Before he performs a tune in public, Feinstein explores each song in the manner of an archaeologist on a dig. He mines old recordings and anything else he has access to in the hope of capturing the authors’ intent, and perhaps unearthing forgotten gems along the way.

“I always try to get back to the original source of the song,” Feinstein relates. “It’s not always there in the sheet music, which is sometimes just a sketchy blueprint of what the song is about. I try to listen to vintage recordings, and try to find recordings of the authors performing their songs. If I know the author I will ask him to play it, and I try to have him present when I record. I always ask about extra lyrics. When I recorded ‘A Fine Romance,’ I included a verse that has never been recorder before because it doesn’t exist on paper anywhere. But [conductor] Johnny Green had given me an unreleased recording of the song that he had made with Fred Astaire, and it contained that verse.

“It’s hard to know what’s original, what’s authentic,” he continues. “There are times you’ll find material that contains notes, without any clue as to whose notes they are. Sometimes there are different editions of songs, with different lyrics. There are cases of Irving Berlin songs where he rewrote the melody. Who knows why? So I go through everything I can get my hands on, and ultimately do what feels right.”

Feinstein, a native of Columbus, Ohio, grew up listening to Al Jolson and Bing Crosby on old 78 records, “captivated by the power and the energy of their voices.” He moved to Los Angeles when he was 20 and met Oscar Levant’s widow, June, who introduced him to Ira Gershwin. From 1977 until Gershwin’s death in 1983, Feinstein worked as his assistant and received an invaluable education.

“Ira was very depressed in his last years because of his physical condition,” Feinstein remembers, “yet his music always brought him to a certain place of joy and wonder that was transcendent. He had never imagined that songs he had written 50 years ago would endure. He gave me a sense of the era in which he wrote that I find very valuable. He shared a great enthusiasm about the work of many other authors, particularly Kern, Berlin, P.G. Wodehouse, and Gilbert and Sullivan. He taught me a lot about the creative process of writing a song.

“He also played many recordings of his favorite interpretations of his songs,” Feinstein continues. “I learned what interpretations moved him and what he liked about them and what he looked for. I also heard him perform his own material, which is important. There’s a truth that comes through when an author performs his own work that is unique and special.”

Perhaps it is for all those reasons that Feinstein has such a remarkable affinity for the music of the brothers Gershwin. It is difficult to think of anyone performing today who sings a Gershwin song with more honesty, with more emotion.

Although Feinstein first made a name for himself in chic, high-society cabarets, he is not comfortable in those surroundings unless the audience is there to listen. Early in his career, when he was just starting out, he quit a steady job at a club because the patrons weren’t paying attention.

“It wasn’t an ego thing. It’s just that it’s important to me that people listen to the songs,” he says. “I believe that I am chosen to do what I’m doing, and because of that I feel a big responsibility—not in a burdensome way, but something very positive. I meditate a lot and pray for guidance. If, in a moment of self-contemplation or meditation, I were to feel very strongly that I shouldn’t be an entertainer anymore, that I should be doing something else, I would stop immediately. But right now I feel this is what I’m supposed to be doing, so I do it right.”