Remembering Dickey Betts. —Ed.
When it comes to your bad karma and shitty luck, The Allman Brothers Band is a tough act to follow. And no, I’m not just talking about the tragedy that was Allman and Woman. I’m talking about the motorcycle accidents that claimed the lives of Duane Allman and Berry Oakley; rampant infighting and supernatural drug use; and a big-time cocaine distribution bust that led Gregg Allman to testify against his road manager in order to save his own ass. But despite the deaths, the duplicity, and even Cher and Man, The Allmans remain the most influential Southern blues-rock band of all time, and next to Lynyrd Skynyrd, the best damn band to hail from south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
But here’s the thing about the Allmans; I can honestly say I never much cared for them until Duane Allman took that fatal spill on his motorcycle. Because Duane, God bless his totally rad facial hair, was a blues player, and the fact is I despise the blues. As The Simpsons’ Bleeding Gums Murphy immortally said, “The blues isn’t about feeling better. It’s about making other people feel WORSE.” Don’t get me wrong; I can handle them if they’ve been radically tweaked, freaked, warped, or twisted. But Duane, a traditionalist, played ‘em old school, making me the dick at the party who ran out screaming every time somebody put on “Statesboro Blues” or, even worse, “Stormy Monday.” As for “Whipping Post,” it’s way up there on my Shit Parade alongside “Midnight Rambler,” “People Have the Power,” and the entire recorded output of The Clash.
The bottom line? One man’s tragedy is another man’s blessing, and Duane’s untimely demise had the ironic effect of transforming The Allman Brothers Band into a group whose music I actually like. 1972’s Eat a Peach had a few great songs, such as “Blue Sky” and “Melissa,” that took the band in a non-blues direction, but it also included the infamous “Mountain Jam”—really, did the world really need a song so long it took up two sides of a double LP? It took the advent of guitarist/vocalist Dickey Betts as the Allman’s de facto leader to produce 1973’s Brothers and Sisters, which emphasized a unique hybrid of country rock over the blues, and threw in some good-times boogie for good measure.
As for the band’s line-up, bassist Lamar Williams (who replaced Oakley, who lived long enough to record “Wasted Words” and “Ramblin’ Man”) and keyboardist Chuck Leavell joined original members Betts, singer/organist Gregg Allman, and drummers Butch Trucks and Jai Johanny “Jaimoe” Johanson. Leavell’s addition in particular proved a stroke of genius, as his piano played a pivotal role in the band’s evolving sound, particularly on such tracks as “Jessica,” “Southbound,” and “Ramblin’ Man.”
Let’s start with “Ramblin’ Man,” if only because it’s a stone classic; not only did it serve as the lyrical template for such later Southern rock classics as “Free Bird,” it highlights Betts’ high-pitched, country-tinged guitar picking (band pal Les Dudek played co-lead guitar on the song, and contributed to “Jessica” as well) and his equally countrified vocals. Indeed, the rest of the band were initially reluctant to record the song, arguing it was too country and lacked that trademark Allmans’ sound. As for Betts’ long, song-closing guitar solo, which is punctuated by Leavell’s piano and Johanson’s congas, it’s a thing of sustained beauty. This is the song I find myself singing to myself most often–ahead even of “Rhinestone Cowboy.”
“Southbound,” meanwhile, is a free-wheeling, fast-paced Southern-fried blues-boogie hybrid that gives free rein to Leavell’s high-stepping piano magic, Betts’ pull-out-all-the-stops guitar pyrotechnics, and Allman’s gruff but capable of hitting those high notes vocals. “Sweet daddy’s on his way,” sings Allman, and based on the sheer tempo of this number, he’s in a powerful hurry.
The all-acoustic “Pony Boy” opens with some guitar that leads a blues-hater like me to expect the worst, but happily morphs into a likeable little kuntry-blues shuffle featuring the vocals and acoustic slide-guitar of Betts, who tosses in lots of vocal interjections that give the song a spontaneous feel; some cool, as in red hot, guitar-piano interplay, and a great dual drum shuffle that moves the song briskly along. Based on a true story about Betts’ uncle, who would ride his horse home after having “a natural good time” because the horse knew the way home even when he didn’t, “Pony Boy” includes the humorous lines: “Look out the door, there beside that tree/Well, that’s my pony, looking after me/Front feet doing the shuffle/Back feet, too/Blow them good old Georgia blues.” Well, my my, and hey hey: a dancing horse beats a talking one any day. So fuck off Mr. Ed. And oh, but do the boys lay the cornpone on thick, even throwing in some funky knee slapping at song’s close.
“Jelly Jelly” is one of the album’s two blues tracks–and its only cover–but it’s not an utter bummer. Despite the clichéd opening lyrics (“Stormy stormy rain/I’m as lonesome as a man can be,” now repeat) Allman’s in good voice and Leavell’s piano accompaniment is nice, as are Allman’s funky organ solo. Meanwhile, Betts demonstrates he has a flair for the idiom, and Leavell plays a high-toned piano solo that it’s impossible to dislike. I’m not sure what Allman’s getting at when he sings, “Jelly jelly jelly/Jelly stays on my mind,” unless this baby was originally intended to be an advertising jingle for Smuckers. That said I really like the end, where Betts really wails and Leavell throws sparks and together they make one cool din.
The wailing and propulsive “Wasted Words” highlights Allman’s vocals and Betts’ chiming slide guitar—he tears off a great solo midsong—while Leavell throws in lots of flashy boogie as well. Allman opens the song on a weird note, singing, “Can you tell me/Tell me friend/Just exactly where I’ve been,” which, hey, I knew Gregg liked his drugs, but those are wasted words indeed. As are “That was then, this is now/Don’t ask me to be Mr. Clean/Cuz baby I don’t know how.” But Betts’ slide guitar makes this one, as do Allman’s frantic vocals. I’m not wild about “Come and Go Blues” because, well, the reason’s right there in the title, but it’s far from the most unlikeable blues I’ve ever heard, thanks largely to the cool chorus and the turn towards the transcendent the song takes at midpoint, opening up to something bigger than the blues, with Betts wailing on guitar and Leavell laying down lots of funky piano while Allman sings up a storm while tossing in some tasty organ fills in the background.
The instrumental “Jessica,” which was chiefly written by Betts (with some help from Dudek and Leavell) as an experiment to see if he could play with two fingers, is a wonderful tune; indeed, it remains one of the most happy-making songs I’ve ever heard. This isn’t Southern rock; this is Charlie Brown music, and I have no trouble visualizing Linus, Pigpen, and the rest of the Peanuts gang dancing around that elementary school auditorium to it. It opens with Dudek’s guitar and Leavell’s piano, then Betts takes off, playing one high-flying solo while the drummers play a brisk and frisky shuffle behind him.
Then he changes directions, some congas come congaing along, and Leavell finally takes over, making a gladsome sound on the piano, for all the world like a grown-up Schroeder, while the drums go to town making one funky sound. Betts then returns and this time he really means it, playing one frantic solo, drums still pounding away. On and on goes Betts, shifting directions with Allman’s organ way back there playing up a storm, until the song finally closes with drums, organ, and guitar all playing at once. “Jessica” is a song so original I can’t think of its equivalent, and is a testimony to the brilliance of The Allman Brothers Band at their innovative best. If isn’t one of the masterpieces of Southern rock I’m Michael Franks, and I’m about to make you listen to me sing “Popsicle Toes.”
It’s a goddamned shame that Brothers and Sisters turned out to be The Allman Brothers Band’s swan song, as the aforementioned infighting—literally, as in let’s pull a Lynyrd Skynyrd and knock each other’s teeth out—and drug abuse took their toll. No sooner had Brothers and Sisters made the band from Macon, Georgia worldwide superstars, rather than just regional giants, than they threw it all away. 1975 follow-up Win, Lose or Draw was lackluster at best, in part because Allman had split for El Lay to be closer to Woman, and basically phoned in his parts. Meanwhile, the band’s increasing complacency–incredibly, they ceased to bother with either sound checks or rehearsals–led to sub-par live shows as well, and this when they were drawing the largest crowds of their career.
Allman’s keister-saving testimony against his former road manager proved to be the final straw, as band members ceased talking to him, branding him a snitch. And that was it, end of story, as The Allmans split up into three new bands—Sea Level, Great Southern, and the Gregg Allman Band. While they ultimately reunited, they never again made music as funky, soulful, and beautiful as Brothers and Sisters, and theirs may be the ultimate cautionary tale about the excess that so often accompanies success. Be careful what you pray for; it just may eat you alive. In the meantime stay funky now, my brothers and sisters, and have you a natural good time.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
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