There are probably two ways to write a biography of Artie Shaw:

Put yourself inside the swamp of musical brilliance, ego and raw need that constituted his emotional life; or take the judicious, temperate, from-the-outside-in approach.

Tom Nolan has chosen the latter, and although at first it seems overly decorous for the flamboyant personality of his subject, it gradually pays dividends. By the book's end you're convinced that Mr. Nolan has given you the real man, and the real musician.

For most of his career, before he simply walked away from music in the early 1950s, Mr. Shaw was in competition with Benny Goodman for the title of greatest clarinetist. Mr. Goodman had better time and could probably swing a little harder, but Mr. Shaw had a luscious, almost erotic tone and an elegance Mr. Goodman could only dream about. Where Mr. Goodman was a grind and something of a jerk, Mr. Shaw was a showman and a total perfectionist, with an unusual range of neuroses. Before one eight-week gig, he held six weeks of rehearsals and paid his musicians the whole time.

"He seemed much happier when he was playing," one of Mr. Shaw's musicians tells the biographer, "but he hated to play."

Mr. Shaw was born Avram Arshawsky to a poor Jewish family in New Haven, Conn. His father was a dud, his mother was a sourpuss. He had no use for either of them, or for the Jewish religion.

His only god was music, and, beyond that, writing. He was movie-star handsome, played with Bix Beiderbecke and loved Louis Armstrong. "Beyond Louis, there wasn't much to hear," he said.

Because Mr. Shaw's own standards were so high, he could be brutal and funny about the competition. Glenn Miller was "Lawrence Welk, with a jazz accent ... What Glenn did was safe; you felt comfortable. That's not what it's about. It's supposed to be exciting."

Mr. Shaw lived to be 94, which means he spent more of his life out of music than in it. Once, he tried to explain why he quit by talking about a Jascha Heifetz concert he attended. Mr. Shaw thought Mr. Heifetz was spectacular and went backstage to congratulate him.

"I thought I was a little bit off," Mr. Heifetz responded.

Mr. Shaw realized that "Heifetz was aiming at 100, and he probably hits 94 regularly. So that night he only hit a 93 and it bothered him. There's not much difference, but he can hear it. And it's the same with the clarinet. If you really play it honestly, if you're cursed with that, and you take even one day off, then you can't hit 94."

Mr. Shaw had eight wives, mostly sexpots -- Ava Gardner, Lana Turner, Evelyn Keyes, the novelist Kathleen Winsor. He was attracted to the obvious elements but was always shocked when he staggered out of the bedroom and discovered he and his wife had nothing to talk about.

Mr. Nolan brings this multi-faceted, deeply entertaining egomaniac to life. The book made me want to run out and listen to batches of Mr. Shaw's music, and I'd be surprised if it didn't have the same effect on everybody who reads it.

Looking for more from the Post-Gazette? Join PG+, our members-only web site. You'll get exclusive sports content, opinion, financial information, discounts from retailers and restaurants, and more. Our introduction to PG+ gives you all the details.