For those who came of age during the early days of MTV, Peter Wolf will forever be known as the frontman of the J. Geils Band, whose “Centerfold” and “Freeze Frame” videos were as much a channel staple as Nina Blackwood’s mane. But Wolf’s career and adventures in music didn’t begin or end there.
In his first memoir, Waiting on the Moon: Artists, Poets, Drifters, Grifters and Goddesses (Little, Brown; March 11), Wolf takes us through his never-a-dull-moment life, from his days as a kid in New York’s Greenwich Village (including a tense encounter with Bob Dylan) to his wild ride as a Boston DJ and his time with Geils, including the day he was fired from the band. Along the way he devotes a chapter to each of the encounters he’s had with a dizzying array of notables, from the Rolling Stones and Van Morrison (whom Wolf had to coax out of a bathroom before a show when Morrison was refusing to go onstage) to Tennessee Williams, Alfred Hitchcock and master chef Julia Child. His turbulent marriage to actress Faye Dunaway gets plenty of space too.
Another memorable moment came in 1985, when Wolf, then a solo artist, was invited to record a duet with Aretha Franklin and producer Narada Michael Walden. The track, “Push,” would ultimately be included on Franklin’s Who’s Zoomin’ Who album. But as Wolf writes, getting to that point with the Queen of Soul was as challenging as he feared.
One day in 1985, a message on my voicemail from the president of Arista Records took me by surprise. “Peter, Clive Davis. I’m having one of my A and R people call you tomorrow regarding a duet with Aretha Franklin.” A duet with Aretha Franklin? That seemed as incongruous a combination as a nightingale harmonizing with an alley cat.
Sure enough, the following day an A and R person called to confirm Clive’s request. I explained that I was honored, but it was a difficult concept to wrap my head around. Next, the producer of the project, Narada Michael Walden, called me, and I told him flat-out that I didn’t think it would work. “Pete, it’s Aretha. There are musicians who would give their right arm to record a duet with her. It doesn’t get any better than Aretha.”
“Michael, you hit the nail on the head. I’m honored that you’re even thinking of me, but to save you, Aretha, and myself from unnecessary humiliation, I think it’s best to pass.”
“Pete, I’ll send you the track. Just live with it and I’ll get back to you.”
He sent the track: a well-played basic dance groove. Michael persisted: “You’d better have changed your mind. We can cut it in any key, anything that will make you comfortable. Also, Carlos Santana is adding a guitar solo to the track, so just think about it some more.”
His final call came two days later. His persistence paid off: I bit the bullet and flew out to Detroit before I could change my mind.
I loved the idea of recording in Detroit; it was a spiritual second home to me. When I arrived at the studio, Michael met me, all dressed in white; there was a peaceful calm about him. The studio was lit with candles and incense sticks, and no smoking signs hung everywhere. As we listened to the track, entitled “Push,” he explained the approach he envisioned. “Pete, when Aretha gets here tomorrow, this place will be on fire.”
As we were leaving the studio, I ran into funk master George Clinton, who was there working on a new album with the Red Hot Chili Peppers. “Pete, you’re gonna do a song with Aretha? Damn, it doesn’t get better than that. But look out — she can be a tough one.” Hearing this certainly didn’t calm my nerves.
The next afternoon, Michael and I waited in the overly warm control room. Aretha didn’t like air-conditioning. It was already a half hour past the time she was scheduled to show up. An hour passed, then another, and I sensed Michael, too, was getting a bit nervous. Finally, from the window of the studio lounge, I saw a long black Cadillac making its way to the entrance. The car’s back door opened, and two mustachioed men dressed in dark suits, fedoras, and sunglasses got out; you surely didn’t want to mess with either of them. After five minutes, the taller of the two opened the door. Out stepped the Queen of Soul in a full-length mink coat.
I ran to tell Michael that Aretha had arrived. I nervously sat behind the glass wall of the control room as he went outside to meet her, then I watched as Aretha, her bodyguards, and Michael entered the studio.
Michael waved me over for a formal introduction. Aretha just nodded as she took off her mink and placed it on top of the baby grand piano.
I knew she was accustomed to hearing praise, but we were both there to work, so I stopped myself from being too effusive in my admiration. She asked me where I lived and when I had arrived in Detroit. What took me by surprise was her heavy British accent. I answered her questions, trying hard not to show my bewilderment.
Aretha started singing some deep gospel licks that — especially when heard up close — were powerful and dramatic. She glided through the first verse of the song with ease, adding impromptu touches that few singers are capable of mastering. We both sang the chorus, and I joined in on the second verse. After a long instrumental section, Aretha started ad-libbing in her British accent.
“Darling, you are looking so well tonight.”
“The gown you’re wearing makes you the belle of the ball,” I replied. Aretha started laughing so hard that she asked Michael to stop the tape and get her some water. I went to the control room to grab her a bottle and asked Michael, “What’s with the British accent?”
Michael laughed. “She’s imitating Joan Collins. Aretha is a huge Dynasty fan and watches it every week without fail. She obviously feels comfortable to be joking with you. If something is bugging Aretha, she’s not shy letting you know, that’s for sure.”
When I gave her the water, still in her British accent, she said, “I’d just love a spot of tea. No milk and a dash of sugar.” I gladly offered to get it for her.
While I was in the lounge preparing the tea, the bodyguards were watching me. The taller one asked, “You look familiar. Are you in a famous rock band or something?”
I told him I used to be on Atlantic Records, and thanks to ‘The Big M’ [Atlantic promo man Mario Medious] and King Curtis, I once saw Aretha recording in the Atlantic studios. In a surprisingly high-pitched voice, like one you’d expect from Minnie Mouse, the heavier guard shouted, “You knew King Curtis? Wait till I tell Aretha!”
King Curtis was a highly talented and beloved musician who had led Sam Cooke’s band. He was fatally stabbed in 1971 in front of his own brownstone in New York City after asking a group of men, high on drugs, to quiet down and get off the front steps of his house. It was a tragedy that shook up the music industry and the soul world in particular.
When I returned with Aretha’s tea, she sat down on the piano bench. Dropping the British accent, she asked, “You knew Curtis?”
I told her, “When Jerry Wexler was thinking of dropping the Geils band before we recorded our first album, it was King Curtis who convinced him to keep us on the label.” We reminisced about all the great characters and artists who hung around the studio and offices of Atlantic. When I mentioned that I wrote my first solo single with Don Covay, she really came to life.
“Oh, mercy! What a character that man is. He wrote me a number one song, ‘Chain of Fools,’ and I can remember the day he and Jerry Wexler first pitched it to me. We cut it so fast, and when we were done, we all felt it was going to be a huge hit. I can sure use several more songs like that. Next time you speak to that crazy man, tell him Re sends her love, and tell him to write me a couple more hits.”
She reached into her handbag for cigarettes. Seated right underneath a large no smoking sign, she lit up a Kool. She became quiet. With a far-off look she said, “King Curtis — what a loss.”
She turned around to the piano and opened the lid. She started playing chords in a slow tempo, then began singing Little Willie John’s “Talk to Me.” Her version was breathtaking. If the mike had been on to record it, she would have had the number one hit she was looking for.
“Peter, I do miss them, but most of all Sam. Oh, Sam — he was my first love and will always be my first love.” She played a little while longer, caught up in the reverie. It was powerful to hear her speak so intimately about Sam Cooke.
Michael came into the studio, breaking her trance, to tell her we still needed to jam out on the vamp part of the song.
We returned to the microphones, and Aretha wailed. Michael said, “Try it once more, Re. I think you got a better one in you.”
She stopped cold. “You think I got a better one in me. So you mean I don’t know if I got a better one in me? I’ve got to be told?” I thought she was fooling with him until she said, “Listen, if I thought I had a better one in me, I’d just do it again. I don’t need anyone telling me what I got in me. You think you can tell me what my own mind and ears can’t?”
She walked over to the piano, grabbed her mink, and strode to her Cadillac, bodyguards trailing behind.
Adapted from WAITING ON THE MOON by Peter Wolf (Little, Brown, March 11, 2025), Copyright © 2025 by Peter Wolf
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