Chuck Leavell of the Allman Brothers Band talks about “Jessica” 50 years later
How the Allman Brothers responded to tragedy with the world's happiest song
January 30, 2024
Few songs are as moody as “Jessica,” a seven-minute instrumental by The Allman Brothers Band from their 1973 album Brothers and sisters. A pure sonic sunrise, raw dopamine fashioned on black vinyl, the track is classic rock's answer “Ode to Joy”; dare you not smile and insist without words that life is good — if only because of music like this.
Beethoven proves an apt (if unlikely) benchmark for the Southern rockers' work on 'Jessica', which entered the Advertising sign charts 50 years ago this month. Why the Allmans work as an orchestra here, leaving no one of its members unnoticed: We open with Les Dudek's galloping acoustic guitar, which is immediately echoed by Chuck Leavell's equally exuberant piano. Dickey Betts then comes in with the main electric guitar riff, which grins all the way up the throat and finally into a new bridge riff, backed by Gregg Allman's shimmering instrumental. Acoustic guitar reasserts itself in the breakdown—only now, we've got Jaimoe's too congas. A rhythmic reinvention. The arrangement is, indeed, symphonic: a war chest celebration of the musical textures of a full ensemble. And we haven't even talked about Leavell and Betts' solos.
But before we do, it's worth taking a moment to note what we're doing no listen on “Jessica”: mainly, the inimitable siren wail of Duane Allman's slide guitar, the trademark sound of his band of the same name. That's because, in 1971 and 1972, the Allman Brothers suffered a pair of fatal tragedies that were eerie and awful even by the morbid standards of classic rock's heyday. First, Duane died after suffering massive internal injuries in a motorcycle accident. Less than 13 months later, the band's bassist, Berry Oakley, crashed his own motorcycle—a few blocks from where Duane had crashed his—and subsequently died of brain swelling. Both men were 24 years old.
What we don't hear, in “Jessica,” is any hint of that tragic backdrop.
The song was named after the daughter of Allman Brothers guitarist Dickey Betts, who suddenly found himself alone on the instrument after years in rock's most formidable tandem. Betts was looking for a song and trying to write one in his style Django Reinhardt, when Jessica—a toddler at the time—wandered into his sight. It's the sense of play that the acoustic guitar plays at the opening of the song, with those funny strums bouncing around like a child's ball.
A Child at Play was “definitely the image I had in mind when I was doing the solo,” says Chuck Leavell, who joined The Allman Brothers in 1972 (a year after Duane's death) as the band's first full-time pianist. of employment. Music, for Leavell, contains not only sounds, but also colors. in an interview with Under the radar, explains that “Jessica” is “bright colors: yellow, pink, colors like that. Maybe some soft ones,” he continues, “a light green or something like that. But nothing harsh like a deep red or black. Vibrant, happy colors.” Incredibly, these colors haven't faded a bit over time. Leavell's piano solo is a stunning achievement: a mini-opera of question and answer, tension and release, all building to a storming climax that just begs you to open the roof and hit the gas. Leavell was 21 when he hit “Jessica.” embarked on a career in which he would play with everything from Eric Clapton Disconnected on Train's “Drops of Jupiter” – and went on to become the musical director of the Rolling Stones. (Leavell has toured with the Stones since 1982 and will appear in the band tour/” title=””>Hackney Diamonds tour/” target=”_blank”>tour later this year.)
“The piano solo in 'Jessica' is one of the best pieces of music I've ever heard in my life,” says actor Billy Bob Thornton in the 2020 documentary. Chuck Leavell: The Tree Man. Chuck, Thornton explains, “plays another song within the song.” Peak euphoria, no less – although Betts' guitar solo will also make your insides tingle.
What surprises me most about “Jessica,” though—more than its bravura musicianship—is that it exists at all. I'm relieved to find that I'm not alone in feeling that it's the sunniest piece of music I've ever experienced. “It's the happiest song I've ever heard,” the band's producer Johnny Sandlin told the One Way Out: The Inside History of the Allman Brothers Band. “It still makes me smile every time I hear it.” Alan Paul, author of One Way Out and later, Brothers and sistersagrees, writing: “'Jessica' is a contender for the world's happiest song, reflecting its origins.”
Which begs the question: What about those other origins? Admittedly, you have to dig into Allman-ology to even know any tension here between the celebratory and the morbid. Once you do, though, the irony is undeniable—another famous Allman Brothers instrumental, “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” (also written by Betts), is literally named after a tombstone in Macon, Georgia Cemetery where the band once practiced and wrote together (and where Duane and Berry would rest). And yet, the eerie “Elizabeth Reed” precedes “Jessica” and the band's twin tragedies. Duane even made some of his own most famous work On the track.
I think there's value in listening to 'Jessica' as a track in its birth in sadness even if it was not written about sadness (on the contrary, in fact). When I revisited the song with Duane and Berry's deaths in mind, I heard more of his familiar melodies and artistry. I heard evidence of how great artists—and great art—can leap off the page, canvas, or keyboard and truly transform reality. A group of musicians in need of a boost literally invented it. That they did it without the aid of words or images speaks to the strange magic of music as an art form, and to The Allman Brothers' particular brand of magic as players. It also speaks of their wisdom. At the time, the band's decision not to replace Duane with another guitarist might have seemed counterintuitive—abandoning the sound that made them stars. In fact, it was their way of accepting that he had no replacement. To deny this fact would only have emphasized its absence. “I'd like to think that having a different instrument, having myself at the time inspires my style and myself in those sessions and ultimately in Brothers and sisters record—I think it livened things up,” Leavell says. “I think it took them to a place where they could have fun again, where they could escape the weight of the loss.” Bets said something similar in 1973 as a young man Rolling rock Reporter Cameron Crowe: “I think replacing Duane would be one of the most uncreative sick moves anyone could make.” (Crowe's experience reporting for the Allmans as a teenager provided some of the inspiration Almost famous.)
The Allmans reinvented themselves. And really, at its core, “Jessica” might be more about reinvention than joy, per se: a child starting the circle of life again, a song that musically evolves from section to section, a world that grows brighter while they both play.
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