A YOUNG JOURNALIST MAKES a note to ask Alicia Keyes, ...

I'm not going to let work ruin a rare evening of being somewhere I want to be. It's a rare collection of talent here at the Marriot Marquis, and I'm perfectly content to spend most of the evening eavesdropping on Hal David?who, of course, goes unrecognized by the press. When this gets old, I'm happy to loiter around while Jimmy Webb works the room. Monitors have also thoughtfully been provided so we can watch the soundcheck in the next room, providing the scary sight of Pink and Wynonna without makeup?although, to be fair, both are in really great voice.

It's occasionally tempting to try and ask a celebrity something, but I get drunk early and can't think of any questions that don't address the importance of Dory Previn. Instead, I wander over to a striking older woman who's taken a seat against the wall. "I've heard a lot of big talk about songwriting tonight," I say, "but nothing as impressive as that rock on your ring finger."

"Songwriting paid for it," replies Leba Sedaka. "I earned it, too. Forty years." That's an impressive show of commitment to the star of Playgirl Killer, and I later ask Neil how many carats he shelled out for those years of service. "She got the big one," replies the American Idol favorite, flashing a slightly smaller rock on his own hand.

Then I have a pretty good time reminiscing over the glory days of Bell Records with Clive Davis' beautiful cousin. But as dinner commences in the next room, things get more pathetic in the press quarters. "What's your favorite song?" supplants the topic of future plans as the most tired question of the evening. Noted songwriter John McEnroe hugs inductee Phil Collins, and I feel like I've made a wrong turn to the Hamptons. Jimmy Jam screws up a bid for hipster legitimacy when he can't remember the name of the White Stripes. And Gavin DeGraw tells an interviewer that he can't really compare his career to that of Johnny Cash or Van Morrison, as George Whipple yawns and asks, "Can I go home now?"

I'm not going anywhere, though, since I'm cleared to enjoy the concert/induction ceremony following the evening's dinner. Anyone who catches the show's July telecast on the Bravo network will likely miss the comic genius of Paul Williams, sent out repeatedly to kill time during technical set-ups. Paul Shaffer?onstage to induct an absent Little Richard?does the best job of freestyling on the lousy script being fed over the teleprompter. Jerry Seinfeld sounds genuinely heartfelt while reading what's obviously his own introduction to Tony Bennett.

There's also an heroic appearance by Barry Manilow, singing great and sounding only slight stuffy as he praises his old mentor Davis through a broken nose. And while Patti LaBelle will have most of her rambling acceptance speech edited, the first part to hit the cutting room floor will likely be where the charmingly ditzy diva?newly signed to Def Jam Classics?defends presenter Alicia Keyes against "all the things she's heard that might have belittled her."

Hopefully, they'll leave in the part where Patti parks her chewing gum on the podium. Keyes, incidentally, never bothered to talk to the press. Neither did Collins. There's a waste of great journalistic skills.