Amen, Ahmet

2/16/1996

He was sitting in a chair, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees.  The spotlights illuminated the stage, casting the hundreds of people in the audience in the large convention room into darkness.  If he was bothered by the attention, you certainly couldn’t tell.  Politically incorrect, but turning it into the opposite by the mere fact that he did it, he lit a cigarette, took a sip of water and turned the big hall of strangers into a living room full of close friends.

“I was about 13 or 14 years old when I first went to New York.”  His gravelly voice cut through the microphone, causing the audience to move toward the edge of their seats…ears straining to pick up every word…eyes watching for the slightest nuance.  “They dropped me off at a movie theater by myself and promised to return in a couple of hours to pick me up.  I waited until they turned the corner, then hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to Harlem.”

The blonde sitting beside me nudged me hard in the ribs.  “Ain’t Ahmen cool?” she whispered in a hiss loud enough to be heard three rows back.

I acknowledged her with a nod.  I didn’t have the heart or desire to tell her his name wasn’t Ahmen.  It would have taken too long and she probably wouldn’t have cared one way or the other.  I had no idea who she was or why she was sitting in the first row, listening to Ahmet Ertegun, Co-Chairman and founder of Atlantic Records, as he was addressing an assembled multitude who had come to hear a sermon on the mount.

She was stunningly attractive in a bubblegum sort of way…short blonde hair teased as only women in the South can manage…rouge…bright red lipstick…long eyelashes and fake fingernails that matched the lips.  She was dressed in a vogue (whatever that is), see-through white top that tucked into a black dress with white polka-dots.  One dark nylon-encased leg crossed the other at the knee, rocking back and forth in time with the gum she kept popping in her teeth.

I felt the need to tell her to pay attention…to cherish the moment…that she was in the presence of a true legend…but she was too young to know or care.  But evidently not as naïve as I initially thought.  I would see her at the bar at two o’clock the next morning, having drinks with the man who was speaking.

The legend lives on.

“I wound up in a place similar to the Cotton Club sitting by one of the show girls.  I introduced myself to the band leader and they thought I was something.  Here I was, a young white boy, who knew as much about the music as those who were playing.  Hell, I had all their records.”

A quick time out for a puff, a sip of water and he continued with his story.  “After the show, they invited me back to a rent party at one of member’s apartments.  Someone was playing the piano, another singing, others joining in on assorted instruments and the next thing you know, I had a drink in my hand.”

He cleared his throat…not that it made any difference.  The rasp that is his voice was unaffected.  “I was getting hammered when one of the guys who knew my uncle came up and said, ‘What’s that in your hand?’  I informed him that it was scotch.  He told me drinking was bad for me, took the glass away and handed me a reefer.”

The crowd roared, giving him time to light another smoke.

In an industry quick to hang the mantle of “legend” on almost anyone who has a couple of good ratings books or signs a hit act, Ahmet Ertegun redefines the term.

To put in perspective, when compared against his accomplishments, the rest pale in comparison.  Forget pale…become invisible.

So you’ve signed a couple of acts who’ve sold a few million records…and think you’re happening? Get over it.

Ahmet found acts who became so famous they’re known universally by their first names.  Like Otis and Aretha.

While others mined the caves of New York (the ones he had already stripped), he discovered Muscle Shoals and made it legendary with recordings by Wilson Pickett and Percy Sledge.

Is there another person who could make this statement:  “The only two people who could be described by the term ‘genius’ in the 20^th century are Louie Armstrong and Pablo Picasso.  Everything anyone has done since in music or art they got, in part, from the influence of these two.”  Louie and Pablo…only Ahmet could pull that off.

Ahmet is  truly one of a kind.  He’s done it all…with a passion and style unmatched in our business.  And, he had fun doing it.

You know what else? He still does.

Here’s a guy who almost lived with Mick Jagger for a year-and-a-half to get The Rolling Stones on Atlantic Records, then once the deal was done, he laughingly told Mick not to call him anymore…he had his name on the contract.

Here’s a guy whose diverse musical tastes allowed him to sign Ray Charles and Led Zepplin.  Talk about a reach!

It’s all well and good to memorialize his accomplishments, but as Ahmet is quick to point out, he ain’t done yet.  Ask him how old he is and he’ll tell you time is immaterial.  It’s not where you’ve been, but where you’re going.

Young at heart? You bet.  And in the flesh.  A lot of people decades younger than Ahmet were left bruised and battered in his wake in Atlanta.  You think he needs that cane to walk?  Not a chance.  It’s to shove aside the fallen bodies as he makes his way to another mystical place that is changed from the ordinary by his mere presence.

Ahmet Ertegun is epitomized by the company he founded…a company that defines diversity in Alternative, Rhythm & Blues, Rock, Rap, Jazz, Classical, Pop and everything in between.  It’s all music to Ahmet.

It is impossible to describe Ahmet Ertegun in ordinary terms because he isn’t an ordinary person.  His accomplishments are certainly extraordinary.  Yet, the very thing that makes Ahmet special is that he is ordinary in the most exquisite sense of the word.  He loves music.  From a listener’s perspective, not as an icon.  He’s a fan.

To know him is to love him.  To know him is to learn from him.

We should all be so lucky.

Ahmet Ertegun.  He’s so cool.