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Duane Allman at 70: A Reflection

Alan Bryson By

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Of course at that time I didn't have a clue about any of this. The Allman Brothers had become a minor blip on my musical radar. It had been almost a year since I bought their debut album, and other than a few album reviews, there was little indication in the national rock press that they even existed, let alone any mention of them making any significant impact on the music scene. In a couple of months Duane would be turning 24, and returning to my opening theme, he was far from famous.

September 16th, 1970 was a typical Wednesday in Daytona Beach—temperatures in the high 80s and tolerably muggy. That night's concert had slipped my mind, but luckily over on the mainland I bumped into a guy from high school I hadn't seen in over a year. He needed a lift back to the beach side so we decided to hang out and catch up. By the time we crossed the Silver Beach Bridge I had agreed that I "had to" see this amazing band that night. I did my best to keep my teenage snobbery in check as I listened. After graduation I had spent the summer in England and hitch-hiked around Europe, and I had seen several impressive groups live: Taste with Rory Gallagher, Fleetwood Mac with Peter Green, Led Zeppelin with Jimmy Page, John Myall, Savoy Brown with Kim Simmonds, Chicken Shack with Stan Webb, and The Nice with Keith Emmerson.

There was certainly no reason to expect that I would see something extraordinary that evening. Friends up North I shared the Allman Brothers Band debut album with hadn't become instant fans. I knew little about them other than what was in the album note, and the studio versions of seven songs: "Don't Want You No More," "It's Not My Cross to Bear," "Black Hearted Woman," "Trouble No More," "Every Hungry Woman," "Dreams," and "Whipping Post." Inside there was of course the photo of six full grown men hanging out nude in a creek in the Georgia woods, which might have been better suited as an alternative cover for James Dickey's 1970 novel Deliverance. It's not that I didn't want to see the Allman Brothers, but my expectations were modest.

As we approached the Peabody Auditorium it was twilight and the heat had dissipated. We were immediately approached by hippy girls panhandling for money to buy a ticket, and there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air. We bought our tickets at the box office without any difficulty and got seats about a dozen rows back.

Over the years I've had a chance to hear most of the recorded shows from the Duane Allman era that are in circulation in the fan community. It is fascinating to hear the band grow tighter, and you can also hear them growing as musicians. Yet for various reasons, few of these recordings convey how extraordinary this band was live. Those recordings, interesting as they are, are so different from the musical experience emblazoned in my mind that they hardly seem real. The only recording that truly captured their magic as I remember it, was their breakout album The Allman Brothers Band At Fillmore East. As I sat waiting for the concert to begin, that album's release would be ten months in the future. Little did I suspect what an improbable bit of serendipity was at play.

Looking back at that concert now, what more could an Allman Brothers fan hope for: headlining without an opening act, an ideal venue with near perfect acoustics, Duane Allman in an incredibly good place, and the band motivated to really bring it. Add to all that, the element of utter surprise. At that time, I remember the typical question you asked someone who went to a rock concert was: "Were they as good as the record?" Generally speaking, that was as good as it got, and in my experience that was rarely the case. My expectation for the Allman Brothers was that they might be almost as good as their first album.

As the house lights went down, my buddy's wide-eyed enthusiasm and imploring grim seemed way over the top, but I was about to be served a huge slice of humble pie. I would soon learn there was indeed a band that was not only better than their album, they were remarkably better. No studio could capture that magic, and no vinyl disk or home sound system could do it justice. This was a band that had to be seen live in order to be fully appreciated.

I'm so grateful that I hadn't heard Idlewild South or The Allman Brothers Band At Fillmore East prior to seeing them live. Listening to their live album on a great sound system is an excellent way to be introduced to the original band, but imagine seeing them live and hearing that very same music for the first time in a venue with ideal acoustics. No need to debate the superiority of vinyl compared to digital, this was Duane Allman's warm tone coming directly from his amp—not only could you see what he was doing, you could hear it, and thanks to the loud-but-clear volume, feel it.





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