I have covered the work of Stephen Sondheim extensively on this site (see here, here, and here). And during the 1980s and 1990s, no pianist was more associated with Sondheim’s work than Paul Ford.

Growing up in New Jersey, I studied his name on the original cast recordings of “Sunday in the Park with George,” “Into the Woods,” “Assassins,” and “Passion.” During this time, Ford also served as Mandy Patinkin’s personal accompanist.

“What could ever be wrong in this guy’s life?” I wondered

It turns out, quite a lot. And in his new book “Lord Knows at Least I Was There: Working with Stephen Sondheim,” Paul Ford lays out a thrilling, tragic, and ultimately bittersweet tale, from the highest of musical theatre highs, to the lowest of professional and personal woes.

At times, Ford’s book can be shocking (as Mandy Patinkin writes in his forward), and the memoir is undoubtedly one of the most candid, angry, honest, and blunt autobiographies you will ever read. It’s also laugh-out-loud funny.

Having retired in 2015, Ford spares no one and nothing in this book (including himself).

He ruthlessly attacks the trends in musical theatre today that have transformed and in some cases degraded the art form (lack of musical training in composers, pop stars as performers, pared down orchestras and casts, and lower standards from audiences and producers, are just some of the ills that Ford rightly castigates).

For those of us who will never experience the glory days of Broadway before hip hop and visionless producers took over, Ford’s book is a way to relive those times. And I suspect for those who did live through it, Ford’s book will be a poignant reminder of what has been lost. (The recent death of Sondheim last November was truly the end of an era).

During his career, Ford worked with almost everyone in the “who’s who” of musical theatre. And in his book, few are spared. Charles Strouse and Stephen Schwartz are pilloried, based on Ford’s experience working on their musical “Rags” (though he thinks the material had some strength). Andrew Lloyd Webber receives the requisite bashing, as do Kander and Ebb for weak material, and many performers for being difficult, rude, or both.

But when it comes to composers, this book is really about Stephen Sondheim. And although Ford calls him “the master” (and means it), Ford is sometimes brutal towards both Sondheim and his work. (Ford hates “Sweeney Todd,” unbelievably enough, and let’s the reader know that on multiple occasions). Although Ford appreciates what Sondheim did for him and his career, it’s clearly a relationship tinged with some sadness and pain.

And while the criticism of Sondheim can seem harsh, perhaps it’s true to Sondheim himself. While Sondheim always took care to praise his mentor Oscar Hammerstein II, he would often times critique Hammerstein’s work (in my view, unduly harshly). So perhaps Ford is just doing the same. And, as Ford relates in his book, there were times that Sondheim gave back to Ford just as good as he got.

But perhaps the harshest criticism in the book goes to Paul Ford himself. Many of the stories Ford relates — about his alcoholism, struggles with body image and sexuality — can be painful to read. But they’re real; they’re honest; and they leave you with a sense of not just Paul Ford the talented pianist, but Ford the flawed — but also triumphant — man.

Finally, the book is also hysterical. The laughs are truly non-stop. I still can’t get a story about Ford’s first meeting with Lauren Bacall out of my head. I laughed out loud constantly. And whenever I had to put the book down, I literally could not wait to pick it up again.

This book is a must read if you love theatre, Broadway musicals, or Stephen Sondheim. I guarantee that I will be returning to it repeatedly in the future.

Growing up in New Jersey, I dreamed of spending hours in the company of someone like Paul Ford. I still do.

After reading this book, I still would love to be able to meet Ford in person. But, as that likely won’t happen, this book will have to do — and it succeeds wildly. (I’d still love to hear some of the stories Ford left out of this book, as well as his private recordings, such as the one he made in preparation for “Sondheim on Sondheim.”)

Paul Ford had a career that many dreamed of; he grew up loving musical theatre more than most (with this reviewer being an exception), and he reached the highest of musical theatre heights. But at the same time, Ford reminds us that there is a lot more to personal happiness than career success.

And on that point, like all others, Ford’s memoir is truly a smash hit.

The author is a culture writer at The Algemeiner, as well as a nationally published playwright, screenwriter, and actor. You can see some of his creative work at www.Bloomywood.com

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