Duane did things with a guitar I’d never seen done before, or since
Marginalia Part 2
[N.B.: Previously paywalled post open to all subscribers.]
Welcome back to Long Live the ABB! Really happy to have you here.
Before I get to part two of my annotated read of Tom Nolan’s The Allman Brothers Band: A Biography in Words and Pictures (1976), here are two things y’all might find interesting.
“A Badass With a Gentle Side: The Complex Life of Dickey Betts,” David Browne’s excellent eulogy in Rolling Stone.
“High Falls,” 7/2/98 featuring Jack Pearson and Dickey Betts.
And a few things I’ve put out into the world recently:
🍄A note of gratitude from yours truly🍄
🍄Long Live the ABB in Conversation David Goldflies, ABB bassist🍄
Now, on to the festivities…
Here are the pages I’m commenting on today
🍄REMEMBER: I’ve posted full text of the book here1
🍑PLAYLISTS🍑
Today’s post is basically the first three pages of text.
Previously on Long Live the ABB
Meanwhile, Hourglass morale deteriorated.
[JOHNNY SANDLIN:] “One day, the band would have broken up. The next day, we were back together. We wanted to play, but we weren’t sure exactly what; we had no real strong direction. Then somebody said, we gotta get home, and we left there and didn’t look back.”
In the famous FAME Studios of Muscle Shoals, Alabama, Hourglass recorded some songs that were closer to the music they thought they should be playing; their record company thought otherwise.
“We tried to go back to playing clubs in the South. We had made good money before - two, three, four hundred a week - before we even went to California; but you can’t go back. Finally Duane and Gregg went to Daytona.”
Dr. B’s Marginalia
I did my best to organize this visually for you.
Nolan’s original text is in this font.
My comments are in this font.
Our story picks up in September 1968 in Daytona Beach, Florida
Duane has just left LA for good. The rest of Hour Glass followed him back South.
In Daytona, the Allmans ran into some musicians they had known a few years earlier as folk rock trio: the Bitter End. David Brown and Scott Boyer, later of Cowboy and drummer Butch Trucks joined Gregg and Duane to become the 31st of February…
I’ll interject mid-sentence to clarify one major point.
Yes, Duane and Gregg aligned briefly with Butch Trucks and the 31st of February. But they didn’t become the 31st of February, the band had existed under that name and had already released their self-titled debut album on Vanguard Records, the premier folk label of the time.2
The Greenwich Village folk club forced the group to change their name from the Bitter Ind (for individual).3
…a band which had difficulty securing gainful employment in local clubs operating under a Top-40 policy. Scott Boyer recalls, with some incredulity,
“At a club date in St. Pete, we were playing Wilson Pickett’s ‘Mustang Sally’ and the owner still wasn’t satisfied. ‘You guys do too many originals!’ It was a three-day gig; we got fired the first night. Yeah, times were hard.”
I used the “too many originals” story in Play All Night. Duane and Gregg never really had that problem. By all accounts, they were incredible artists, but much of Duane’s struggle in this era was to find *his* voice.
The 31st of February was loaded with talent.
🍑Butch founded the ABB.
🍑Boyer founded Cowboy and anchored Gregg’s Laid Back sessions and tour.
🍑Brown played bass for Boz Scaggs for many years.
Marginalia reserved for paid subscribers of Long Live the ABB
“Gregg was playing a white National then – the ugliest guitar in the world, a big white plastic thing with a black plastic stripe running around it, and a chrome tailpiece. Sometimes Duane used an Arbiter Fuzztone - what Hendrix used. Very dated-sounding, now.
I knew about the Fuzztone, which Duane believed sounded best with an almost-dead battery. The ugly, white National with a pinstripe is new to me. Has anyone seen it?
The thing I remember best from those days was the time Duane threw his guitar down on the stage. This guy kept coming up and saying. ‘You’re gonna have to quit playing when the police get here.’ I don’t really know why that was. We were doing ‘Morning Dew’ at the time; we had a hellraising arrangement of that, and Duane was blazing away.
This guy came up to the front of the stage and said, okay, you’re gonna have to quit now. Duane kept on like he didn’t even hear him. Finally the guy grabbed Duane’s pants leg. Duane looked down at him and said, ‘Well goddamnit!’ Took his guitar off and threw it down on the stage, still at full volume; it’s going braooww! And he stormed off.
This is a classic Duane story. And honestly, what should we expect from the guy who founded the band that answered the PLAY ALL NIGHT call? 🍄
The band made some demo tapes and sent them to Vanguard Records. The label was unimpressed. (These demos, as well as some even cruder tapes, have since been bootlegged by Bold Records of Miami as “The Fabulous Allman Brothers.” Boyer dismisses these “performances” as “garbage.”)
These sessions were significant for several reasons. First, it’s the first time Duane and Gregg record with a future Allman Brother. I’ve written about the studio version of “Morning Dew” already.
This is also the first session featuring Duane on slide, which he plays on Gregg’s “Melissa.” FWIW, I’ve never cared for this version. It’s too rushed and feels forced, particularly compared to the version on Eat a Peach.
Steve Alaimo produced the sessions and used the backing track on his own version of “Melissa.”4 You’ll see Alaimo listed as co-author of the track, the first song Gregg ever finished. Alaimo had nothing to do with its writing, he only purchased the song’s publishing from Gregg, who needed money to get back to L.A.5
When the 31st of February called it a day, Gregg returned to California to record with a studio band, in order to pay off still-outstanding debts incurred by the Hourglass.
There’s a lot packed into this sentence.
Gregg did return to Los Angeles to fulfill the Hour Glass contract that Duane had walked out on. Butch remembered Duane was furious at Gregg for bailing on the 31st of February. “He would’ve strangled Gregg if he could’ve gotten through the phone.” Gregg maintained it was always a side project, too folky, not enough blues. “That sound isn’t what me and my brother were all about. [We] were coming from a completely different direction.”
Though his L.A. redux was miserable, Paul Hornsby didn’t believe Gregg was reluctant to return to California. “I doubt they had to twist his arm very much. I think he really liked it. He liked the personal attention they were giving him. Can’t blame him for that.”
Gregg surely felt pressure to fulfill Hour Glass’s contract, but he also found California more enticing than Florida. Duane stayed in the South, still under contract to Liberty.
Gregg released one single, a cover of “D-I-V-O-R-C-E”—made famous by country singer Tammy Wynette, backed with “Changing of the Guard”—a Gregg original from the Allman Joys days.6
His older brother went back to Muscle Shoals, scene of Hourglass’ more ambitious and unreleased studio efforts, to apply for a job as a house musician. FAME Studios’ Rick Hall, producer of scores of hit records using the cream of Southern players, remembers being immediately impressed by Duane.
Rick Hall enters the story and Duane finally turns the corner in his quest to find music industry support as an artist. With Hour Glass, Duane had already recorded once at Hall’s FAME Studio: April 1968 demo sessions.
Now Duane was in town for an entirely different purpose, to secure a job.
“I saw him do things with a guitar that I’d never seen done before, or since. Technically, it was so strange to my ear, it was so new, it was unreal. The first time I heard bottleneck guitar was when Duane played it.
“He was kind of a way-out person at that time, far-fetched in his ideas. He was very optimistic about himself and about playing guitar. He thought he was the best there was in the world.
I thought he was a brilliant person. When he came to me, I thought of him as a diamond in the rough, so to speak. He had a rough way of doing things, but he had a great mind.”
Here’s video queued up to a great Jimmy Johnson quote about Duane.7
It was at FAME that Duane first began to attract a sizable amount of attention, both as a guitar player and as a forceful personality.
Many of those who knew him agree there were two aspects to Duane Allman’s nature: the lighthearted, extroverted side he exhibited to friends and strangers alike; and a deeper, more reflective part which many sensed but which even those close to him seldom witnessed. Duane had a confidence in his talent and his purpose in life that struck some as blatantly conceited.
Others argue that Duane’s seeming arrogance was an uncontrived expression of his ability and personality.
This photo appears in the book’s front pages. I chose it because of that and also because it really brings to mind the book’s description of Duane.
Almost anyone who met Duane Allman remarks on the unique quality of his presence. When he entered a room, all eyes turned to him, naturally, expectantly. The qualities he emanated were strong and unique and those who associated with him seem certain Duane would have excelled at whatever task or occupation he approached.
In his chosen field of music, he had a number of exceptional abilities. He was a guitarist of great expressive power who could and would exercise restraint. He was adept, it would seem, in any musical situation, and would adapt his playing to fit a given stylistic context.
These are some of the earliest reflections on Duane, and they focus on the duality of his personality. The qualities that made him so successful at such a young age, while also foreshadowing Duane’s early death.
And it’s no surprise that folks might perceive someone as talented as Duane as somewhat full of himself. Duane’s self-confidence was, Rick Hall remarked, “an incredible attitude to have towards our business and our world.”
Johnny Sandlin explains more:
Johnny Sandlin, who was reunited with Duane in Muscle Shoals, says of that period:
“On so many of those sessions, Duane would do things that were not extremely difficult - although to play them so smoothly would be hard - but were so appropriate, so fitting and tasteful.
Somebody with all that power, all that ability and technique, and he could sit there and play a simple rhythm part, come up with the idea and sit there and play it over and over until the rest of the band got it right.
He was into the total concept of the song; he really liked to understand it. When he did, he’d play something that was right for it, whether it was something that would knock you out, or whether it was something that was just very basic, that just laid right in the track.
“He had a strong ego. I mean, if he went out there to kill, if he went out there to burn, he was there to do that, and he would and could and did. But if it was something that wasn’t appropriate, he wasn’t trying to play 50,000 licks in the middle of a ballad.
“Such a melodic concept he had. Everything he did had a beginning - it took you through the changes - it brought you to a conclusion. He had it in mind where he was going to.”
All I can say here is…AMEN!
The italics are my own emphasis. They read like a poem
with all that power, all that ability, and technique
he was into the total concept of the song
such a melodic concept he had
he had it in mind where he was going
Unlike justly-admired studio musicians whose virtuosity is their profession, Duane Allman had extra dimension; he was able to fit into someone else’s approach and then lift the project onto another level by the force of his presence and ideas, all the while preserving the organic logic of the occasion.
For proof, check out Layla or either of the Duane Anthology albums Capricorn released. I’ve posted about the first one here and here’s my interview with TY Yoken, producer of Duane Allman: An Anthology II.8
One part born session-man, one part star, both a country boy and a stoned hippie, he utilized the real effect he had on those he met.
Mic drop.
One of the artists whose sessions Duane played on was Wilson Pickett. In a radio interview after Duane’s death, Pickett told of giving Duane a new nickname which replaced his former one, “Dog.” “I called him Skyman. To me, he was a weirdo from the git-go. This was back in 1968.
“He come in with his long hair, and his weird pants on, and God knows what in his pockets, you know? He was a weird guy to me. So I said to him, ‘I think l’ll call you Skyman.’
And I said, ‘Do you mind me calling you Skyman? He said, ‘Naw, that’s a good name.’ I said okay, and I called him Skyman from then on. I guess because he looked high all the time, or something. But we won’t say that. You know.”
This is the origin of Duane’s nickname, Skydog. Pickett’s “Skyman” sobriquet combined with “Dog,” a name his Hour Glass bandmates called him.
Hey Jude
Out of Duane’s rapport with Pickett came one of the most effective records that fine singer would ever record.
According to Rick Hall, “It was Duane’s idea. He says, ‘Why don’t we do ‘Hey Jude. It was only about three months old, still a big hit with the Beatles. I thought it was the most stupid idea I’d ever heard, and Pickett - he couldn’t believe that Duane had made that statement. So Duane began a selling job on Pickett, about how controversial it would be for this black man to sing that song, especially after a group had done it up so well as the Beatles; that people would say, if it was a hit, that it proved Pickett was stronger than the Beatles. He convinced Pickett to do the tune, and we started working on it; I think we worked on it for 14 hours before we really struck a groove.
Wilson Pickett doing ‘Hey Jude’ - an idea worthy of the most frivolous Frisco pothead, or the shrewdest Manhattan record executive. It made inspired sense musically - as well as commercially (the single sold a million copies). The record builds to a powerful climax in which Allman’s guitar and Wilson’s voice exchange shrieking blues phrases that only a fade-out can diminish.9
No one knows exactly how Duane convinced Pickett to record “Hey Jude” or what inspired him to suggest the song, but everyone remembers the circumstances. When the session halted for a meal break, Duane and Pickett stayed behind rather than risk conflict because of Duane’s long hair and Pickett’s skin color. By the time the musicians returned to the studio, Pickett had agreed to Duane’s idea.
The cover is markedly different from the Beatles’ original. Its arrangement focuses on Pickett’s vocals and Pickett carries the first two-thirds of the song. At 2:44, Duane served notice with a solo that launched his career.
The band hit a vamp behind Duane and Pickett. Duane digs in. The band transitioned to an incredible, intense ending.
Said guitarist Jimmy Johnson, “We didn’t want to stop playing.”
‘Hey Jude’ brought Duane to the attention of a number of people who would immediately begin to advance his career, including Jerry Wexler, legendary rock ‘n’ roll producer and the Vice-Chairman (since retired) of Atlantic Records. Hall first played ‘Hey Jude’ to Wexler over the telephone; not long after, Wexler met and became friends with Duane, of whom he says:
“There seemed to be no end to his resources, his musical roots. He had originality, taste, sensitivity. I started to use him on a number of different recordings, and it’s very interesting to see the scope, don’t you think, of his playing.
Duane could play great acoustic, he could play bossa nova, he could play jazz; he could give you Wes Montgomery licks. He could play any kind of session. Country. Great slide - he taught a lot of people how to play slide guitar, or at least began them on the road.”
Wexler recognized Duane’s talent immediately. He fronted Phil Walden the money to buy Duane’s contract from Rick Hall and co-founded Capricorn Records.
Atlantic had been home to Ray Charles and John Coltrane. It was a stalwart in the American R&B market. They were home to the Buffalo Springfield and Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. And with the help of future Capricorn executive Frank Fenter, the label signed a bevy of British blues-rock heavyweights: including Cream and Led Zeppelin.
Duane understood the creative freedom the deal gave him. He called Wexler “the solidest cat with the clearest eye” who left the creative decisions up to the artists. Atlantic, “They dig our music, man.” He appreciated that “they know what [music] means and what it’s worth.” The label satisfied “everybody that they got. [I]f you want to make a lot of bread, they’ll make you a fucking fortune. Want to be a rock ’n’ roll star? They’ll make you a rock ’n’ roll star. Want to play music? They’ll make sure people hear your music.”
It was a refreshing attitude after Duane’s experience with Liberty, and he expressed his gratitude in a postcard to Wexler in January 1970: “Thanks for your help, guidance, confidence but most of all your friendship. Love to you and yours always.”
Wexler continues:
“He became friends with some good friends of mine, particularly King Curtis and Delaney Bramlett. I was doing an album with Delaney and Bonnie in Florida, and Delaney had asked it I could get Ry Cooder to play some slide guitar. I tried to get Ry, and he couldn’t make it. I said, let me bring this other fellow I know, Duane Allman. Delaney was a little skeptical; you know how musicians are, they have their preferences. But the first day in the studio was incredible: they became fast friends from then on. And for about a year and a half or two years, these people became a little nucleus, a little module of some incredible music.
Some great cross-acculturation was brought about by these different musical sensibilities.”
The partnership Duane had with Delaney Bramlett was second only to his partnership with the Allman Brothers Band. Duane appeared regularly with Delaney and Bonnie & Friends live and on record, including To Bonnie from Delaney (1970), Motel Shot (1971), and D&B Together (1972).
I’ll dive more into the King Curtis friendship at another time. For now, here’s some thoughts on Duane adding “Soul Serenade” to “You Don’t Love Me” in tribute to King Curtis at A&R Studios 8/26/71.
More from Wexler:
“Duane really played an incredible blues guitar, that was organic; it came from him, it wasn’t anything he had to learn from phonograph records. He grew up in the South.
He was at the same economic position as a lot of blacks around him, which is the bottom end of a depressed agrarian economy. That’s got something to do with what we call ‘soul’ today, I suppose: absorbing the music at the root, living the life; not, as I say, just learning it off records.”
While this it true about a lot of white Southern musicians of this era, it’s not true for Duane. His grandparents may have worked the dirt, but Duane grew up in a single-family home in Daytona Beach. Money may have been tight, but his mother worked full-time as an accountant. That’s not to say Duane and Gregg didn’t have it rough growing up—and they certainly found affinity with and among Black musicians.
And Duane was definitely dedicated to absorbing the music at the root, living the life.
We were good friends. He would come to my house. He liked my wife and kids. We’d shoot pool, or go out to the boat, or play music; he always played, whenever he came, with whoever was there. It was some of the best music you would want to hear. Maybe outdoors, on the deck over the bay, late on a quiet summer night; Duane singing, with he and Delaney picking on acoustic, and maybe Bonnie on piano in the next room.
I don’t know about you, but this is my idea of what Heaven is…
SOURCE: Tom Nolan, The Allman Brothers Band: A Biography in Words and Pictures (Sire Books/Chappell Music Company, 1976).
Stay Tuned
More to come. Until next time…
And here, in case you missed it above.
Lots of 31st of February material on this blog, here’s some that accompanies a playlist
A little from yours truly after visiting the Bitter End in March 2024.
It was only ever a promo, LISTEN HERE and you can tell why.
Phil Walden later negotiated 50% of Gregg’s publishing when “Melissa” ended up on Eat a Peach. Alaimo figured 50% of a song on an Allman Brothers Band album was worth more than 100% of a song Gregg would never record.
Greg Martin of the Kentucky Headhunters and I discuss that track here:
The whole video is pretty phenomenal:
Check out Long Live the ABB in Conversation: Tony TY Yoken
Anyone else lament that fade-out? I feel the same way about “Loan Me a Dime”—though that one’s nearly 13min long as it is.