Long before signing Nirvana and the Foo Fighters to their respective record labels and, later, becoming AEG Presents’ global touring and talent president, Gary Gersh was a devoted The Band fanatic. While working at Licorice Pizza in California, he saw the influential rock ‘n’ rollers perform numerous times, and as a young Capitol Records employee, he befriended Robbie Robertson, who died Thursday at 80, during The Band’s The Last Waltz farewell concert.

By phone from a Minneapolis airport, Gersh recalls his early encounters with The Band; coaxing Robertson into recording his 1987 self-titled solo debut while working as a Geffen Records A&R man; and long conversations with the guitarist and songwriter in Woodstock, N.Y.

How did you come to be involved with The Last Waltz?

I was a young guy starting out, and The Band were on [Capitol] and doing their thing when they decided The Last Waltz would be the last show. I get up there for rehearsals, and for the show itself, and it was monumental. I watched Robbie in the middle of it all, being different than a musician — he was always talking to cameramen and Mr. [Martin] Scorsese [who directed the 1978 film documenting the event]. It was a beginning of an education. Robbie helped raise me and I was fortunate to have somebody so unbelievably talented and so beautiful as a human being teaching me so much.

What moment do you remember most from that concert?

Robbie was front and center in a way he had never been seen before. Not necessarily the most important member, because the beauty of The Band was the quality of the whole and everybody mattered, but Robbie was the star on screen. Because of the way everything was captured, all of a sudden people were seeing this guy as one of the greatest live guitarists that ever lived.

How did you get to Capitol Records back then?

I had come from a chain of record stores, Licorice Pizza, and Capitol was my first record-company job. The Band had put out a Christmas song [“Christmas Must Be Tonight,” recorded in 1975 and, released two years later] as a single, and I was crazy for it. I was just this guy at the record label, at the very, very bottom, jumping up and down and screaming about The Band. They weren’t the biggest priority at the time, because they weren’t the biggest band, but, to me, they were the most influential band in American music. I saw them play at the Santa Barbara Bowl when I was in my late teens and it was probably well over 100 degrees. Robbie was dressed up in a suit and they were all just dying from the heat, but there they were, just being The Band, and they crushed every time I saw them.

You helped him make Robbie Robertson — how did that come about?

One of the first things I did as an A&R guy was sign Robbie and talked him into making solo records, which, at the time, he wasn’t thinking of doing. I said, “You can’t stop making music. You can do whatever else you need to do, but you can’t stop making music.” I kind of didn’t know what I was talking about, but I think he got that I could be a partner on the ride.

What was making that album like?

He was developing what he wanted his sound to be while we were working on the record. I had always known that [producer] Daniel Lanois was the guy to make the record, and Robbie knew it but had never met him. They hit it off famously. … Daniel pushed Robbie in ways I’m not sure had ever happened before. Robbie had always written multiple verses and had extra lyrics from all the songs. I had never seen that before. There were whole verses being moved in a way that took all of us to see and help develop.

Was there a moment that stands out from that process?

When the first solo album was finished, we mixed the record with [engineer] Bob Clearmountain at Bearsville Studios [in Woodstock, N.Y., site of many Band recordings], which Robbie obviously had a real history at. The day we got to Woodstock, we got a six-pack and he took me over to Big Pink, and we sat on the curb, and I just started asking questions. He was one of the greatest storytellers, whether he was talking about a meal at dinner or a film or music. He talked about how, once they got into the house, they started writing songs from fragments of things. And how Robbie thought each piece was like an actor in a play or a movie, and how they would come and go in a way that made it so cinematic.

When was the last time you saw him?

I talked to him a few weeks ago — he knew my family and knew my wife, and we had young kids and were starting to raise a family, and he had already had one.

Anything else you’d like to add?

He introduced me to so many people — so many musicians — that I had never thought in my life I would know. But he felt it would be part of my education. Van Morrison was just on the music system here [at the airport]. I remember meeting Van because Robbie introduced me to him when they were working on a song [“Wonderful Remark”] for the [1983] King of Comedy soundtrack. I hear things and I’m just reminded everywhere I go. I think that’s the way it is with great teachers. It never leaves you.