At the zenith of the sixties psychedelic music phenomenon, a Southern rock-blues band emerged among the finest. The Allman Brothers: Duane Allman and Dickey Betts on guitar, Butch Trucks and Jai Johnny in a two-man rhythm and drum section, with Gregg Allman on keyboards and Berry Oakley on bass.
Sadly, and, as with so many of his very talented contemporaries, Duane lived and died in the fast lane. He was riding his Harley Davidson “much too fast” one day in 1971 when an oncoming left-turning truck stopped dead in his path. He was 24. For many, that was the day the music died. Just a few months later, Berry Oakley also died, seemingly dashing all hope that the band could recover. After all, it took less than that to end many other collaborations of the day.
Duane, still among the top ten all-time guitarists ever, helped keep blues alive on the top play lists, if barely, through the sixties and still today. Like Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Rickie Nelson (sure why not?) we can only ponder the awesome wonder of what they might have produced in maturity if they hadn’t lived so close to the edge.
Students and fans of the blues will welcome, as I did, the biography, evidently the first and long overdue, released late last year.
Poe is a former executive director of the Songwriters’ Hall of Fame and current president of Leiber and Stoller Music Publishing. He is the author of two other books along with scads of articles and liner notes. His association with his subject began when he and his sister, then pre-teen, wandered down a pier on Daytona Beach on a hot summer’s day in the early 1960s when he remembered hearing a band, the “lead guitar began to wail, playing slow bluesy licks that mesmerized.” It was Duane Allman.
Poe hails from Florence, one of the four Muscle Shoals towns where W. C. Handy was born and where much of the Allman Brothers’ creativity percolated. Duane was born in Nashville, Tennesee, in 1946, the same year Muddy Waters first recorded in Chicago.
It’s difficult to keep up with the many key people crossing paths with Duane and “baby brother” Gregg. Poe weaves in all of the musicians, producers, and promoters who would become part of not only the Allman Brothers, but also Cowboy, Dickey Betts’ Great Southern and the Capricorn Records rhythm section.
Poe writes of the Allman brothers’ childhood, including the murder of their father, a military man, and stints in a military academy. In addition to their Tennessee roots, Duane and Gregg grew up in Florida and Georgia. It was Gregg who first got and played a guitar, a Sears Silvertone Belle Tone. Duane’s attention had been on a little Harley Davidson 165, but after running it to pieces, the guitar became his focus and he got cherry red 1959 Gibson Les Paul Jr. Gregg later had a Fender Master before switching to keyboards. At age 11, Duane’s teacher was a 14-year-old who could play Jimmy Reed licks.
While the story seems tedious at times, it is instructional for the fan who wants to know who Duane was jamming with and when. Poe has done a yeoman’s job interviewing those who interacted with Duane and in tracing Duane’s path. It is important to follow an artist’s influences. There was a time when I kept up with them all. Then, my subscription to Rolling Stone ran out, and after Cream and Jefferson Airplane broke up, I gave up trying to keep up with shape-shifting bands and free-agent guitarists. So, it’s not surprising that Allman kept popping up in session work all across the blues-rock scene of his time.
In documenting the Allmans’ path, Poe does not sugarcoat; he dishes up Duane the guitar slinger as well as Duane the drug user and he earns kudos from those who should know. Chuck Leavell, former Allman brother and now Rolling Stones keyboardist, said Poe “did his homework and got it right.” David Ritz, a four-time Ralph J. Gleason Music Book award winner, writes “Randy Poe brings him back to life. His portrait of Allman is rendered with sensitivity, scholarship, and a whole lot of blues-loving passion.” What is missing is a promotional quote from Gregg Allman.
There is a smattering of photographs. The book is indexed and includes a list of the references he consulted, but Poe did not notate. More than once I would like to have read where and when and under what circumstances someone, particularly Duane, said what he said. It’s a minor flaw to the average reader. It’s an important omission on the academic level, as blues music and literature are worthy of academic inspection.
Poe deserves far more credit than criticism. He does notate the discography quite extensively. He also provides a sort of play-by-play describing who’s doing what on the tracks, prompting me to reach for Eat a Peach and listen again with a new ear and new appreciation.
Duane’s fatal accident comes in the middle of the book, because, to everyone’s happy surprise, The Allman Brothers Band continued in one form or another for another 30 years. Poe does a great job of following the band’s ups and downs after Duane’s demise.
Skydog is worth the price and would make a great gift for any of your blues-loving friends and family-or your own self. I confess, I didn’t know, or I knew and forgot, that Duane played in “Layla,” as part of Derrick and the Dominoes. And, yes, in the early days, they really were known as the Allman Joys.
