With the passing of Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, Ella Fitzgerald, and, recently, Ray Charles, Tony Bennett stands as the premier stylist and interpreter of classic American song. His new album, out in September, presents a history of his music from the halcyon days—"Smile," "I Wanna Be Around," and "Rags to Riches"—to today. All but one of its 18 songs are duets with such luminaries as Barbra Streisand, Bono, Paul McCartney, Elton John, Elvis Costello, and Diana Krall. The lone exception is "I Left My Heart in San Francisco," which Bennett sings solo with the eloquent assistance of Bill Charlap on the piano.

I have bumped into Bennett three times in my life, and in each instance it was akin to encountering a god. Bennett, who turns 80 this month, has been around so long that we have come to take his taste, grace, and charm somewhat for granted. But over the decades he has added to his more than considerable talent a touch of Bobby Short's ebullience, Mabel Mercer's august phrasing, and the bevy of elements he swapped with Sinatra. In addition, he is a veritable fount of invention. Who but Tony Bennett would have dared to make two records with the great but elusive pianist Bill Evans? And who but Tony Bennett would also paint—yes, paint—with the fervor and zest and beauty of a real painter?

It is easy to believe that when this planet of ours gives forth its last ding-dong Tony Bennett will be onstage in some worthy cabaret, resplendent in a double-breasted tuxedo and a bat-wing bow tie, summoning what the late Nelson Algren called "a rain that lightly rains regret" and singing in his wonderful voice of the Tony Bennett verities—heartbreak, joy, and love, of course. Like no other.