Before long, at the sound check, he began substituting bawdy lyrics: “I just want someone . . . to have sex with” and “Now you know I’m . . . full of shi-it.” “I couldn’t have loved you any better, unless . . . you grew some bigger tits.” Cohen walked by, shaking his head.
After a while, Joel stopped. “Should we really do that one? Really?”
“There won’t be a dry eye in the house,” the saxophonist Mark Rivera said.