This essay reflects on the unique musical landscape of Austin, Texas, known as one of the world’s great music cities. It recounts the story of how producer Jerry Wexler, even in his nineties, revived a project first imagined in the 1970s: a collaboration between Willie Nelson and the Western swing band Asleep at the Wheel. Although the original plan was canceled when Atlantic Records dropped Nelson after two poorly selling albums, Wexler helped bring the long-lost project to life more than three decades later, shortly before his passing in 2008. Austin’s independent spirit and Wexler’s enduring dedication exemplify the true essence of American freedom, intellect, and democracy. The author draws inspiration from this resilience, connecting it to his own life struggles, reflections on smoking cessation, and the determination to keep writing until the very end of his days.
The author reflects on the unique musical culture of Austin, Texas, as a symbol of authentic freedom and intellect. The article praises the life and work of music producer Jerry Wexler, who, at 91, remained active and independent, embodying the true essence of American democracy. Contrasting this with his own life, which has been shortened by 20 years of “suffering,” the author issues a poignant critique of Japan’s leaders and society. He concludes with a resolute vow to dedicate the rest of his life to writing, in an effort to restore the true sense of democracy and intellect that Japan has lost.

Austin, Texas
August 9, 2010

Even for cities I have never visited, I can usually get a sense of what kind of place they are.
One such city is where a gentleman of my generation, whom I met through business, has his family living.
I discovered the character of this city a few years ago while listening to and collecting songs by the most remarkable bands and singers in the world through Last.fm.
Among them, I found a band called The Lovely Sparrows, whose sound told me everything about Austin.

So today I decided to look into the city’s musical climate.

Austin is famous as a music city that continues to hold its own unique spirit.
It has built a scene that exists apart from the mainstream American music movements, shaping its own values.
This tendency began to take a clear form in the early 1970s.
When Jerry Wexler stepped into this environment, he immediately felt the birth of a new musical movement.
He was deeply moved by Doug Sahm, who fused diverse musical styles dynamically in local clubs.
That same night, he was also impressed by Willie Nelson, who had performed before Doug, and signed him on the spot.
Thus, Willie recorded two albums with Atlantic: Shotgun Willie and Phases and Stages.
Wexler then suggested that Willie collaborate with the newly emerging Western swing band, Asleep at the Wheel, who had just made their major debut.
But when the two albums failed commercially, Atlantic terminated Nelson’s contract, and the collaboration plan with Asleep at the Wheel was scrapped.
Decades later, after more than thirty years, that long-lost collaboration finally came to life.
Once again, Jerry Wexler was the catalyst.
In 2007, when he attended a Willie Nelson concert, he saw Asleep at the Wheel as the opening act.
It reminded him of the abandoned plan from the 1970s.
That was how this long-awaited album was born.
Jerry Wexler passed away in the summer of 2008 at the age of ninety-one.
Yet to the very end, he had done truly great work.
He is credited on the album as executive producer.
Isn’t that profoundly moving?

As for me, witnessing people like Wexler—or even the recent buyer of Newsweek, also around ninety-one—working with such energy at that age, I cannot help but admire them.
They lived embodying freedom and intellect to their core, true democracy, belonging to no one, guided only by their own philosophy and sensibility.

Through my own struggles of the past twenty years, I feel I have shortened my life expectancy from one hundred years to ninety.
But with exercise, I have reclaimed it to ninety-five.
I thought to reach one hundred again by quitting smoking, which I had already cut down to one cigarette per day.
Yesterday, a friend suggested we go to the sea at least once in the summer, so we took the train to a beautiful beach.
During that time, I forgot my cigarettes altogether.
This may be the moment to quit for good.
Until half past two last night, I had not smoked a single one.
Perhaps this is the time to stop completely.

Like Wexler, I too intend to keep writing until the end of my life.
And if I am to keep writing, it is better not to smoke.