A surprising Kenny Rogers Q&A, about drugs, Prince, Hendrix, Viagra, growing up poor, and why he doesn’t want to live in the friend zone

Note: I interviewed Kenny Rogers in 2000, when he was enjoying a surprising, late-career return at country radio. A shorter Q&A ran in Rolling Stone, and it’s still online. Here’s the longer, uncut version, which I happily found on my computer.

Twenty years ago, Kenny Rogers was the Garth Brooks of his day. “I introduced mega-sales to country music,” he says.

With his fatherly mien and fireplace-warm voice, he had an increasingly pop string of hits that embodied middle-American notions of classiness: “Lucille,” “Coward of the County,” “Lady” and “The Gambler,” his signature song. But lately, as country gets more gimmicky and plastic, Rogers seems relatively dignified.

With his new hits “Buy Me a Rose” and “The Greatest,” Rogers, 62, became the oldest person ever to top the country charts, and the first to do it on an independent label. Even more startling, the silver-bearded King of Hallmark — condemned by purists for diluting country — is suddenly hip, appearing on new records by Wyclef Jean and Coolio.

It’s striking that you’ve had such enduring success, because you don’t fit within any category.

I’ve always been too pop for country and too country for pop. And I never felt I was a particularly good singer; when I listen to my voice, it’s like, E-yuch. But I’ve always felt that I had a real knack for picking hit songs, songs that had really interesting stories or plot twists. I’m a storyteller.

The first guy who was too pop for country and too country for pop was Elvis Presley. Was he a big influence?

Yeah. You know, I knew him pretty well. When I was with The First Edition, in ’74 or ’75, we used to work in the Hilton Lounge [in Las Vegas] and he’d be in the main room. I’d go sit in his audience, and he’d introduce me in the middle of the show: “Hey, say hello to my friend, Kenny Rogers.”

I’d go every night, just to be introduced!

How were Elvis’ shows?

I saw him when he was at his peak, and I saw him one night when he was overweight, and apparently doing so much medication. He was singing “The Trilogy.” And in the middle of it he says: “Ah, I don’t want to do that song.” He was laughing — he thought it was funny. But everyone else was laughing out of tension.

Are you a rap fan?

Rap is communication. It’s almost the ultimate story song. I don’t like it when it’s gangster rap, but when it talks about what’s happening on the streets, that’s no different from the country artist saying, “My dad can’t get a job because he doesn’t have an education,” or whatever.

How did you come to record a Prince song, back in 1986?

He wrote it for me. I’m a big fan of his — he’s absolutely brilliant. I’ve always had an incredibly high following in the black community. I mean, I’ll walk down the streets, and I guarantee you there’ll be more black people recognize me than white people.

What’s the source of your affinity with black culture?

I was raised in the projects, and there was a cyclone fence between me and the black community. I used to listen to ’em sing songs in church every Sunday. They were the same songs we were doing — but, boy, they were different. And Ray Charles was my first influence. They are a people who have suffered more pain — and, on a daily basis, still suffer more pain than I will ever know.

Is it fair to say you grew up poor?

Yeah. Before I was born, my dad didn’t take care of the family well. My older brothers and sisters had to quit school to go to work, to help support the family. I think they had a lot of bitterness and anger. When I came along, we were a little more affluent, for lack of a better term. We were upper-lower-class. (laughs) I don’t think my dad was ever abusive to my mother. He really loved her; I never heard him say it, but they were together for 40 years, 50 years. I saw him get drunk and sloppy — I never liked that, but he always seemed to be happy.

So do you drink?

Never drank in my life. When I was in junior high school, my basketball coach told me, “If you want to be an athlete, you shouldn’t drink or smoke.” It was that simple.

But you’re a musician. Not only that: you were a hippie!

Well, I was around in the hippie times. I had the look — long hair, the earring, and I wore those pink glasses. What’s scary is, I thought I looked great. Why didn’t someone tell me?

But I never lived that lifestyle. You know, I smoked some hash a couple times. This was when television went off at midnight. They came to get us the next morning. We were sitting at the foot of the bed, watching the test pattern. I don’t know how long we’d been there. But it was one of the better test patterns.

How much did “Just Dropped In” take you into the psychedelic rock world?

We did a tour with Pink Floyd and Iron Butterfly — we felt like the Partridge Family. One night, we were working at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami. I looked down, and sitting at the bar was Jimi Hendrix. I talked to him between shows, and he said “Just Dropped In” was his favorite song of all time. I thought that was pretty cool. He came in there several times.

Is there a side of you, musically, that is at odds with your renown for mainstream, Top 40 songs?

You mean, Is there music that I’m yearning to do, that I don’t think I can get away with? I would love to do something like Babyface. I have a really good R&B influence. But I have to be careful. Here I am, getting acceptance at country radio. The minute I start running down that path, they’ll shut me off again — so I can’t do it. I’m smart enough to play the game.

Country music has a box, and there’s four corners to that box. You can be all the way out to any one of those corners and still get played. But the minute you step outside that box, you’re gonna get shut down. The trick is to get in that box and become so successful that you can move the box. I had “Lucille” and “The Gambler,” and then, when I got to the point that I could do what I wanted to do, I did “Lady,” and some songs that were really much more pop.

Tell me how you met your wife, Wanda.

She was a hostess at an Italian restaurant in Atlanta, and she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I said to the manager, “Would you ask her to give me a call if she gets a chance?” She was 26, and I was 50, maybe. [Note: he was 54.] And the problem was, she looked 19. Oh god, we went out to dinner and I felt like I was with my granddaughter!

It was tough for me. When I turned 50, I went through a serious midlife crisis.

Have you tried Viagra?

Oh, yeah — I love Viagra. I don’t need it, but I tried it. It’s a great legal drug.

A lot of your songs are about sex: “While the Feeling’s Good,” “Morning Desire,” “Scarlet Fever.” I get the impression that sexuality is really important to you.

Oh, absolutely. It’s what drives me. Sexuality and sensuality. You have to keep passion alive in a relationship. Otherwise, you become friends. Friends are wonderful, but that’s not what I’m looking for (laughs).

So radio stations abandoned you as old news, then they came back around and played your two latest singles, “Buy Me A Rose” and “The Greatest.” Do you feel vindicated?

I feel tremendous pride that we played by their rules and got back in. We won. Now we’re in the box again.

Are you sleeping better these days?

I always slept pretty good. But now I sleep with a smile