The great record producer Richard Perry passed away early this morning in Los Angeles. He was 82 years old and had been battling Parkinson’s — rather waging a war with the disease — for several years.
Richard wasn’t just a record producer. He was a raconteur, a man about town, a thrower of famous parties at his historic home above Sunset Plaza in West Hollywood. He was also my friend, and I was so lucky to know him.
When I was a teenager, Richard was the main producer of hits records in the music business. If you saw his name on a new record, you knew it was good — from rock and roll to R&B to pop. Richard had instincts about hits far beyond everyone else. And once his legacy began, there was no stopping him.
It all started with Carly Simon’s “No Secrets” album which contained what would be his masterpiece, “You’re So Vain.” Listen to it today, and no time has passed. Richard created his own wall of sound, a cushion really. I would often ask him what it was that made his records so exciting. He refused to divulge the recipe.
At around the same time as “No Secrets,” Richard had two more smash hits: Harry Nilsson’s “Nilsson Schmilsson” with the massive hit, “Without You”; and Ringo Starr’s “Ringo” album that kind of reunited the Beatles and made huge hits of “Photograph” and “Oh My My.” You couldn’t put on the radio without hearing a Richard Perry production.
There was precedent for all these stars wanting to work with him. In 1971, Richard took Barbra Streisand into the studio and gave her first and only rock hit, “Stoney End.” The song was written by Laura Nyro, breaking Barbra out of the showtunes category and widening her base. After that, he was in hot demand.
The 70s is a blur of hits on Richard’s resume. Leo Sayer had smashes with “When I Need You” and “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.” Then came Richard’s rehab of the Pointer Sisters, with “Jump” and “I’m So Excited.” He started his own label, Planet Records. He made Art Garfunkel’s lush, classic album, “Breakaway.” He was a part of John Lennon’s close posse during the “Lost Weekend.”
He recorded landmark albums with Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Charles, and Fats Domino. Diane Warren’s “Rhythm of the Night,” sung by El Debarge, solidified his legacy in the 1980s. It went straight to number 1. And let’s not downplay Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson’s mega hit, “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before.”
Up there on Doheny Drive, Richard was famous for his salon like gatherings. Warren Beatty, Jack Nicholson, and many Hollywood starlets came to his “pub.” He had an air of elegance — he liked ascots — despite coming from Brooklyn and doo wop. For his 60th birthday, he took over the back room at Elaine’s and put on a doo wop show for his guests with his friend, Kenny Vance. He liked a good time.
Richard was married twice, once to Rebecca Broussard who later went on to marry Nicholson. In May of 2009 he told me he’d heard Jane Fonda was coming to Los Angeles and he wanted to date her. It’s a long story, but he enlisted his pal, Carrie Fisher, and got Fonda’s email. They were soon a couple, a relationship that went through many stages but continued after they moved in together and then split up. He was totally in love (and so was she!).
In 2000, I ran into Richard with friends at Nick and Toni’s in East Hampton. He had a cassette tape with him that he said no one had heard yet. It was Rod Stewart with a big band singing American classics. He played it for all of us that night, and we knew it was a hit. Richard went on to make four-and-a-half (one was with our friend Phil Ramone) “Great American Songbook” albums with his friend, Clive Davis.
There were all kinds of pet projects. For example, in 2011 he was a consulting producer on a Broadway musical called “Baby, It’s You.” It was all about Florence Greenberg starting Scepter Records, the home of the Shirelles, Dionne Warwick, and Luther Dixon in the early 60s. The book was shaky, but the music enveloped the theater as if it were made from velvet.
More recently, as the Parkinson’s progressed, Richard knuckled down and wrote a memoir called “Cloud Nine,” detailing all his adventures in music. His parents had started a company called Peripole, which became the main supplier of musical instruments to schools across the country. (It’s still in existence.) His life was music. When he finally became a hit producer — his first real record was Tiny Tim’s giant novelty song, “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” — in 1968 — Richard, who was a stutterer — made sure every one of his singers enunciated their words. You never misunderstood a lyric on a Richard Perry record.
Richard certainly had a wide range of famous friends, real friends. One of his best friends was Robbie Robertson of The Band. Robbie’s death was a blow. It was Richard who started bringing Joni Mitchell to Clive Davis’s annual pre-Grammy dinner. I sat between them one year as they dissected each performer.
The last couple of years were a struggle. Parkinson’s is so insidious that Richard would greet me on the phone with an exuberant “Hey, Rog!” and then not be able to say what he was thinking. When he got out a whole sentence there was applause. We listened to music a lot and went over his hits. Some days, Nilsson’s “Without You” was his favorite song, other days it was “You’re So Vain.” Many times Carly Simon would call and sing to him from Martha’s Vineyard. In 2021, when he was hospitalized for a bit, Jane Fonda sneaked the Pointer Sisters into his hotel room and they serenaded him with “Slow Hand.”
What a life! When HBO aired its Tina Turner documentary a a couple of years ago, there was a clip of Tina being accompanied to the Grammys by who? Richard, of course. He was the producer who first worked with her when she was making her comeback. I called him while the show was on, and he responded: “Oh, yeah,” like that was no big deal. I laughed out loud.
Richard leaves three brothers, nephews and nieces, a cadre of friends — especially Daphna Keitel — who were devoted to him, and amazing caregivers. We will all miss his persistent will to live, and his true love of life.
I always said — and thought long before I met him — these are “perfect” records. That’s why they’ve lasted and grown in time.
