By the early 1980s, swing-era clarinettist Benny Goodman stood as one of the last great figures of the big band age — still active, still unmistakable.
Audiences hadn’t forgotten him either. On The Merv Griffin Show, America’s most music-friendly chat host invited Goodman to share a few memories and lead his band through one more performance.
There’s a certain pleasure in watching jazz legends step out of the spotlight for a moment of casual conversation.
At a time when pop and rock dominated the charts, television remained one of the few places where swing legends could still reach a wide audience.
Shows like The Merv Griffin Show regularly featured performers such as Count Basie, Ella Fitzgerald, and Sarah Vaughan, keeping jazz in front of mainstream viewers long after radio playlists had moved on.
For musicians of Goodman’s generation, these appearances weren’t nostalgia trips — they were reminders that the old craft still spoke clearly to new ears.
In this vintage clip from The Merv Griffin Show, clarinettist Benny Goodman — “The King of Swing” — appears relaxed and unhurried, surrounded by old colleagues swapping road stories and small recollections from decades on the bandstand.
The segment begins with Griffin welcoming Jack Hanna, a former member of Goodman’s band. Rather than a formal interview, what follows feels like a backstage reunion.
The stories are simple, good-natured, and perhaps not as polished as the music — but they reveal the understated humour and discipline that shaped Goodman’s reputation.
A Breakfast in Zurich
At one point, Hanna recalls a meal during a European tour.
“The lady said, ‘Oh, Mr Goodman, how would you like your eggs cooked?’
He said, ‘That would be good.’”
A Connecticut Rehearsal
Another memory comes from a rehearsal at Goodman’s home in Connecticut.
“The singer said, ‘Gee, Benny, it’s cold in here.’
He said, ‘Girl—’ and walked out. Then he came back wearing a sweater.”
A small story, told with light-hearted affection.
Moments like this also show why Goodman endured.
While many of his contemporaries slowed down or retired, he kept refining, always rehearsing, always focused on sound.
Even on a chat show stage, the same precision that defined his 1930s bandleading is visible in his posture and phrasing — polite on the surface, but still utterly professional underneath.
The Context Behind the Conversation
When this episode aired, in the early 1980s, Goodman was in his seventies.
He had lived through every major phase of jazz’s evolution — from swing to bebop to the arrival of fusion — and yet his sound and discipline remained unmistakable.
Merv Griffin, known for combining conversation with live performance, offered him a space to reflect without the weight of history pressing too heavily on the moment.
The atmosphere is easygoing, almost domestic: no grand statements, just quiet recollection and a few shared smiles.
It’s the sort of television that barely exists now — musicians sitting together, talking at their own pace, the host patient enough to let them wander where they will.
Music, Always the Anchor
After this short exchange, Goodman performs with a small group that includes George Duvivier on bass and Don Lamond on drums.
The playing is crisp, balanced and immediately recognisable. Even in a television studio decades after his peak fame, Goodman’s tone remains pure and controlled, every phrase placed with the care of a man who never stopped chasing precision.
A Glimpse of a Bygone Era
Watching it now, the clip feels like more than just entertainment.
It’s a small time capsule from an era when talk shows treated musicians not as celebrities but as working artists with long memories.
There’s no attempt to mythologise or explain. Just Benny Goodman — polite, slightly awkward, and quietly confident in the company of old friends.
Looking for more?
Check out our pick of essential Benny Goodman tunes here, or our deep-dive into the greatest big bands of all time.