Atlantic Records partner and famed producer Jerry Wexler, pictured right with Dusty Springfield, helmed many of my favorite albums. He also provided me with a cherished memory and one of my proudest journalistic accomplishments — two things for which I will always be grateful.
I knew death had been looming for years but when I saw the news online late last night it saddened me greatly. Still does. It’s not like Wexler and I were ever friends but the hours we spent together, which I recall vividly, and the kindness he showed me, made me feel like we had connected in way that rarely occurs during an interview.
Wexler died Friday at the age of 91. He was at his home on Siesta Key, a place I visited in 2003. The music titan had agreed to let me interview him for a profile that would run in the St. Petersburg Times, one of the newspapers I was freelancing for at the time, which was early in my career. My body shook with equal parts anxiety and excitement as I made the drive from my apartment in downtown Sarasota to his place in an upscale gated community on the nearby barrier island. A manservant who spoke broken English greeted me at the front door and led me to the living room where the great man sat. Wexler studied me closely — perhaps put off that The Times had sent a correspondent in his early 20s to interview him.
Before I turned on the tape recorder, he wanted to ask me questions, which included my birthplace and my writing experience. The conversation quickly turned to my favorite music and I rattled off the stars Wexler had produced — Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan and other artists he had not worked with such as Hank Williams Sr., who I knew that he respected. Wexler mentioned his affection for Williams’ signature tune “Lost Highway.” I concurred and then, with my voice noticeably nervous, mentioned it always struck me odd that although the song sounds autobiographical it was one of the few Williams didn’t write. “Um, yeah, I think a guy named Leon Payne wrote it,” I muttered, hoping to God my memory hadn’t failed me. Wexler grinned and from that moment on the interview went amazingly smooth.
I peppered Wexler with prepared and impromptu questions; listened attentively to his long, detailed, illuminating answers. The interview lasted a stretch of about three hours. I found Wexler to be one of the most intelligent people I had ever encountered, a master raconteur who had intimate stories about everyone from Professor Longhair, Dr. John, Doug Sahm and Willie Nelson to Charles, Aretha, Dylan, Solomon Burke, Dusty, Duane Allman and Led Zeppelin.
After the interview wrapped, I stuck around while the photog snapped pictures. Wexler clearly did not enjoy the experience and used the occasion to rattle off hilarious, politically incorrect jokes that had me howling while the photog politely cringed. After the photog left, Wexler led me to an adjacent room lined with CDs. He handed me copies of The Genius of Ray Charles, Doug Sahm and Friends, Aretha's I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You) and a handsome double disc reissue of Dusty in Memphis that included liner notes by Wexler.
He also signed a copy of his highly recommended autobiography, Rhythm & the Blues: A Life in American Music, which he had sent me prior to the interview along with countless other fascinating documents such as a short story he had penned/published and clips the impresario had written while working as a journalist for Billboard magazine; stuff that predated his joining Atlantic Records in 1953. He signed my book: “For Wade — respect and affection — Jerry Wexler.”
My Wexler piece ran as “The Man from Atlantic” on the cover of the Times’ Floridian section, Sun., Aug. 3, 2003. It paid $600, the most money I had ever earned for a single piece. I was ecstatic — would have gladly accepted the assignment if the editors had offered me gas money to meet with Wexler, or nothing at all.
Wexler invited me to keep in contact, and I did, calling him if I was preparing to interview someone he had worked with, like soul great Solomon Burke. Speaking off the record, Wexler would give me priceless nuggets to try and work into the story. Unfortunately, most weren’t fit for “family newspapers.”
On staff at the Bradenton Herald in June of 2004, it came through the wires that Ray Charles had passed. I immediately picked up the phone and dialed Wexler. He answered on the second ring. “I just got off the phone with Rolling Stone and before that, the L.A. Times,” he said in his gruff but grandfatherly way. “But, I liked that piece you did on me, Wade, so I guess I’ll make time for you. What kind of quote do you need?”
This article appears in Aug 13-19, 2008.
