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STORY & PHOTOS By PAUL ZOLLO
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 heir career stands as a turning of a page, a transition from the age of Tin Pan Alley, the era of writing the standards that now form the proverbial Great American Songbook, the epoch in which not one but two people toiled to churn out songs - a lyricist and a melodist, two men entwined in the delicate act of merging music with words to create that intangible but poignantly powerful amalgam of elements, the popular song - into the age of Rock and Roll. Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who share a suite of offices in the 9000 building of Sunset Boulevard, a building where some august veterans of the Tin Pan Alley age once had their offices, such as the wordsmith Sammy Cahn, have met here on this autumn day in Hollywood to give a very rare interview about the career that created many of America's most famous songs.
Leiber, the lyricist, and Stoller, the melodist, came together just as Ira and George Gershwin did a couple of decades before them, to write songs for America and the world to revel in. But unlike the Gershwins, the most famous songs that Mike and Jerry created were part of a new era - though they came together just like those legendary writers of old - they were the architects of a new sound, a new craze, a new era of wild rhythm and bluesy tunes. It was rock and roll. It was a bridge from the blues - in which both Leiber and Stoller were well-versed - to popular music, a bridge they built themselves.
This suite of offices is appointed with large, brightly colored folk-art paintings of the blues heroes who painted their youth with their blues tales of life in urban centers like Chicago, far from their sunny Angeleno homes. Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Willie Dixon. These fathers of the blues hang over their heads in multichromatic glory, sharing the wall-space with only one messenger of rock and roll - a young man who, in black and white, remains as electrically vital as these blues beacons - Elvis Presley. Their lives and that of Elvis' are forever entwined, and though his image is monochromatic here, his presence in their life is full of rainbow radiance and unfaded glory. And their memories of the King - which is frank, forthright, and unqualified - related here for the first time in unexpurgated detail, remains as alive as Elvis himself is said to be.
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Talking today in 2006 to Leiber and Stoller is a phenomenal experience for so many reasons, not the least of which is that there are so many unlikely components to their story. Like any meeting with a legendary songwriter, there is the surreal realization that their songs are infinite and everywhere at once, yet the songwriters are quite finite and human even, sitting here in the same room, bound by time while their songs are timeless and unbound. Two Jewish boys from L.A. who got famous for writing in a black genre, they are now American icons who are integral facets in the history of rock and roll. Yet have rarely spoken to the press in the 56 years of their celebrated collaboration, and have never really participated in their history as it's been written.
Their feelings about their now-mythic songs are bittersweet, and quite often more bitter than sweet. And almost every one of the published stories which purport to get their history right are wrong, including those surrounding the writing and recording of their most famous songs, such as "Hound Dog" and "Jailhouse Rock," both recorded by Elvis, or "Kansas City," recorded by the Beatles among many others, or "Stand By Me," recorded by Ben. E. King originally and later John Lennon. [The Beatles also recorded two other songs by Leiber & Stoller on their first demo, "Searchin'" and "Three Cool Cats."]
It is true, though, that, as reported, Stoller didn't like the idea of writing songs with Leiber when they met in 1950. It's not true, though, as has often been quoted, that he said he didn't like songs. What he said he didn't like were popular songs. He preferred jazz. But when he realized that the young Jerome Leiber had written not pop songs but blues, a bridge was built between them that still stands to this day. It's a bridge built on the blues.
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Because their most famous songs came fast and easy to them, "hot off the griddle," as Leiber put it, they don't tend to value them to the extent that they value their songs like "Is That All There Is?", an existential theatrical ballad made famous by Peggy Lee. To this day, Leiber, the lyricist, and Stoller, the melodist, yearn to be known as more than writers of simple rock and roll. When I lingered on the writing of "Jailhouse Rock," for example, Leiber looked me squarely in the eyes and said, "Why are you spending so much time on 'Jailhouse Rock'? Is it that important?" Though they've written some of the most lasting popular songs ever, they didn't think any of them would last. As soon as they were off the charts, they felt, they would vanish.
Leiber & Stoller have long felt their famous rock and roll songs were kid's stuff, and they wanted to write songs for adults - deeper, more musically and lyrically complex songs, of which there exists an abundance in their mythical "vault." But except for "Is That All There Is?", it's their simple, easy songs that have connected them timelessly to popular culture. While countless songwriters attempted to approach the same kind of lofty heights Jerry and Mike reached, they were attempting to write songs like Brecht & Weill wrote, and to translate into words & music the synthesis of sorrow and humor found in the writing of Thomas Mann and other writers. Out of the universe of albums that have been recorded containing their songs, the one that they speak of with the greatest pride is Peggy Lee Sings Leiber & Stoller, a collection of their "adult songs" sung by the legendary vocalist.
And while you might assume any songwriter would be forever proud to have had a song recorded by Elvis or the Beatles, they never liked The King's rendition of "Hound Dog" (and have never referred to him as The King, or even Elvis; in the following interview, he is "Presley.") Nor did they like the Beatles' record of "Kansas City" (for reasons also explained in the following.) They only wrote "Jailhouse Rock" because the movie's producer refused to let them out of their hotel room till they came up with some songs. "Hound Dog" was written on the fly, and not for Elvis but for Big Mama Thornton. From the first second Jerry uttered its title, he didn't think it was sufficiently explicit, and still doesn't feel it's as biting as he wanted. (Nor does he see much value in other legendary titles he's created, such as "Jailhouse Rock," or "Spanish Harlem.") Elvis's rendition of "Hound Dog" - perhaps the most famous record ever of one of their songs - doesn't even use the right lyrics. Instead it copies improbable lyrics written for the song by Freddie Bell - who introduced the whole notion of a rabbit to the song - a notion that Leiber & Stoller regard as nonsense.
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They were the first independent record producers to be officially designated as producers - 'producer' being a title they invented themselves (they wanted 'director') - but they started producing records only in self-defense, as they explain it, to ensure that their songs wouldn't be wrecked.
Even with their most famous non-rock creation, "Is That All There Is?" they are forever dismayed by Peggy Lee's insistence on changing one word, an alteration, in their opinion, that dilutes the entire point of the song.
To this day, they often finish each other's sentences, though their memories frequently clash. "Our relationship is the longest running single argument in the entertainment business," Jerry said, only half-joking.
But the connection that led them to write words and music like one person over the decades, even when they wrote them apart (they wrote the words and music to the refrain of "Is That All There Is?" apart, and then both parts first perfectly and miraculously) is still powerful, and as often as they argue, they laugh, and it's clear that there are few people they'd rather spend time with than each other.
We met on a sunbright day in Hollywood that had a shaft or darkness piercing through it - it was the fifth anniversary of 9-11. But that tragedy didn't darken our time together, which was originally only slotted to be less than an hour, and which extended, thankfully, to several hours. In their suite of offices up above Sunset Boulevard in the same building where Sammy Cahn and other legendary songwriters had and still have offices, we sat in Jerry's office under bright folk art paintings of blues heroes, such as Muddy Waters, whose picture is behind Leiber's big desk. Mike, who so seemed the embodiment of pure energy that I was prepared for him to leap up and run several miles at full speed, sat in front of a giant blow-up of the sheet music for their song "I Want To Be Free," which was recorded by Elvis. The King's iconic profile shone like the sun in stark black and white over Stoller's shoulder throughout our talk, a presence that was both ghostly and vital, as is the enduring presence of Elvis in their lives. Stoller sipped Snapple out of the bottle as Leiber drank coffee from a white china cup and saucer, and the distinct dynamics that have been at play within this duo for more than a half century were very much alive, as the memories ripened and shape-shifted and the sparks flew between the remarkable man who wrote the music and the remarkable man who wrote the words.
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BLUERAILROAD: Now the legend goes that Jerry wanted to get together with you, Mike, when you were both 17, to write songs. And you didn't like the idea of writing songs.
MIKE STOLLER: Well, that's not really true, but, you know, when you're interviewed, frequently you give a very quick answer. The thing is, I assumed that Jerome Leiber was not writing something that I would be interested in. I had very specific tastes. I was a musical snob. I was a big Be-Bop fan. So I thought he would, somehow, be writing songs that I just wouldn't care for. That I'd consider commercial, which was a terrible word among jazz musicians. I wasn't a jazz musician. I played a little bit. But I had that kind of an arrogance, if you will. And when he came over, of course, I discovered that he was writing blues, and I loved blues. Cause it's great stuff. I was a big boogie-woogie and blues fan, as was Jerry.
Before meeting Jerry, were you hoping to make your living as a musician?
STOLLER: I was hoping to make it as a composer, yeah.
Of jazz? What kind of music?
STOLLER: Just music. Of jazz, or of, quote, serious music.
Were you considering being a songwriter?
STOLLER: No.
And so you, Jerry, were writing blues without music?
JERRY LEIBER: Yes.
Had you worked with other songwriters before working with Mike?
LEIBER: Well, I worked with one other person who I wouldn't really characterize as a songwriter. This was in high school. Going to Fairfax High School. I hooked up with a drummer. Whose name was… Jerry Horowitz. Is that his name?
STOLLER: I can't remember, and he can't remember. [Laughs] I remember what he looked like. Nice fella.
LEIBER: We worked for maybe two months, three months. One day he didn't show up for a writing session. And it sort of went out the window. I needed a composer. Tunesmith. He told me he had a musician's name written down who was a piano player that he played a dance with in East L.A. and he thought was pretty good. And he might be interested in writing songs. And he took his number down and gave it to me.
I called - it was Mike - I called him up and I said, "My name is Jerome Leiber, and I was given your number by a drummer. Said he played a dance with you in East L.A. And he said you might be interested in writing songs. Can you write notes on paper?"
He said, "Yes."
I said, "Can you read music?"
He said, "Yes."
I said, "Do you think you'd like to write songs?"
He said, "No." I thought what a tough nut to crack here. And I talked to him for a few more minutes. And sort of wrangled an appointment with him.
I took my school notebook, which had all my lyrics in it, and I went to his house. Which was at -
STOLLER: 226 South Columbia Avenue. Right where Belmont High School is.
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LEIBER: I can't remember the address. It's been, what, 40 years?
STOLLER: 56. He's a great lyric writer, bad mathematician. [Laughter]
LEIBER: I don't have a very good memory, either.
STOLLER: That's true.
LEIBER: So he was adamant. He didn't want to write songs. He made it clear that he was doing me a favor by talking to me. He really wasn't interested. He told me he was interested in Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Art Blakey.
STOLLER: Bela Bartok. [Laughter]
He was good, too.
LEIBER: Miles Davis. And I thought he was a terrible music snob. And I think so did he. But he did take the book out of my hands, and wandered toward the piano.
And he set the book down on the piano, and he started playing licks. Sort of blues-jazz. And he looked at the book and he said, "Hey - these aren't songs. They're not the kind of songs I dislike. These are blues, aren't they?"
I said, "I think so."
He said, "I like the blues. I'll write with you."
And that's how it started.
The legend was that you said, "These aren't songs, these are blues." But did you consider them songs?
STOLLER: Well, they weren't the kind of songs that I thought that he would be writing. Most of the blues that I knew - almost all the blues - first of all, were written by black people. And most of them by black singers and as a matter of fact, many, many of them were piano players, and I bought their records for the boogie-woogie instrumentals, which might have been considered, in those days, the B-side. You know, in the old 78 records? But I always played both sides. And the other side, frequently, which might have been the A-side, had the same person playing a blues and singing. So I did become somewhat familiar with the poetry of the blues and certainly the structure of the blues, and Jerry's work was in that mode. It had the blues poetry in it.
LEIBER: Almost all of our audiences thought we were black. And when we took some of our music to a performer, to show it to him for approval or to teach him how to sing it, they were absolutely amazed. I remember we went to a little hotel down on Central Avenue. We were taking some songs to Wynnonie Harris, who at that time was pretty hot. And we knocked on his door, and he opened his door and he looked at us in shock. At first he really didn't believe that we were songwriters. That's how it went for years, actually. It wasn't just the first five minutes. That's how it was for years. And some people, today, still think of us as black songwriters. In fact, LeRoi Jones wrote an article about us. He said we were two of the best black songwriters in the business. And he meant it.
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STOLLER: But when "Smokey Joe's Café" went into rehearsal for the Broadway production, three of the guys met us for the first time, and were shocked. And this was ten, twelve years ago. They thought that we were black.
Those first lyrics you wrote, did you intend them to be blues?
LEIBER: Well, they were blues. The form, the structure. There were repeat lines -
STOLLER: Yeah. I looked at it, I said, "There's a line, a line of ditto marks, a rhyming line." I said, "These are 12-bar blues." I didn't know that you were writing blues.
LEIBER: He turned to me and said, "These are blues. These are the blues… I like the blues."
I understand one of the first song you wrote together was "Kansas City."
STOLLER: It was the first big hit. Actually, "Hound Dog" and "Kansas City" were both written the same year, 1952, when we were 19. Yeah, I remember very well both of those songs, the writing of them.
Was "Kansas City" first?
STOLLER: I'm not absolutely sure. I do know when "Hound Dog" was recorded -- it was recorded in August, 1952, it came out in 1953. "Kansas City" might have been after that, but it came out in December or thereabouts of '52. There might not have been as long a wait. Cause I remember -
LEIBER: "Hound Dog," waiting -
STOLLER: We were waiting and waiting and waiting for "Hound Dog" to come. We knew, if one can know, it was a smash -
LEIBER: In the blues.
STOLLER: In the blues field. We went down to Pico. We went and waited and waited and said, "When will the goddamn thing come out?"
LEIBER: I remember it came out when I was in Boston. Visiting my sister. I think it took eight or nine months to come out. Then it came out, and it was out for twenty hours. And it broke. Like the atom bomb. In Boston. And I found out that it broke every place else within five minutes. It was one of the biggest hits ever.
You wrote that song after you went and heard Big Mama Thornton sing?
STOLLER: In-between seeing her sing and coming back to a rehearsal at Johnny Otis' house.
You pounded out the rhythm on your old car-
STOLLER: Yeah, on my old car. [Laughs]
LEIBER: A green Plymouth.
(continued ...)
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