Tampa Calling

Jerry Wexler, the music titan who produced Aretha Franklin’s finest recordings and signed Led Zeppelin, died August 15 at his home on Siesta Key in Sarasota. I didn’t see the news online until returning from a late night of revelry. Nonetheless, I felt compelled to write, immediately, and posted this entry here Aug. 16. The piece has since been rejiggered a bit, tweaked and augmented with quotes from the interview I did with Wexler in 2003. Here’s a snippet:

Bob Dylan’s controversial gospel album, 1979’s Slow Train Coming, has always moved me deeply. Despite explicit born-again-Christian rhetoric that I don’t subscribe to, there’s a me-against-the-world passion in the singer’s voice that transcends dogma. Not only did Wexler produce it, but he also witnessed Dylan’s proselytizing firsthand. “I said, ‘Bob, forget about me, you’re talking to a confirmed, 62-year-old, card-carrying Jewish atheist,’” Wexler said. “[Dylan and I] only had good times.”

Click here to read “Remembering soul man Jerry Wexler” in its entirety.

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That’s right, the shock jock will release The Imus Ranch Record through the venerable New West Records on Sept. 16. Confusion struck the moment I opened the package.  At first glance, as in when I spotted the name “Imus” on the jewel case, I foresaw a field day slamming it. But then I read the artist/song-list … and then listened … and now I’m in a pickle.

Granted, the album features several misses, but more hits than is typical for this kind of ad hoc compilation. To complicate matters more, Imus the Blowhard also played a creative role in this rather inspired collection. “The compilation was produced by Imus along with Kyle Lehning (Randy Travis, George Jones) and Tracy Gershon (well known A & R executive),” reads the press release. “Imus selected each song and matched it to a specific artist.”

Imus always annoyed me the few times I viewed his televised broadcast. Then, there was that little Rutgers incident last year followed by, in my opinion the even more damning — as in, yeah, he might be a racist, not just an old-timer idiot — comment he made in June regarding the suspension of Dallas Cowboys’ corner Adam Jones:

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The Hold Steady, to my ears, are basically a straightforward, neoclassic rock band that’s managed to endear itself to the fickle indie set. Will there be any fallout from Hold Steady guitarist Tab Kubler dissing indie gods Radiohead and then praising Oasis, the bane of stateside hipsters? Or is it just silly blog fodder?

“I like [Radiohead] as a rock band, all the buttons and sequencing and stuff like that I don’t really care for,” reads the Kubler quote in NME.com. “I’m a fan of rock music and what they’re doing now I don’t think is very good.”

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I spent last week hanging with my fam, particularly my lil’ sis Elizabeth, who is pictured with me and “Fins” co-songwriter/novelist Tom Corcoran at The Dubliner, Thurs., Aug. 14. We arrived at the SoHo pub following Hunter S. Thomspon biographer William McKeen’s book signing (Corcoran and Thompson were buddies; co-wrote an unsold screenplay together). The evening made it into my current Bar Tab, as did our Wednesday activities, which included watching Damon Fowler perform at Green Iguana Ybor City. Here’s a snippet of “Sibling pride”:

It’s takes much booze to get me to dance — especially when no one else in the whole damn room is dancing, which was the case — but by that point I’d been consuming alcohol for about 12 hours. All concerns and anxieties about appearing foolish had been sufficiently drowned. My sister laughed as I failed to properly execute a twirl. Damon grinned from the stage. Good times.

Here’s my current Bar Tab, “Sibling pride,” in its entirety.

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I gave up on the Smashing Pumpkins long ago. Within a year or so of the release of Siamese Dream, I was done. They just didn’t do it for me anymore. In recent years, since Billy Corgan decided to revive the Pumpkins, it’s seemed at times that he’s lost his mind. Remember that full page ad he took out in the Chicago Tribune? Have you seen his blog?

Well, a photo (by the Trib’s Jay Nolan ) from last night’s Smashing Pumpkins show at Ruth Eckerd Hall is proof positive that Corgan has, in fact, lost his mind. I’m not sure where it, or the top of his head went and I could care less if he ever finds it.

In all fairness, Billy wasn’t the only one who was a little off their rocker in the Pumpkins.

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John Rich, half of the cornball country duo Big & Rich (”Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy”), has decided to campaign for John McCain. I cringe at the thought of the White House being occupied by another fear-and-war-mongering WASP who is hopelessly out of touch with the middle class, and anyone too young for an AARP card.

But if that’s your man, fine.

Some of my best friends are Republicans. But country clown John Rich crossed the line when he told McCain supporters that the Man in Black was on their side.

Fortunately, Roseanne Cash quickly and eloquently defended her deceased father’s right not to be pulled into a political campaign posthumously.  Because, really, that’s just wrong. Right up there with singing a song as utterly retarded as “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).”

From Billboard.com:

“It is appalling to me that people still want to invoke my father’s name, five years after his death, to ascribe beliefs, ideals, values and loyalties to him that cannot possibly be determined, and to try to further their own agendas by doing so,” Cash said in a statement on her Web site.

The statement was released after country star John Rich invoked the name of Johnny Cash at a recent Florida rally for presidential candidate John McCain. According to media reports, Rich told the crowd, “Somebody’s got to walk the line in the country. They’ve got to walk it unapologetically. And I’m sure Johnny Cash would have been a John McCain supporter if he was still around.”

Rich then sang Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line.”

“I knew my father pretty well, at least better than some of those who entitle themselves to his legacy and his supposed ideals,” Rosanne Cash said in the statement, “and even I would not presume to say publicly what I ‘know’ he thought or felt. This is especially dangerous in the case of political affiliation.

John Rich, you’re an idiot.

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The past several days have been a blur of extreme fun. Well, except for the other night/early morning when I came home and read about the death of Jerry Wexler. He was one of the coolest men I have ever met. Anyway, here’s an excerpt from my Bar Tab column that’s in the current issue of CL.

I’m on a bender, folks, leading up to a weeklong vacation that will include the consumption of several rivers of booze. Having to meet deadline is about the only thing that keeps my debauchery in check. Cut the leash and I’m a complete monster. Finding people to party on Sundays isn’t as easy as it once was, though. Like Hank Junior says, all my rowdy friends have settled down. Yeah, I’m talking to you, Buck, you pussy.

“I’m at a birthday party,” he says over a cacophony of piercing toddler voices.

I had to call him twice before he answered.

“You miserable fuck,” I holler. “You guys attend more kiddie birthday parties than is acceptable.”

Here’s the column, “Getting ‘punched’ in Ybor,” in its entirety.

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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?”

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That’s right. I’ll be spending the next seven days drinking myself into a blissed-out stupor. My younger sister Beth is scheduled to arrive in town from Colorado at 7 p.m. today. I’ll be taking her to see our pal (and Blind Pig recording artist) Damon Fowler perform Wednesday at Green Iguana in Ybor City.

On Thursday, we’ll be going to Inkwood Books for a talk/book signing by William McKeen, author of Outlaw Journalist: The Life and Times of Hunter S. Thompson. Look for my interview with McKeen in the CL that hits newsstands Wed. My mom is trying to get us to go to Disney’s Typhoon Lagoon for a day but I’m trying to talk her out of it. Rather just hit Adventure Island.

Anyway, I’ll be doing some light blogging but not much else. I did however, manage to knock out a Bar Tab that will run Wed. OK, well, it’s way past noon, time to make myself a tasty beverage.

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This week’s Bar Tab column found me admitting to something I’d frowned upon here. It’s not easy coming clean. But I did, just for you, dear reader. Here’s a snippet:

Sal (glaring): Goddamn it, Wade, keep that down.

Me (giggling): My bad. Want some?

Sal (shaking his head): No.

I had killed the bottle and was feeling frisky by the time we parked on Davis Islands. “I’m going to make a spectacle of myself tonight,” I told Sal.

“I know,” he responded.

Click here to read “Midnight confession: Wade comes clean.”

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Here are quotes that I couldn’t fit into my new music feature, “Amanda Shaw, Pretty girl: But she’s selling her music, not her looks.” Click the link for the story, info on the 18-year-old, New Orleans-based, Cajun-pop luminary’s Friday (Aug. 8) gig at Skipper’s Smokehouse and to hear samples from Shaw’s latest album, Pretty Runs Out (Rounder).

Me: How’s it going today? Are you at home in New Orleans?

Shaw: Yep, I’m at home, getting ready for the trip. I’m so excited to come back to Florida.

Me: So, what’s a typcial day off at home like?

Shaw: I love music so much I’m always listening at the house or making plans to go and hear band. If I hang out at house I listen, sit around and watch movies and read books.

Me: What have you been watching lately?

I love Walk the Line. The first two seasons of The Office, Seinfeld and I Love Lucy. My mom teases me that I am Lucy because I’m always doing goofy things like her.

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