Alan Paul's Blog, page 10

Reason #1,287 Jaimoe is the coolest man alive… it involves Eric Clapton

Lay it down Jaimoe! Photo – Don Butler/ToneMan

It’s no secret that I think Jaimoe is the coolest, smartest, hippest cat in town. Here’s one example of why. When Eric Clapton and the rest of Derek and the Dominos came to see the Allman Brothers in Miami, everyone flipped out. They all went gaga and piled into D&D’s cars and the band Winnebago and headed to Criteria Studios to jam the night away. A night of fevered bliss for all. Well, almost all.

Here’s what Jaimoe thought, as recounted in One Way Out:

“Everyone was really grooving, but I wasn’t all that knocked out by what Clapton was doing, or the whole scene, so I went out to the Winnebago, smoked some pot and listened to Tony Williams’ Emergency.”

So, to recap, he basically said, “Fuck this. I’m going to chill with some weed and jazz.” Because Jaimoe don’t play. He didn’t care how big a star Clapton was or how great the music going down was supposed to be. He didn’t dig what he heard, so he moved on to something he enjoyed more. 

And later in OWO, he says the following about Duane coming back to the Allman Brothers Band after playing some shows with Derek and the Dominos and receiving an offer to join the band, which had other ABB members very worried:

When Duane got back, he figured out what I already knew: “Shit, Eric Clapton should be opening for us.” That was the kind of attitude we all had and it was probably the best thing we had going for us. I just simply thought Duane had more going playing with us than with Eric. He had put together this band exactly how he wanted it and I think playing those dates with Eric helped him realize that. He was like, ‘”I’m back. Will you let me back in the band?”

Allman Brothers Band’s final show – 3 years ago

Three years ago today, the Allman Brothers Band played their final show at the Beacon Theatre. You can order a CD of the final show right here.

I covered the final shows every which way, posting on Facebook, covering immediately for Billboard, with a story I had to get up and write with about two hours sleep,  and writing the following story for Guitar World. The paperback edition of One Way Out: The Inside History of the Allman Brothers Band includes a full chapter on the tumultuous final year. It includes some of this material, and so much more. Click to order. If you want a signed copy, just drop me a line. Enjoy the story. Still emotional for me to read this!

The final bow – Kirk West

The Allman Brothers Band closed out their 45-year Hall of Fame career with six shows at New York’s Beacon Theater, October 21-28. The group’s final year was dogged by controversy. Derek Trucks and Warren Haynes announced in January they would no longer tour with the group after this year, but also said it had been a band decision, Gregg Allman and drummer Butch Trucks sent mixed signals about whether the band was really retiring. The group had to postpone four March shows at the Beacon when Gregg was physically unable to perform, and the singer also had to cancel a host of solo dates.

Yet things seemed calm as they entered the run of final shows. On the eve of the run’s first show, just before a final rehearsal on the Beacon stage, Gregg Allman stood in the theater’s lobby and seemed quite at peace with the band’s decision.

“It’s been 45 years,” he said. “I think that’s about enough.”

He also said that the group had decided not to have any of the guests who have become a Beacon staple: “There’s only six shows left and we’re going to go out with just the seven band members.”

On opening night, the theater was filled with an air of anticipation and reverence, a step beyond the normal excitement that has always met the band at the Beacon, where they have sold out 238 shows since 1989. They closed the first set with “You Don’t Love Me.” Before applause could swell, Haynes played a plaintive, almost mournful lick, which revealed itself as the melody of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” Derek Trucks responded with a sacred slide wail, Gregg’s churchy organ fell in with them, and the whole band swooped in for a breathtaking instrumental version of the traditional American song of mourning, which always played a special role in the Allman Brothers and which the group played at Duane Allman’s funeral.

The next night, the guitarists again started an instrumental “Circle,” this time offering up a more jagged, aggressive reading in the jammed out coda of “Black Hearted Woman.”

Derek McCabe photo

Before the third show, on Friday October 24, Duane’s two Gibson Les Pauls, a cherrytop and darkburst, arrived from the Rock and Roll of Fame. (See accompanying story.) They joined the 1957 Les Paul which Derek had been intermittently playing since the first show, marking the first time Duane’s three primary guitars were all together, and their presence seemed to animate the band, who played their best show since the 40th anniversary performance of March 26, 2009. The surge of energy was testament to the remarkable power Duane exerted on the Allman Brothers Band until the very end. Trucks and Haynes’ playing took on more urgency. The two moved closer together, leaning in to better hear and respond to each note.  The drummers hit with more force. Gregg Allman was fully, absolutely present, and singing with extra power and precise phrasing.

“Those guitars were inspiring to play,” says Haynes. “They are not in the greatest shape after not being played for so long, but the sound is unreal. The tone they generate is so remarkable and distinctive; it is the sound of Duane.”

During Friday’s show-ending “Whipping Post” encore, the band stopped on a dime and went into “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” again, but this time Gregg sang it, a mournful, haunting lament that led right back into the finale of  “Whipping Post.” The band was flying at a very high altitude.

The Allman Brothers mostly maintained this level for two more nights, with instrumental versions of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” inserted into “Jessica” and “Les Brers in A Minor,” respectively. That left one final show, on Tuesday, October 28th.  Grandiose rumors circulated: They would play four sets. They would play until sunrise, just like at the Fillmore East. They would play an hour-long “Mountain Jam.” All the hyperbole turned out to be just a slight exaggeration.

From the first notes, it was clear this was going to be a special night. The reverential, ecstatic crowd was hanging on every note, each of which was played with intent and focus. It suddenly seemed likely that the band could actually pull off Derek Trucks’ desire to go out on top of their game.

The band kicked off with a brief reading of the instrumental “Little Martha,” transitioning into a “Mountain Jam” that was little more than a tease, then launching into the first songs from their first album, “Don’t Want You No More” and “Not My Cross to Bear.”

Butch Trucks summoned the old freight train power that drove the band to their greatest heights. Jaimoe complemented his partner’s fury with swinging accents and added power. Percussionist Marc Quinones heaped coal into the furnace. Gregg Allman sang as well as he has in years, while his organ seasoned every song. The frontline of Haynes, Trucks and Oteil Burbridge pushed one another higher in an endless conversation of push-pull rhythms and interwoven parts.

“I had a good feeling from the very first night,” says Derek Trucks. “But It wasn’t really until the show started on the last night that everything seemed to fall into place and we all knew this had the potential to really become something special.”

The show largely leaned on Duane-era material, plus three songs recorded after Duane’s death but closely associated with him: “Melissa,” and “Will The Circle Be Unbroken,” which were both played at his funeral, and “Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More,” which Gregg wrote in response to his brother’s death. A Haynes-sung “Blue Sky” paid unspoken tribute to founding guitarist Dickey Betts, who has not performed with the band since 2000. The only late-era song in the playlist, interestingly, was “The High Cost of Low Living.”

Derek, Duane’s goldtop. Photo- Derek McCabe

When the show ticked past midnight, the Allman Brothers were wrapping up their career on October 29, the 43rd anniversary of Duane’s death.  They played an extended version of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” wrapped in the middle of a massive “Mountain Jam.”

After an encore of a high energy “Whipping Post” the band walked to center stage as the Beacon shook with applause. It was startling to see the seven members together, arm in arm, waving and bowing, because the Allman Brothers have never been a group bow type of band. Gregg has gone whole Beacon runs without saying much more than “thank y’all,” but he took the mic and offered some eloquent words of thanks and reflection. Then he said that they would close out with the first song they ever played together. Every hardcore in the audience and there went; many there who didn’t meet that description- knew what was coming next: the band’s reinterpretation of Muddy Waters’ “Trouble No More.”

The whole audience sang along, leaning forward so much that it felt like the theater might tip over backwards. When the song ended, no one on stage seemed to know what to do, lingering by their instruments. Butch and Jaimoe thrust their arms in the air in triumph. Gregg stood and waved. Haynes and Burbridge embraced. Quinones walked to the front and handed drumsticks to the crowd.

The crowd remained in their seats as a slide show of the band’s history, heavy on Duane and Berry Oakley, rolled on screen to the recorded strains of the lilting instrumental “Little Martha.” It was Duane’s only composition, the notes of which decorate his gravestone. It was also the tune that began this night four and a half hours earlier. The circle was complete, unbroken.

“I think the one thing everyone who was in that room could agree on is the night happened exactly as it should have,” says Derek Trucks. “There was something really honest and pure and it was a bonafied moment, which don’t happen too often on Planet Earth.”

Jaimoe played the shows the highest Allman Brothers compliment, saying the spirit, energy, musicianship and tireless flow reminded him of the original band, that elusive gold standard every other iteration has been chasing like a ghost since 1971.

“Those dates were a lot like the original six,” he said. “We could have kept playing more nights.”

The final bow – Photo – Derek McCabe

How Duane Allman’s three Les Pauls met each other at the Beacon in 2014

Photo – Cree Lyndon

Duane Allman had three primary Les Pauls during his time with the Allman Brothers Band. The 1957 goldtop he played on the band’s first two albums as well as most of the Derek and the Dominos Layla sessions has been on display at the Big House Museum in Macon, Georgia. The other two Les Pauls, a 1959 cherry burst and a 1958 or 1959 dark burst, are owned by Duane’s daughter Galadrielle and have long been on display at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. She made sure that both guitars made it to the Beacon, along with Duane’s goldtop, for the Allman Brothers Band’s final performances this past October.

“I’ve always wanted to see them play the guitars, knowing that it would be amazing for everyone,” Galadrielle says. “It’s a daunting thing to try to imagine these fragile and valuable things out in the world, and it had to be the right time and place.”

The guitars’ histories are long and varied. In September 1970, Duane traded the goldtop for the cherry burst after swapping the pickups between the instruments. The cherry burst became his primary guitar, heard on At Fillmore East. In June 1971, guitar dealer Kurt Linhof sold Duane the dark burst, which became his main guitar until his death on October 29, 1971.

According to Galadrielle’s moving memoir, Please Be with Me: A Song for My Father, Duane Allman, Duane Allman, her mother Donna took the cherryburst from Duane’s apartment after his death and soon lent it to a musician friend—who had introduced Duane and Donna. She asked him to return it when her daughter was 21.

Gregg had the darkburst, but the band’s road manager Twiggs Lyndon was worried about its fate. A classic car aficionado, Lyndon traded Gregg a 1939 Ford Opera coupe for the guitar, determined to hold it for Galadrielle until she was “old enough not to give it to the first guitar player she dated.” He took the guitar on tour with the Dixie Dregs, and it was on the road with him and band when Lyndon died in a skydiving accident in 1979.

Dregs guitarist Steve Morse safeguarded the guitar for over a decade, recording several tracks with it. On April 2, 1990, Twiggs’ brother Skoots Lyndon met Donna Allman at Duane’s Macon grave and presented her with the guitar for her daughter.

Fittingly, it was Skoots who traveled to Cleveland to transport the guitars to New York, guarding them with the expected vigilance. After decades behind glass, both guitars were not in playable shape. Lyndon, who is on the Deep Purple crew, asked Morse guitar tech Tommy Alderson to prep the guitars. He began working on them at 10:30 at night on an ironing boarding in room 805 of the Millburn Hotel, pronouncing them done at about three in the morning.

Photo by Kirk West

“I kept it really simple because they are very fragile,” Alderson says. “I cleaned the pots real good and got the intonation as right on as you can get with flattened frets. I flattened the necks with the truss rod so I could measure and set the bridge so it didn’t buzz or fret out.”

Alderson was struck in particular by the pickup setup on the cherry burst. “They are set different than anything I’ve ever encountered,” he says, “dropped down a fair amount below the pickup ring. The pickup pole adjustments had the screws turned up so they would pick up the signal. Also unusual, the bridge pickup is a lot weaker than the neck pickup. I plugged it in and put it in the middle, and it was the ‘One Way Out’ sound. It was just crazy to hear.”

The guitars’ unique sounds were apparent the moment Haynes and Trucks played them.

“You plug them in and the sound of Duane is unmistakable,” Haynes says.

“The sound is so distinct and powerful,” adds Derek Trucks. “There was definitely some extra spirit in the room. At one point, [his uncle, drummer] Butch looked down, saw I was playing Duane’s goldtop and was really struck.”

“It was during ‘Dreams,’ ” Butch recalls. “And seeing and hearing Derek play the solo on the guitar Duane used was very emotional.”

Story behind Sweet Home Alabama on the 40th anniversary of the crash

On this day (October 20) in 1977, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s twin engine plane crashed in a swamp in Gillsburg, Miss., killing three of the band members – singer Ronnie Van Zant, guitarist Steve Gaines and singer Cassie Gaines – assistant manager Dean Kilpatrick and both pilots on impact. Twenty other people survived with various injuries, some very severe.

The last surviving original member still in the band is guitarist Gary Rossington. Sending best wishes and also to early members Ed King, Artimus Pyle, Cassie Hawkins and Larry Junstrom.

In tribute to the band and those lost on the 40th anniversary of the awful crash, this is the story of one of their most enduring songs.

“SWEET HOME ALABAMA”

Second Helping  (MCA, 1974)

Skynyrd 74, Aragon Ballroom, Chicago. Foto – Kirk West

“I knew ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ was a classic the minute we wrote it,” says guitarist Ed King, who was primarily responsible for the song’s music, most notably its defining riff. Now get this: he wrote it on his first day as the band’s guitarist.

King had met Lynyrd Skynyrd when his band the Strawberry Alarm Clock opened for them. When bassist Leon Wilkeson abruptly left the band, they asked King to fill in. When Wilkeson returned, King slid over to Strat, their dual guitar lineup became a triple threat. Gary Rossington came up with a simple, evocative fingerpicked D, C, G progression – which he terms “the banjo/steel guitar part” – and feeling like he was onto something, kept playing it over and over.

“Gary had been playing his riff for 15 minutes when I walked in and threw mine in to bounce off of what Gary was doing,” recalls King. “That was what you know as the ‘Sweet Home’ riff, and when Ronnie heard it, he locked in and wrote the words.”

         “He had all the lyrics within an hour,” says Rossington. “We used to travel through Alabama a lot and get onto back roads and just marvel at how pretty it was and how nice the people were. And Neil Young was, and still is, one our favorite artists, so when he came out with ‘Southern Man’ and ‘Alabama,’ criticizing the South, we said, ‘Well what does he know? He’s from Canada!’ So we threw that line about him in there. We were told by some people to take out the parts about Neil Young and [former Alabama governor] George Wallace, but we said, ‘Hey it’s just a song. And we’re going to record it the way we wrote it.’”

         Adds King, “I wrote the choruses and everything up to Billy’s piano solo. It was a three-way collaboration as my part inspired Ronnie and I never would’ve been inspired to write my part without Gary’s contribution.

“Right after we wrote it, Ronnie said to me ‘Well? There’s our Ramblin Man.’”

RIP Johnny Sandlin: An interview with one of his oldest friends.

The Hourglass: Johnny on drums, Pete Carr on bass, Paul Hornsby on keys. Duane and Gregg, of course.

Johnny Sandlin’s  death was the fourth terrible blow this year to the Allman Bothers Band community, following the losses of Butch Trucks, Col. Bruce Hampton and, of course, Gregg Allman. Sandlin was probably the least known outside the core family, but he played a central role in the band’s career from the time he met Duane and Gregg in 1967 and became, along with Paul Hornsby, a member of their band, soon to be renamed The Hourglass.

Johnny produced Brothers and Sisters, as well as the first, excellent solo albums by Gregg (Laid Back) and Dickey (Highway Call) and he remained a vital producer until the end. His career is nicely summarized in this New York Times obituary.  To fully appreciate Johnny and his contributions, you need to read his book, written by his wife Ann, A Never-Ending Groove: Johnny Sandlin’s Musical Odyssey.  Johnny was also a thoughtful and cooperative source for One Way Out.

Tommy Compton was a lifelong friend of Johnny’s. He followed Sandlin to Capricorn Records, where he worked in the studio in 1969-70. He also has a forever place in Allman Brothers lore as the guy who “lent” Duane the 1957 goldtop that he obviously never quite got back. I recently spoke to him about all of this. RIP Johnny.

Johnny, Victor Lanza, Tommy Compton

Condolences on the loss of your good friend Johnny Sandlin. What do you think made him special as a producer? As a musician? As a friend?

Thanks Alan. Jonny was a friend first. I watched him doing gigs around Decatur, Alabama and eventually in Huntsville Ala. where he would sneak me into The Cotton Club. I was all of 15. What made him special as a producer was his skills as a musician. The respect for Johnny was immediate. Always soft spoken & kind. When he wanted a certain drum, bass or guitar part, he would play it. Watching him work with Duane was something to see. The mutual respect was there, always.

You were the original owner of Duane’s 57 goldtop. Did you buy it new and how did Duane come to own it?

I bought the 57 goldtop out of the local paper. Guitar and amp for $250.00! Duane saw it at our apartment in early 68 when the Hourglass came through town. He later called from Jacksonville, Fl and asked to borrow it for a gig. Johnny was here for a military physical so he carried it to Duane. Long story short, the Hourglass broke up and Duane disappeared with the goldtop. My dad was about to put out an APB on Duane so I called Gregg at his mom’s and had him send a Wurlitzer electric piano to my brother for the guitar.

Duane was one of the first folks that I saw when I got to Macon. He kind of dropped his head and said he was sorry. Then he grinned and told me that he had to have it. When folks through the years ask me why I didn’t have Duane arrested or whatever, I just ask them if they had ever heard him play it.

When did you first meet Gregg and Duane? Was it immediately obvious that they were special?

In 1967 Johnny’s band, the Minits had broken up at a club in St. Louis and the band at the club down the street broke up the same day. Johnny called me and asked if I could go to his folks’ house to meet a couple of guys on the way to Decatur to start a new band. “How will I know them?” I asked. Johnny chuckled and said I probably wouldn’t have any trouble picking them out.

My friend Rick McClendon and I went to the Sandlins and pulled up in the driveway to wait. We were in a Healy 3000, top down with a case of Bud cooling in the back seat. Here comes a Chevy van flying up the drive. Duane came jumping out the driver’s side: “Hey boys. I’m Duane Allman, that’s my little bro Gregg. That beer cold?” We had an interesting afternoon. It was later in the day when the Duck and [Paul] Hornsby showed up. Within a short time, Duane was plugging in to a Vox Super Beatle. He was playing a Tele With a Strat neck. Had a Vox distortion boost hung on a mop holder. I ask Johnny if this guy was very good. “Hang on to something,” he said. We witnessed the first Southern Rock band playing. I still get can’t get over the power that band had. Gregg and Duane were special but so were Johnny, Paul and later Pete Carr.

Were you really scared to talk to Col. Bruce at Capricorn Studios? Why?

 Sooo, who’ve you been talking to? I loved Col. Bruce and treasured seeing him through the years. The last two times I visited Johnny he told me how much he missed Col. Bruce. They loved watching and talking baseball, music and anything else together. But back in 1970 nobody at Capricorn wanted to deal with them. Phil sent me to Atlanta to the Bottom of The Barrel Club on Peachtree to check them out. Bruce and their manager met me at the door and we went to a table in front. As we were sitting, a mug of beer flew between Bruce and I. Their drummer had this strange grin on a strange face and was waving at us. Bruce looked at me and told me we were going to have a great night. When I asked him what he meant, he said, “Well, he usually hits what he throws at!” Great Start!

As for the studio fear… maybe when we’re in the same place sometime. Or maybe off the record. If you’ve ever heard the Col. tell the story about the dude talking to a busy signal, I’m the guy. Johnny always said better me than him!

Tommy, thanks for giving us some insight and, again, very sorry about the loss of Johnny.

You’re welcome. I don’t think I had the skill with words to express the sense of loss and plain sorrow that Johnny is gone. I hope you have a friend like the Duck. Always there, good or bad!

Tribute Video. “Carry Me Jesus” sung by Johnny’s granddaughter Ella Cauthen

RIP Johnny Sandlin. An interview with one of his oldest friends.

The Hourglass: Johnny on drums, Pete Carr on ass, Paul Hornsby on keys. Duane and Gregg, of course.

Johnny Sandlin’s  death was the fourth terrible blow this year to the Allman Bothers Band community, following the losses of Butch Trucks, Col. Bruce Hampton and, of course, Gregg Allman. Sandlin was probably the least known outside the core family, but he played a central role in the band’s career from the time he met Duane and Gregg in 1967 and became, along with Paul Hornsby, a member of their band, soon to be renamed The Hourglass.

Johnny produced Brothers and Sisters, as well as the first, excellent solo albums by Gregg (Laid Back) and Dickey (Highway Call) and he remained a vital producer until the end. His career is nicely summarized in this New York Times obituary.  To fully appreciate Johnny and his contributions, you need to read his book, written by his wife Ann, A Never-Ending Groove: Johnny Sandlin’s Musical Odyssey.  Johnny was also a thoughtful and cooperative source for One Way Out.

Tommy Compton was a lifelong friend of Johnny’s. He followed Sandlin to Capricorn Records, where he worked in the studio in 1969-70. He also has a forever place in Allman Brothers lore as the guy who “lent” Duane the 1957 goldtop that he obviously never quite got back. I recently spoke to him about all of this. RIP Johnny.

Johnny, Victor Lanza, Tommy Compton

Condolences on the loss of your good friend Johnny Sandlin. What do you think made him special as a producer? As a musician? As a friend?

Thanks Alan. Jonny was a friend first. I watched him doing gigs around Decatur, Alabama and eventually in Huntsville Ala. where he would sneak me into The Cotton Club. I was all of 15. What made him special as a producer was his skills as a musician. The respect for Johnny was immediate. Always soft spoken & kind. When he wanted a certain drum, bass or guitar part, he would play it. Watching him work with Duane was something to see. The mutual respect was there, always.

You were the original owner of Duane’s 57 goldtop. Did you buy it new and how did Duane come to own it?

I bought the 57 goldtop out of the local paper. Guitar and amp for $250.00! Duane saw it at our apartment in early 68 when the Hourglass came through town. He later called from Jacksonville, Fl and asked to borrow it for a gig. Johnny was here for a military physical so he carried it to Duane. Long story short, the Hourglass broke up and Duane disappeared with the goldtop. My dad was about to put out an APB on Duane so I called Gregg at his mom’s and had him send a Wurlitzer electric piano to my brother for the guitar.

Duane was one of the first folks that I saw when I got to Macon. He kind of dropped his head and said he was sorry. Then he grinned and told me that he had to have it. When folks through the years ask me why I didn’t have Duane arrested or whatever, I just ask them if they had ever heard him play it.

When did you first meet Gregg and Duane? Was it immediately obvious that they were special?

In 1967 Johnny’s band, the Minits had broken up at a club in St. Louis and the band at the club down the street broke up the same day. Johnny called me and asked if I could go to his folks’ house to meet a couple of guys on the way to Decatur to start a new band. “How will I know them?” I asked. Johnny chuckled and said I probably wouldn’t have any trouble picking them out.

My friend Rick McClendon and I went to the Sandlins and pulled up in the driveway to wait. We were in a Healy 3000, top down with a case of Bud cooling in the back seat. Here comes a Chevy van flying up the drive. Duane came jumping out the driver’s side: “Hey boys. I’m Duane Allman, that’s my little bro Gregg. That beer cold?” We had an interesting afternoon. It was later in the day when the Duck and [Paul] Hornsby showed up. Within a short time, Duane was plugging in to a Vox Super Beatle. He was playing a Tele With a Strat neck. Had a Vox distortion boost hung on a mop holder. I ask Johnny if this guy was very good. “Hang on to something,” he said. We witnessed the first Southern Rock band playing. I still get can’t get over the power that band had. Gregg and Duane were special but so were Johnny, Paul and later Pete Carr.

Were you really scared to talk to Col. Bruce at Capricorn Studios? Why?

 Sooo, who’ve you been talking to? I loved Col. Bruce and treasured seeing him through the years. The last two times I visited Johnny he told me how much he missed Col. Bruce. They loved watching and talking baseball, music and anything else together. But back in 1970 nobody at Capricorn wanted to deal with them. Phil sent me to Atlanta to the Bottom of The Barrel Club on Peachtree to check them out. Bruce and their manager met me at the door and we went to a table in front. As we were sitting, a mug of beer flew between Bruce and I. Their drummer had this strange grin on a strange face and was waving at us. Bruce looked at me and told me we were going to have a great night. When I asked him what he meant, he said, “Well, he usually hits what he throws at!” Great Start!

As for the studio fear… maybe when we’re in the same place sometime. Or maybe off the record. If you’ve ever heard the Col. tell the story about the dude talking to a busy signal, I’m the guy. Johnny always said better me than him!

Tommy, thanks for giving us some insight and, again, very sorry about the loss of Johnny.

You’re welcome. I don’t think I had the skill with words to express the sense of loss and plain sorrow that Johnny is gone. I hope you have a friend like the Duck. Always there, good or bad!

Tribute Video. “Carry Me Jesus” sung by Johnny’s granddaughter Ella Cauthen

The Circle is Unbroken – Friends of the Brothers Return to Brooklyn Bowl 10/25

Photo – Derek McCabe

We will never allow the circle to be broken. Very excited to be returning to the great Brooklyn Bowl with Friends of the Brothers on October 25.  Tickets are just $12 and presales are a big help. Click here.

FOB features Peter Levin (Gregg Allman, keys), Andy Aledort (Dickey Betts, guitar, vox), and Junior Mack (Jaimoe, guitar, vox) – all three have played with the Allman Brothers Band. The drummer is the great Dave Diamond (Zen Tricksters) and the bassist is Craig Privett. You will not hear a more heartfelt or better tribute to the music of the Allman Brothers Band. We are all in. Join us October 25!

Some thoughts on Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan shows

I was motivated to go see Paul McCartney last night pretty directly by Gregg Allman’s passing. Same thing that drove me to see Bob Dylan and John Prine a few months ago. I hadn’t seen the latter two in years, and had never seen Sir Paul and the deaths of Gregg and Levon Helm and BB King and others has reasserted why you should go see that musical legend THIS time. [I wrote about the Prine show here.]

It would be hard to come up with two more different approaches to classic catalogs than Dylan and McCartney’s. The former performs what he feels like in arrangements he prefers and doesn’t seem to give a good goddamn what the audience wants. Paul is more of a vaudevillian entertainer, there to give the people what they want. Which, to be very clear, is not to imply in any way that he isn’t all in to anything he does.

At 75, McCartney put on an almost-three-hour show that moved through Beatles and Wings hits as well as a few new tunes, with some lovely asides and stories about John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix and George Harrison. He moved between bass (that Hofner violin – it couldn’t be the one, right?), electric guitar, acoustic guitar, grand piano, electric piano and even ukulele. He addressed and charmed the crowd while moving around. It’s thrilling to hear him fingerpick and sing “Blackbird,” even is his voice strained a bit – and also to hear him let ‘er rip on electric guitar, a very underrated aspect of his and the Beatles’ music. He played a lot of the Beatles’ coolest solos.  The excellent 2 to 4 part harmony and doubled singing by his excellent band covered up a lot of vocal strain and was expertly employed. [It seemed obvious to me that there was a ghost bassist backstage, but that’s all I’ll say about that.]

There’s a reasons I’ve never gone out of my way to see Paul before. I am no Beatles fanatic and I don’t love all of his tunes; I never really went for the English dancehall sing-along feel of stuff like “Lady Madonna,” “Eleanor Rigby, ” even “Sgt. Pepper’s” – all of which he played last night – but the power of hearing HIM sing those songs is undeniable. And the power of hearing him sing “Let It Be” and “Hey Jude” is… well, it’s hard to describe, other than to say it’s worth the price of admission alone. Even the Wings tunes, which I never thought were all that great – “Jet,” “Band on the Run,” “Live and Let Die” – were such huge parts of my FM radio childhood that they cut pretty deep. Even the stuff I didn’t love was expertly played and a lot of fun.

At the Dylan show, there was a lot of meh moments and songs that really just weren’t that good, but then he sang “Don’t Think Twice” in recognizable fashion, playing electric guitar and even laying down a slinky solo that followed the vocal melody. I shut my eyes, took in that I was 25 yards away from Dylan singing this song that has meant so much to me and I shivered and even teared up. I never got quite as intense a sensation at Paul’s show, but I had the same vibe repeatedly, and was frankly a lot more entertained in between. These guys are giants of our collective consciousness, with songs, melodies, solos, vocal ticks that are locked deep inside our cerebral cortexes. See them when you can. It’s worth a bit of sacrifice where necessary.

9/11 16 years later – still raw

Reposted today, as I do every year on this date. I don’t think the words will ever be any less true. Last week, the whole family visited the Flight 93 crash sight in Shanksville, PA and paid our respects. All the same feelings…

My family strolling through 9/11 Memorial, Liberty State Park on 9/11/11

Fifteen years later, 9-11 is still very, very raw to me.

In 2011, on the tenth anniversary, my whole family visited the Statue of Liberty and we went up in the crown. The security was tight. There were helicopters flying overhead. And when we got back on the ferry to leave, I looked back at the Statue of Liberty and felt as patriotic as I ever have and I thought, “She’s still here and you’re not.”

We took a family picture and we smiled because it felt good to be alive and to be together, and to feel like our way of life had not been destroyed. But we smiled with heavy hearts, because, of course, we thought about everyone who wasn’t there, everyone we all should remember on this day every year.

We came back from the Statue and walked through the very beautiful memorial in Jersey City, in Liberty State Park. I walked through it silently, looking at the names etched on the side: husbands, wives, daughters, sons, lovers, friends who never came home. And I wept to myself.

It’s still so real.

Part of me wants 9-11 to be a National holiday but I can’t bear the thought of it becoming like Memorial or Labor Day; another excuse for sales and a cooler full of beer.

I know this was a national tragedy, but I just don’t think people outside of the NYC area felt it or understood it in quite the same way as those of us who were here in the metro area. We saw the cars sitting unclaimed in the train stations. The missing posters lovingly hand written and pasted all over the city, the candles burning in front of every fire station.

At noon on 9-11, I was at the South Mountain YMCA picking up Jacob, who was 3, and helping the director go through the files looking for kids who had two parents working in Manhattan, flagging two kids whose parents both worked in the Towers. It took hours until everything sorted itself out. One little baby girl lost her mother. A father around the corner never came home.

The next day I went up to the South Mountain Reservation, walked over to the edge of the wall on the bluff overlooking downtown New York and where the towers used to be was a big grey cloud swirling around and filling the air – even here, 25 miles away – with an acrid smell.

I want to make sure my kids understand, really understand, how real this was. How real it still is to me. So I will take them up there in a few minutes to lay some flowers at the memorial. It sprouted immediately, spontaneously, and is now official, honoring our friends and neighbors who got up and went to work and never came home.

“Never forget” means a lot of things to a lot of people. I’m thinking of them.

Scott Sharrard goes deep about Gregg Allman’s Southern Blood

Photo – Derek McCabe

Scott Sharrard joined Gregg Allman’s band as guitarist in 2008 and became the Musical Director in 2014. His first run as MD was at the Macon Opera House, shows captured on the Back To Macon, GA live album and DVD.

“We had been spending a lot of time writing together, developing this relationship as collaborators and he determined that the best way going forward was for me to be his MD,” says Sharrard.

Over the last few years of Allman’s life, he and Sharrard became increasingly close. Sharrard was behind the only two original songs on Allman’s final album, Southern Blood, which is being released Friday, September 8: he wrote “Love Like Kerosene” and the two co-wrote ”My Only True Friend,” the lead single, which is a profoundly moving farewell.

In a recent conversation, Sharrard went deep on the origins of that song, his relationship with Allman and how Southern Blood came to be. The album was recorded at Fame Studios in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, where Duane Allman first made his mark as session musician working with Wilson Pickett and others. Don Was produced the album.

Gregg was diagnosed with liver cancer in 2013, but almost no one knew about it. When did you find out?

He was doing his second –to-last Allman Brothers run at the Beacon [in March 2014] and I went over to his hotel for a writing session. We had been working on “My Only True Friend” and we were trying to come up with a pre-chorus. He sat me down and told me this news about his terminal illness and I said, “Look Gregg if you want to work, we can work.  But we can take the day off, too.”

And he said, “No, this is the time to work.” And that’s when he changed the line to “I hope you’re haunted by the music of my soul when I’m gone.”

Wow. What a heavy moment. Can you describe the process of the songwriting before and after that?

The song started about six months before that when I was at his house for a songwriting session and I had a dream where Duane was talking to Gregg. I woke up, ran downstairs grabbed my guitar and pen and paper and basically got the intro and verse exactly as you hear it on the record. I had the first two lines and the chorus line: “You and I both know the road is my only true friend.”

When Gregg woke up I showed it to him right away and he loved it.  We worked on it back and forth over the next few months. And when he shared that diagnosis and he added the pre-chorus line, I realized that what we started writing from a dream I had about Duane giving Gregg advice from the beyond became Gregg saying good bye to everyone as he was going into this battle. Although I never told Gregg the story of Duane, he could feel I was tapped into his energy. Honestly, that was the magic of our collaboration: as music director, guitarist, songwriting partner and friend, I was basically ferrying him across the end of his career and life. That was kind of my job and it’s all in that song, which we basically wrote together over the last few years.

Did the song fall into place when Gregg added that line that changed the focus to a farewell?

Honestly, we were writing that song right up to the final take. We put it off all week in Muscle Shoals because Gregg kept saying, “The song needs something else.” And [percussionist] Marc Quinones suggested that I write a third verse. I always listen when Marc speaks, because he’s never wrong… so I went back to my hotel and worked on the lyrics and wrote that third verse. The next day I came into the studio and handed it to him. He read it right there standing in front of the Neumann mic getting ready to cut the song. He sat down, read it again and said, “This is it. Let’s go.”

I told the band, “Guys, we added another verse, this is how it’s going to go.” We got the horn arrangement adjusted. Don made sure everyone was on the same page and then we cut the song you hear on the record. It was literally down to the last minute.  

That’s amazing, and it doesn’t sound like that at all. You would never know he hadn’t been singing those words for a very long time.

Honestly, man, it’s one of those recording moments that you can’t explain because they are just magical. We played it a few times live and rehearsed it many, many times and Gregg was never really getting all the way in and I swear to God he inhabited the song as we cut it. What you hear was a first or second take, cut live on the floor with the band, and he just was inside the song, or it was inside him. He found his home in the song just in time and I’d like to think the third verse helped him. I think the stumbling block was he didn’t see the end of the story and I’m really thankful to Marc for his suggestion, which put me to work.

I was up all night working on different ideas for a third verse and I ended up with: “On and on I roam/it feels like home is just around the bend. I’ve got so much left to give but I’m running out of time, my friend.” It’s the goodbye letter.

Amazing. And it’s an illustration of when desperation and inspiration meet. You think about all the times you can struggle to come up with a line or a verse for months but you nailed that verse perfectly in one night – because you had to.

Thanks. I’ve written hundreds of songs, but over the course of working with Gregg for almost a decade I learned what he wanted to sing: the words he would fall on, the rhythms he liked. It wasn’t always conscious that he was showing me this, but as we were writing that song, he was hipping me to all these turns of phrases he preferred for vocal phrasing.

We were working on two other songs and we actually finished one, which I am going to put on my solo record coming out next spring. We ran out of time and to cut it for this record and honestly the tune didn’t really fit what we were doing. It’s a funky upbeat, twisted blues tune. We actually wrote it before his terminal diagnosis and it really didn’t fit the vibe of Southern Blood as much as he wanted to do it.

I had really grasped what he wanted to sing and say because I had spent so much time writing with him and he had a very, very specific approach. He knew exactly what he wanted as a vocalist, a songwriter and a lyricist: understanding how to match all those things up and make them fit who he was is the mark of a great interpreter of songs. We’re talking Nina Simone and Frank Sinatra territory.

Right. And it’s fascinating because early in his career he was such a terrific songwriter as well as interpreter and as his songwriting slowed down his interpretive skills grew to the point where everything he sang became a Gregg Allman song. I think that’s partly because he always retained a composer’s sense of song.

Yes. His songwriting would still stand out though obviously with less frequency. He was very gun shy about writing anything. He was a master editor, both as a writer and singer. One of the great things about Gregg was his economy of phrasing when he sings and he brought that into his aesthetic choices. He was extremely critical when it came to “Is this song ready?” Gregg was a guy who saved his bullets.

The other song that strikes me as profoundly emotional is Tim Buckley’s “Once I Was.”

Oh, absolutely! You hit the nail on the head, brother. That’s my favorite track. I think it’s the emotional center.

Photo – Derek McCabe

Gregg told me over 20 years ago about his love of Tim Buckley and I’ve written about it but I didn’t see or hear him discuss it much elsewhere. And I’m just wondering how this came to be, and if Gregg spoke to you or others much about his passion for Buckley.

First of all, thanks for asking about it. It’s easily my favorite song on the record and not a single person has asked about it in an interview! Gregg never talked much about his love of Buckley for whatever reason; you are honestly one of the first people inside or outside the family who knows about it. The story behind how this song happened is very dear to me.

To understand, you have to go back again to the day in the hotel when he told me the news. We’re working through what he shared with me emotionally, we’re writing and playing and we take a break. He picks up the guitar and sings and plays “Once I Was” all the way through and I’m literally crying in front of him. I said, “Gregg, please tell me you wrote that song” and he said, “Oh man, I wish I did. That’s by Tim Buckley.” And I said, “You’re a Tim Buckley fan?” and he says “Oh yeah” and I just went, “That’s great.” Because my dad is a musician and he used to play Tim Buckley stuff all the time, so we started talking about Tim and his songs and I asked if he had ever played “Once I Was” for anyone and he said, “No, I haven’t.” I asked if he had ever played it live, in a studio, a demo, and it was all, “Nope, nothing.”

And I asked him, “Why don’t you record that song?” and he just sort of went, “Oh, I don’t know” and then we moved on. He didn’t want to talk about it more, but he started warming up with it regularly when we would write and I said “Dude, we’re getting that on one of your records.” That was a few years before these sessions. When we started talking about songs for the records, I told Don that he had to hear Gregg sing this Tim Buckley song.  I said that Gregg might be a little hesitant but we had to make it happen and Don was way into it.

When we got to the studio I saw it had fallen off the docket and I kind of got in Gregg’s face about it and said we had to cut a version. We had rehearsed it with the band at soundcheck. I was determined to cut this song, so we had it ready. Lo and behold, at the last minute he said, “Yeah, let’s do it today.” And, again, this was the second or third take through, fully live on the floor. Art Edmaiston’s sax solo is gorgeous and it’s just such a beautiful track. He changed the words of the third verse. It’s again a great example of his mastery of interpretation to tell his own story. He makes it rhyme and makes it more Gregg and also changed the whole focus of the song in those last two lines to make it more aligned with where his mind and soul were at that moment and it’s brilliant.

That song was something that he and I shared and I was determined to have him share it with the world. I can’t listen to it yet because I know that song cut really deep for him. It’s still too much.

When you guys were in the studio did everyone know about Gregg’s health?

No. There was a general understanding of his health frailty, but only a few people knew, starting with [Gregg’s manager] Michael Lehman, Chank [Middleton, best friend] and Shannon [Allman, wife]. He certainly didn’t need to share the terminal diagnosis with me but honestly, I think he thought it was important that I knew so that musically we got the last album dialed in.

He didn’t want to share it widely and that was his decision. There’s a line there where this man’s dying wish was to go on stage and after all he did for rock and roll to help create it and refine it, the least we could do for the guy was to honor his dying wish, right?

Photo – Derek McCabe

Absolutely. And it says so much about Gregg’s devotion to the music and his muse that that was his dying wish! I said to Don and I’ll say to you: what you guys did to help Gregg fulfill this final vision is an amazing thing.

We tried our best. I’m a perfectionist so I still see some of the cracks. I can step back enough to say, “Ok, this was the best we could do under the circumstances we had.” But they were not ideal circumstances. We had a great band, we had Don Was, we had Fame studio and those were great advantages, but everything else about the recording sessions was very challenging, especially having the time to do what needed to be done.

Don’s master stroke was bringing in Jackson [Browne] to sing backing vocals on “Song for Adam.” We were about to lose the track because Gregg never sang the last two lines. Don did a wonderful job editing the take together and bringing in Jackson’s distinct voice gives the song a deeper meaning. Jackson and Gregg were such good friends and admirers of each other’s work since they were teenagers, I couldn’t think of a better way for the record to come to a conclusion than with a lyric that Gregg always related to through the tragic loss of his brother at a young age. Personally, it reminds me that my greatest hope is that they are together somewhere in the cosmos admiring the grand picture and pulling for all of us that got left behind.

Did it ever feel like a burden to have this knowledge of Gregg’s illness, which would obviously impact you a lot, and not be able to discuss it with anyone?

No. The only thing that was frustrating during that time was the work aspect of it.  The implosion of the record industry in the last 20 years really fucked up the bottom line for everybody. What should we have been doing?  Writing and recording songs for six months to a year. But the way the economy of being a musician works now and has fucked up everybody, trickling all the way up to Gregg is he had to be on the road to support his operation.

Because of these time constraints, we didn’t get as much original material as I would have liked.  Gregg was working on a song with [keyboardist] Pete Levin that was really good and he never quite finished. [Note: Levin recently cut this song in the same Fame studios in Muscle Shoals for an upcoming solo album.] We had several more in various stages and I think there could have been a lot more.  I had spoken to Patterson Hood and Jason Isbell and was trying to get them together with Gregg, which he was really interested in. I was also trying to get Bonnie [Raitt] and Gregg together.

There was a lot of really exciting stuff on the docket and time just ran out of us. Losing those opportunities mostly had to do with his health struggles combined with his touring schedule. It was a lot to juggle. I really don’t have any regrets but if there was anything I could have done differently it would have been that.

But Gregg also really loved to perform and I’m not sure anything would have kept him off the road.

Absolutely!

You mentioned Michael, Chank and Shannon and they really were his core support group, right?

Yes, very much so. Michael Lehman always looked out for Gregg, and Chank is Gregg’s spirit animal. There’s very little we could have accomplished without him. He’s a rock. He was Gregg’s comfort for many years, along with Shannon for the last couple of years. Shannon is special and she was Gregg’s saving grace, particularly in the last year of his life. She gave him the spiritual and emotional comfort he needed to carry on. It was above and beyond. Gregg was very, very lucky to have Shannon and Chank to ease his suffering.

Every day is step by step when you lose someone you’re close to. With Gregg, I lost a multi-layered human being. He was an icon that I looked up to as a kid – I saw the Allman Brothers when I was 12 and that’s what set me on my path. Then to meet him, play with him, collaborate with him and have him impact my own music… I mean, he used to learn my songs and sing them back to me and listen to my records and bring me into his dressing room and say, “Man, I love this song…” It was like, “What the fuck is going on here?” It got deeper and deeper and deeper and it was quite a journey. There are very few people who had the privilege to go through what I went through with him, and it all came to a head with Southern Blood. For it to be his final recording and to be a handful of people entrusted to execute the project is… it’s an honor is what it is.