Eighty-one-year old producer/trumpeter Poppa Willie Mitchell died at 7:25 a.m. today, at Methodist University Hospital.
I was stuck out in East Memphis when I got the call, but I immediately began putting my thoughts together about what I would write about Poppa Willie, who I met more than a decade ago, when, as an emissary of Rooster Blues, I walked through the door at Royal Recording Studio.
From that first moment, he was the epitome of cool.
I was with Ike Turner, who was cutting Here & Now at Royal, and I got to listen firsthand as the two pioneers traded insults, shared war stories, and, finally, rolled up their sleeves and began work on the album.
Ever since, I knew I could walk into Royal any time and be welcomed by Poppa Willie, who would sit behind his desk, his shoes off and his feet propped up, and hold court as a revolving cast, ranging from Solomon Burke and Al Green to obscure chitlin’ circuit dee-jays and up-and-coming rappers, stopped by.
