“He had nothing left to prove. He still showed up whole-heartedly, simply because a piece of music spoke to him”: Steve Cropper played on my song – and his performance was matched only by his warmth and generosity

In 2012, NYC artist-songwriter Sheri Miller put out a call to her guitar hero, Steve Cropper, in the hope he would contribute to her soul ballad I Could Love You Still.

To her surprise, the Stax legend accepted, and they spent a day at the studio together, sculpting his signature guitar parts around her song.

In tribute to the guitar icon – who passed away on December 3, 2025 – Miller has shared her memories of that recording session, alongside a newly edited tribute video.

When people talk about Steve Cropper, they often start with the scale of his legacy: the Stax sound, the iconic songs he was instrumental in creating with Otis Redding and Wilson Pickett, his signature guitar parts that shaped American soul music.

All of this is true. But when I think of Steve, I have a quieter, more intimate reflection: how he showed up in the room.

In 2012, Steve generously recorded electric guitar on my song I Could Love You Still. There was no grand, fancy plan behind it. The producer and legendary bassist Will Lee, who we both loved and trusted, invited Steve into the session, and he agreed. Why? Because Steve loved the song, lived to play guitar, and thrived on uplifting the musicality of a song to its highest potential.

I still find this remarkable. At a point in his life when Steve had nothing left to prove, he still showed up whole-heartedly, bringing his full presence, his caring attention and sheer love to a piece of music simply because it spoke to him.

From the moment Steve started tuning up his guitar, his approach was singular and profound. He listened first. He paid close attention to the poetry of the lyrics, their intentional short phrasing, and the deep, powerful emotion inscribed in the essence of the song.

His playing was brilliantly tasteful, enhancing every word. It accented open spaces between lyrics, turning it into a soulful conversation with exclamations of passion. His guitar part served as an elegant nucleus, ripe with a master’s melody. I felt his genius, honored that I was sitting at the foot of a master. Looking back now, I understand this sacred experience as a clear expression of his musical integrity.

There were light, happy moments too. While warming up, Steve casually played the opening riff to Born Under a Bad Sign and playfully asked if I recognized it – which thankfully, I did. He regaled us with colorful stories about Booker T.’s chord voicings, sharing the importance of listening as much as playing.

Despite being a towering figure in music history, the room felt easy, echoing with our laughter. Steve was incredibly generous, warm and genuinely joyful.

Only later did I fully realize another special layer of the session. Years before, as a young artist, when I first wrote I Could Love You Still, I composed the arpeggiated soul guitar part deeply influenced by the R&B music I grew up loving, much of it impacted by Steve’s playing. I didn’t consciously intend to reference him, but his musical language was already part of mine, inherited as his “musical daughter.”

If I ever dared to imagine, in my craziest, wildest dreams, the exact legend who was part of the DNA of my song would years later record and play his electric guitar, overdubbing my part, my jaw would have dropped in sheer awe. It was wildly surreal and deeply affirming. This was a little miracle of joy, a quiet conversation across time.

I tear up a little, as what I appreciate most now isn’t the big names attached to this recording, but how Steve masterfully approached the art of song. His overwhelming generosity. His clear attentiveness. His acceptance of me as an equal, respected collaborator in the studio. His powerful belief that the song always comes first.

This vibrant spirit – his pure love of song – is what I deeply wish comes through in revisiting our recording and footage from this special day. It captures a rare side of Steve Cropper that doesn’t always surface in the larger story of his career, but clearly lives in the way he brilliantly played.