Jerry Wexler: The Man Who Invented Rhythm & Blues

Generous contracts notwithstanding, the three partners became employees for the first time, answering to a board of directors. For Wexler it was a rough fit. The irony is that Ertegun, who resisted going corporate, eventually thrived in that environment, his diplomatic pedigree helping him navigate boardroom culture.

The move did liberate Wexler from the overriding concern with the company's bottom line. As he had when he first arrived at Atlantic, he focused on the music he wanted to hear. Noticing a new blend of Southern rock, country and R&B he dubbed "Swamp," he produced sessions for the likes of Ronnie Hawkins, Donnie Fritts and Tony Joe White. Some soul productions — like Donny Hathaway — fared well saleswise; others did not. "The two albums I'm proudest of are Dr. John's Gumbo and Doug Sahm and Band. And they both tanked. Two of Atlantic's worst sellers."

In 1974, Wexler led a failed attempt to establish Atlantic in Nashville; two classic albums that paired him with Willie Nelson were the most that came from the effort. In 1975, Wexler departed Atlantic and — save for a brief run heading East Coast A&R for Warner Bros. where he signed the B-52s and the Gang of Four — he freelanced for the remainder of his career, producing albums for Bob Dylan, Dire Straits, Etta James, Allen Toussaint, the Staple Singers, George Michael, Jose Feliciano, Linda Ronstadt and Carlos Santana.

In the late '90s, Wexler retired to his Florida home and canceled his Billboard subscription, disengaging himself from the music business. While Ertegun remained an industry fixture atop Atlantic, Wexler was visited by a steady stream of journalists and TV crews wanting to talk about the past. He could be irascible at times, but he wasn't turning them away.

"They keep coming time and again and I do them and sometimes they're good. Well they're never really bad because they're dealing with state of the art here in an interview — not everybody can deliver a paragraph extemporaneously," Wexler laughed. "More hubris."

This reporter visited Wexler in his Sarasota, Florida home over a year ago: We spent a long afternoon in his living room, surrounded by photographs of him smiling with Ray, Willie, Bob, Aretha and the Muscle Shoals rhythm section. At 89, he was energetic and totally unenthused at the idea of turning 90. He was happy to speak of the Atlantic years, and dismissive of his and Ahmet's portrayal in the Ray movie ("Two stick figures, empty suits? That's not who we were. But it had to be seen for two reasons — the music and Jamie Foxx."). He lit up when talking of early jazz heroes like trumpeter Henry "Red" Allen and saxophonist Bud Freeman, and at one point broke into a verse from an obscure 1926 song: "I want a big butter and egg man/Don't some butter and egg man want me?"

Jerry Wexler died peacefully, and leaves behind his wife, the novelist Jean Arnold, his children Paul and Lisa, and an undying legacy. Less than two weeks before he died, he was still taking calls. "Always answer the phone," was a personal motto of his. "You never know if it's a hit calling."