So long, Jerry, and thanks for all the music
Genius comes in many guises; Jerry danced like a white man, like a marionette with a broomstick up his ass, but he had a sense of rhythm and an ear for the poetry behind the pain of roots music, blues and jazz and soul, that reached beyond race and gender and age into the center of all that is human.
There is a lot of talk these days, about post-this and post-that. Jerry Wexler was post-everything petty and mean and low; he was crazy and wild and had no regard for limits and never backed down from a fist fight, but first and foremost he was a decent human being who saw all others as human too, no more and no less.
This is Wilson Pickett's song but Wexler worked out the rhythm, moved the emphasis to the second beat; not bad, for a white Jew.
In a 2000 documentary about his career, "Immaculate Funk," Mr. Wexler was asked what he wanted written on his tombstone. "Two words," said the famously atheistic Mr. Wexler,