Gallerist, restaurateur & music executive Harley Wertheimer On the art of creating space

It is very contemporary (and a little lazy) to say someone is difficult to categorise. It’s a way of categorising. Harley Wertheimer was long known for his work in the music industry as a VP of A&R (artists and repertoire) at Columbia Records collaborating with everyone from Tyler, the Creator to Vampire Weekend, Haim and King Princess, He also co-founded Zelig, an independent label with Mark Ronson. Then came the pivot. Like many during the pandemic, Harley re-examined his hopes and dreams and turned his attention to his personal passions: fine art and hospitality. He launched CASTLE gallery, an intimate space born in his LA, Hancock Park home, followed by Stir Crazy, a vibrant restaurant on Melrose Avenue, known for its seasonally-driven small plates. On the surface, music, art, and hospitality may seem loosely connected under a broad umbrella. But for Harley, they’re deeply intertwined – a way to create environments that spark possibility, where the thrill of discovery remains authentic. All of it is rooted in his enduring muse: Los Angeles.

James Wright: As Vice President of A&R at Columbia Records you worked with everyone from Tyler, the Creator to Vampire Weekend. Did you come to view a shift in how you had to balance the art of discovering new talent with the commercial realities of the music industry?

Harley Wertheimer: When I joined Columbia in the 2000s, the industry was in a very different place. This was before streaming platforms like Spotify, where monetisation is based on streams. While people were streaming on YouTube and downloading mixtapes, the label’s focus was still on the kind of music I loved: music that starts with an independent spirit but has mainstream potential. I remember the head of the company telling me that our main competitor wasn’t Atlantic, but XL – the leading independent label at the time, which operated completely differently from Columbia, signing only one or two artists each year, each a maverick who brought their own unique light into the world.

It was refreshing to see a label focused on discovering artists who cultivated their own fandoms, artists who would carry that following wherever they went. It was a forward-thinking move to prioritise people who would have lasting fans. XL was incredible at this, which is why I think Columbia supported me in bringing in our future. We ended up putting out Tyler's second record, and rather than immediately questioning how it would work financially, they recognised that it was simply working...

JW: You've obviously had great success identifying talent and potential across various fields – from music to food and art. Can you talk about what you look for when assessing a project or person? How does your instinct begin to guide you in the music industry and since, versus an education in and understanding of a market?

HW: I remember my boss, Ashley, would refer to the label as a ship; this idea that we were stewards of it. They had this beautiful thing at the office in Beverly Hills and at the headquarters in New York – black-and-white photos of all the artists who had been on the label. Columbia is the oldest record label in North America, I believe, so walking down those halls, you’d see iconic artists like Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Celine Dion. Whether or not they were your cup of tea, it instilled this feeling of wanting to discover exceptional talent. As a young person, the thought that you could add to that wall was pretty cool.

I should add, not every artist I found or signed turned out to be a maverick. In A&R, you have to be willing to take shots and take chances on people simply because something about them spoke to you – it’s about being a fan, in a way. I think if you’re a true fan, there will be moments when you’re early to things, like catching the clock striking right twice a day. I just happened to be in a position as an A&R where I’d been right early enough times to earn that voice with the people running the label. So, it’s not that I think I’m necessarily special in that way, but I’ve always had this deep love for music and a real passion to learn about it from every angle.

JW: I find that lots of conversations – or interviews these days – as our peers get into their late 30s, touch on finding the crossroads in someone’s creative career choices: the current resting place. To stick or twist after ten or fifteen years on a particular path. I think it’s fair to say that after an acclaimed career in music, you decided to twist. When did you realise that there were projects beyond your day-to-day as an A&R at Columbia that you wanted to pursue?

HW: I worked for about fourteen years at Columbia Records, and it sounds kind of wild, but when I joined I found my version of success fairly quickly. I was a scout, signed two acts quickly, and moved into a full-time A&R role – all without the usual major label experience. So, at 22 or 23, I was  fully immersed. But it was within a few years, I realised I didn't want to be my boss. The roles required of the head of A&R, CEO, or marketing that I was exposed to, didn't appeal to me. It was all fine in my 20s, making money and all, but I always felt this existential pang in my stomach that eventually I would need to find out how I did wanna live, and that it probably wasn't going to be there.

JW: That's such an early realisation...

HW: A&R is all about identifying talent. You’re bringing talent to the record label, supporting their creative process, and positioning yourself to meet their needs – whether that's connecting them with songwriters, producers, and other artists or handling administrative tasks, like studio time, air traffic control, or managing marketing, press and radio outreach. I enjoyed it conceptually and in practice to help an artist with whatever they needed. But I saw what happened as you gained more corporate responsibility – managing people, running A&R meetings, and managing artists which you didn’t always feel a strong creative or personal connection with – I started wondering, how can I stay involved in what I love without getting pulled into everything else? But that’s just not how corporations work.

I had deep respect for my bosses but when I was looking at my life and trying to think about living in the present, which I know everyone struggles with, I had this existential thought: What’s my future going to look like? How is it all going to work? I’d be looking at XYZ and I’d consider making more money, but I couldn’t picture it. Especially, given how often the music industry changes. Maybe I could have pictured doing A&R or working for a record label based on what I’ve heard about the industry during the 90s, though that was always stuff I romanticised. 

JW:  You’ve previously spoken about how the closure of Zelig – the studio and label you established with Mark Ronson and Brandon Creed – was an emotional blow. With the benefit of a bit of time, how do you reflect on that project and what it accomplished?

HW: Mark has always been a special person in my life. I interned for him when I was eighteen after meeting him and his business partner, Rich, at a party. They took me under their wing and believed in me in their own way. They listened to me and even let me introduce them to new music, which was an early confidence boost. It all came full circle when we started the label together.   

There’s a certain complacency that can creep in when you don’t necessarily want to climb the corporate ladder. This opportunity felt different – a chance to have the safety net of a major label while embracing the freedom, responsibility, fear, and pressure of running something independent. Having Mark and Brandon, two industry legends – a musician and a manager – to do this made it even more exciting. It was the perfect storm. 

We started the label and Mark wanted to move to LA, which felt like where the music was moving. Everyone I wanted to work with was there. Studios were shutting down in New York, and people were moving to places like LA or Miami where they could spread out and build home studios. Collaboration became easier. It was a breath of fresh air.  

Opening Zelig gave me the chance to leave more of my own thumbprint on something than I could do at Columbia. I was involved in finding the studio, helping design the logo, curating who we signed and promoted – even shaping the identity of the Instagram page. It felt fresh and exciting after years of working behind one of the most iconic record labels. Zelig was like an independent experiment, my first taste of entrepreneurship.  

It also felt like a safe step, which was important to me. I’ve always been very concerned with making the right choice–gathering as much information as I can before branching out slowly. This was my way of exploring independence while staying grounded.

JW: How much did you weigh the importance of...intimacy in spaces...in creating Zelig? 

HW: Our label, Zelig, had a space that reflected our vision. It was split into an A room, a B room, and a C room. The A room was Mark’s full-time studio, a big, creative hub. The B room was smaller, more casual, where artists, producers, and writers we were working with could workshop their ideas and create on their own. I was responsible for keeping it active. Then there was this ‘70s-style sunken living room with a bar and a coffee machine – a space that kind of morphed into a café-like environment. Somehow, that café identity became part of the building’s charm.

The space was quirky and old, but it felt alive, and I loved being there – knowing Mark was just in the next room, feeling proud to have this little B room that I could offer to artists. The financial freedom to say, “Hey, want to use this space?” and the creative energy it generated felt emotionally and spiritually exciting. It embodied the idea of fostering community and creating an environment for artists to thrive.

When the pandemic hit, I couldn’t go there anymore. We eventually let go of the studio, and it left this huge hole in my life.

JW: Did the pandemic in any way play into your decisions to open either CASTLE gallery or the restaurant, Stir Crazy? The curation of experience, of people of philosophy? Both seem like proactive measures to build, nurture and grow a community?

HW: I think everyone did a lot of reflecting during the pandemic, and one thing that became especially clear to me was the value of community – particularly as it relates to artists, not just musicians but across the fine arts. For me, that sense of community has always felt intimate, and intimacy was something I worked hard to cultivate with the record label.

At the same time, I started reflecting on fine art, which I’d already been collecting and thinking about. I’d imagined turning the front room of the studio into a space for art shows, which tied into this long-standing dream I’d had of running a café. It was a dream I’d carried since childhood but had always been a bit embarrassed to admit. But I struggle with the imposter syndrome around it. With art and galleries, it felt closer to the world of music and record labels – curating a space, building a roster of people you trust and admire, and presenting their work to the world. That made sense to me, but when it came to cafés and food and beverage, I had this voice in my head saying, What do you know about this? It took a lot of internal work to get to a place where I could tell myself, You’re allowed to want this. You’re allowed to explore this.

JW: Do you feel like you have a core philosophy that guides your work? Guides your practices?

HW: "Community" is a word I don’t even like – I'd really love to find a replacement for it as it’s such a catch-all. And at times it feels a bit capitalistic, like “community” is just a stand-in for people drinking, buying wine, and milling around outside. That’s not what I mean at all. Maybe it’s something closer to educational, but not in a formal sense. I like the idea of a space where you can come to learn about an artist, hospitality, a neighbourhood, or even just something unexpected. There’s something about that exchange, that layered experience, that feels more authentic. 

It is a bit didactic, though that word tends to carry a negative connotation. Still, there’s a hint of that here – creating an environment where discovery is encouraged. That connects back to the city for me – LA has this inherent openness where you can find and absorb so much if you’re paying attention.

JW: You own the restaurant along with two friends – Macklin Casnoff and Mackenzie Hoffman. How do you work together as a team? What does it take to get something like this off the ground together? Were there any major, unexpected roadblocks?

HW: The cool thing is that we actually didn’t know each other that well back then. I’d known Macklin socially for quite a while – he was the only person I knew who was a ‘capital-C’ Chef. He’d worked at Animal and Il Buco, so when I found the space and fell in love with it, I reached out to him. I could only visualise it from a design perspective, and honestly, I initially thought of it more as a coffee place. I asked him, What do you think of this? And I was picturing something like a New York brasserie – a space for coffee, food, and baked goods. Leila’s in London was a big inspiration for me.

Macklin was like, “Your references – they’re sort of Viennese or European café culture, and I know you love to sit at Leila’s, but it isn’t enough to cut it.” He was working at Domaine LA at the time with Mackenzie, who’s a true hospitality god. Mackenzie had worked at The Four Horsemen and had come out to LA to run Onda, a collaboration between Jessica from Sqirl and Gabriela from Contramar in Santa Monica. It was Macklin, who said, “If we’re going to do anything, you need to meet Mackenzie.” That’s when things really started to take shape.

It felt like an old-school way of making an album. For an artist to have a successful record, you need a bit of lightning in a bottle – some magic that brings the right people together. The artist meets the perfect producer, who connects with the ideal engineer, and the right session happens. Maybe that’s an old-school comparison since records don’t quite come together like that anymore, but that’s how this collaboration felt.

We had a shared vision that became accomplished through our different values. Macklin had been involved in successful and failed food businesses. Mackenzie had seen successes and failures in the hospitality world. I'd been involved in successful and failed albums. So, although we approached it via different sub-values, we arrived at the same thing. By the time we linked up, it was just rolling in the right energy to make something feel good.

Then, Stir Crazy was already called Stir Crazy – it was a successful coffee shop, which wasn't what was going to be the right feel for what we wanted to do. When we were creating Zelig, Mark and I talked about the space a lot. He said, “We need to find a place that has hits. It already has hits in the walls.”

The studio had been Motown West. The Jackson 5 recorded there. David Axelrod did the drums in that studio for all his releases. The Blackbirds recorded hits there. It was a capital overflow space. Again, that's not really about the people but it is, too. 

JW:  Whether it’s in music, art, or food, how do you think about building sustainable business models that allow for creativity to flourish? How do you ensure the longevity of your ventures?

HW:  I do and I don’t. There’s more within my control now than when I was working in music. At a major record label, the reality was that I had to find and work with artists with huge commercial potential, crafting records meant for a wide reach. That felt daunting and a little unrealistic with my demeanour. 

Now, I can take you to my gallery, show you an artist, and tell you their story. There’s a chance you might agree with their potential, see them as someone to support, or even live with their work. Whether that’s an actual reality or just something I tell myself, it feels more physical, more one-to-one, which gives me a greater sense of control – even if that’s not entirely true.

Running the gallery has been tough, though. You have to walk the line between showing work you find exciting and work you believe people will want to live with, collect, or support. The same goes for the café. I can take you there right now, and if you ordered a glass of wine, that small action impacts the business. I don’t need millions of people to engage for it to matter. If a hundred friends came to the café for a meal, that could make our year.

I’m not saying this will work in the long run, financially, for either the gallery or the café. But I can wake up and dive into it with more excitement.

JW: Do you move through the world now with new antennae, like a film director deconstructing every scene? Do you look at spaces and think about new concepts?

HW: My OCD is even more extreme than it used to be. I find myself standing in cafes, observing everything. I went to London recently and we were with the baby and I had one night with Caius (Pawson) to go out and see 15-16 places. I just walked into 15 places and stood in the middle of the room and took in the space. It's like how you get a sense for an artist after listening to their work a lot. Some people listen to so much music, it's no longer something they can enjoy in their free time. But for me, I enjoy being out even more now, seeing how places work and observing the flow. I’m critical, wondering why they're doing things a certain way or if they could do it differently. Mackenzie’s efficiency has taught me to look at waste in a new way. I came in with no experience, never having been a server. It’s a whole new language, like being new to music or art. Some nights, I'll drive around and watch lines form at places. I’ll pass by and think, "Why are people so okay standing out here?" There’s thirty people outside and they don’t look bothered. I’ll notice little things like street layout – ours has two lanes each side with no stoplights; theirs has just one lane each way. It's all these little details that make a difference. Mackenzie’s had me looking at all of it.

JW: With the gallery and restaurant, it seems like you’re very much invested in L.A. as a place. What is it about the city that continues to inspire you?

HW: Los Angeles is a place where you can put whatever you want onto it, whatever you’re feeling. Maybe that’s true of any city, I don’t know. I only lived in New York for about six years; the rest of my life has been in LA. And I’ve always felt like you can really let your mood shape your experience here, like painting with whatever brush you’re carrying at the time.

For me, I have always had this inherent romantic view of the city. I like spaces that feel like they carry some kind of romance in their history or energy, whatever that means. I feel like calling a city “romantic” sounds a bit like a cop-out – what does that even mean, romantic city? But it’s how I’ve felt. I grew up here, I love it here, and I love its history. It’s something I’ve always shared with my friends.

JW: Where do you look to that’s not LA as an example of a place that feels exciting and dynamic, culturally?

HW: When it comes to big cities – LA, New York, London, Paris – these places don’t love you. The streets, the spaces, they don’t owe you anything. When I’m in London, Caius guides me through the city with such passion for why he loves it, and that’s what I connect to. Similarly, what I probably love most about New York is walking around with Zach Susskind because he loves it so much. But New York doesn’t love Zach, just like London doesn’t love Caius. Their love for those cities is something they’ve cultivated within themselves, and that’s where the beauty lies.

Caius has been an adult in London long enough that his roots are deep, and through him, I feel connected to the city in a way I wouldn’t on my own. It’s the same for me now in Los Angeles. Since moving back, my roots here have grown so strong that if you visit, you’d probably enjoy LA more walking around with me than on your own. I’d show you how I experience it, not how the city experiences me.

By trying to create experiences for people to love the city as much as I do allows them to see it through a different light. Whether it’s my own perspective shaping this or not, I think living anywhere requires a bit of intentionality, like deciding, I’m going to love it here, and I will love it here. It’s that whole “the grass is greenest where you water it” idea. So, in a way, it’s an invitation – for people to connect with the city through community, intimacy, and shared moments.

JW: Do you think it’s important to dream? Does reality ever live up to or surpass the dreams and visions and expectations?

HW: I think your dreams can live up to your expectations. I wouldn’t say it’s simple, but it is possible. If you’ve ever dreamed of starting a gallery, I did it by starting one in my house – I didn’t rent a massive, 10,000-square-foot space. I just decided, “I want to do a gallery.” Getting into your dreams also means spending time dreaming about them. 

LA is a place to dream. The landscape itself feels expansive, like there’s room for possibility. It’s a frontier – the land of dreamers. But it’s also a place to take action. Here, I get fewer of those “What are you working on? What’s next?” There’s more space and understanding from your peers to move at your own pace, to ride your own wave. And when you do try something, there’s a lot more acceptance and support for it. LA feels like a “give it a shot” kind of place.

Not to get too spiritual, but we’re at the edge – we made it this far west. There’s nowhere left to go but inward, into the mind. I talk about this with my friends a lot because I think it’s deeply tied to LA’s essence. There’s a Jewish underpinning to this idea, as well as a Hollywood one. You get to the ocean, and you’re met with a literal and metaphorical end, which has always felt ingrained in the soil here.

I grew up in Hollywood – my dad’s an entertainment attorney who works with screenwriters and directors. For me, dreaming never felt strange. The people my dad admired were dreamers. That’s also part of a Jewish tradition, this focus on envisioning and creating. So dreaming always felt like the point – coming up with big ideas and chasing them.

Coming from music, I’ve seen how a single idea can change someone’s life. Writing a song, something that begins as just a thought in someone’s head, can take them into completely unknown territories. Watching that process—creation turning into transformation is endlessly inspiring. You’re creating something from nothing. That’s the magic.

JW: So...what’s next? 

HW: I’ve got a two-person show coming up next at the gallery – a Danish artist named Magnus Frederik Clausen and a Japanese artist named Yu Nishimura. We’re starting to explore art fairs now, too. I recently moved the gallery to a new space, so I’m focused on growing that and keeping it alive for as long as possible. Beyond that, we’re looking at other spaces to develop hospitality concepts. I really love it and want to do more of it. I’m also trying to spend more time with my family. And music – I still love it. I’d like to get back into it in some capacity. Not necessarily as a major label A&R person, but somewhere, somehow. It’s always spinning plates.

Follow @gallery.castle and @stircrazy.la