erupts.

Although Qiao has little place in this mostly male order, the movie quickly establishes how smart, respected and fiercely loyal she is. She helps oversee Bin's operations and keeps his rowdier associates in line. An early scene of her and Bin in a crowded nightclub jamming to the Village People's "YMCA" captures the excitement and intoxication of their life together.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "YMCA")

VILLAGE PEOPLE: (Singing) They have everything for you men to enjoy. You can hang out with all the boys. It's fun to stay at the YMCA It's fun to stay at the...

CHANG: But change is afoot. Qiao's aging father recently lost his job as a coal miner, an early casualty in an industry that will crumble as China continues to modernize. Meanwhile, Bin faces opposition from young thugs with little respect for jianghu customs. In one thrillingly tense sequence, he single-handedly takes on an entire gang on a public street and is nearly beaten to death until Qiao ends the confrontation by firing a gun into the air. But she will pay a high price for her selfless intervention. Refusing to admit that the gun belonged to Bin, she is charged with possession of an illegal firearm and receives a five-year prison sentence.

The movie's title refers to volcanic ash that has been purified by intense heat. Qiao will undergo her own trial by fire. When she is finally released in 2006, Bin has abandoned her. And she has no money or job, nothing but her wits, which are still very sharp. Her attempts to get back on her feet result in some of the movie's most wildly entertaining scenes. It's a hoot watching Qiao crash a wedding feast or blackmail a rich businessman who she rightly guesses is having an extramarital affair. But her journey becomes more somber and disillusioning as the years pass, even when she returns to Datong to seek a new beginning.

Qiao is played by the wonderful actress Zhao Tao, who is married to director Jia and has appeared in several of his movies. She gave a marvelous performance in his 2015 drama "Mountains May Depart." And she's even better here - soulful yet fierce and possessed of a flinty confidence that reminded me of great American stars like Barbara Stanwyck. For all its stark social realism and melancholy mood, "Ash Is Purest White" has some of the grit and spirit of a 1940s Hollywood melodrama. Jia constructs most of his sequences in long, unbroken takes that feel influenced by Asian and European art cinema. But the effect is never distancing. The emotion of the movie pulls you in.

"Ash Is Purest White" is never more gripping than when Qiao eventually runs into Bin, who spent just a year behind bars himself but has proved nowhere near as resilient. The actor Liao Fan gives a brooding, heartbreaking performance as a once powerful and influential man who is now poor, weak and almost entirely friendless. But if Bin earns our sympathy it's Qiao who commands our admiration. In the end, she's the one who truly embodies the code of the jianghu, fighting to protect those she loves and clinging heroically to a way of life that will soon be no more.

BIANCULLI: Justin Chang is a film critic for the LA Times. On Monday's show, "Life And Death On Rikers Island" (ph). Dr. Homer Venters spent nine years as head of New York City's Correctional Health Services, where he oversaw the care of thousands of inmates. He details horrific cases of inmate deaths from beatings and neglect and describes some hard-won institutional changes that improved things - some. He has a new memoir. Hope you can join us.

(SOUNDBITE OF WAYNE HORVITZ: ROYAL ROOM COLLECTIVE ENSEMBLE'S "A WALK IN THE RAIN")

BIANCULLI: FRESH AIR'S executive producer is Danny Miller. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham, with additional engineering support from Joyce Lieberman and Julian Herzfeld. Our associate producer for digital media is Molly Seavy-Nesper. Roberta Shorrock directs the show. For Terry Gross, I'm David Bianculli.

(SOUNDBITE OF WAYNE HORVITZ: ROYAL ROOM COLLECTIVE ENSEMBLE'S "A WALK IN THE RAIN")

Transcripts are created on a rush deadline, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of Fresh Air interviews and reviews are the audio recordings of each segment.