Guest Book

I posted these Beacon reflections to the listserv but want to make sure to remember my friends here at the guest book... Its been almost a week since Beacon ’04 has ended, and I was fortunate enough to have caught all nine shows, from a veritable plethora of vantage points. Now that I’ve had a chance to assimilate the experience and lay in a little hindsight, some overall observations: --Growth. If there were any single theme to the run this year, I’d say it was growth. I figured the band would be better—say, one year better—than last year’s run. And make no mistake about it, they are a year better. What I didn’t see coming, though, was that they’d also be growing. Improving AND growing. It is as if they’d sufficiently gelled as a performing unit over the past three years, gotten good enough at what they do, and now it is time to push outward against the boundaries of what it is they do. I think Butch’s comment in the Guest Book about exploring dynamics—playing softly with intensity—was most revealing. It is easy for these seven guys, with their collective chops, to push you back in your seat like the guy in the old Maxell tapes ad. But they are after something more now, a group dynamic that incorporates some of the core tenets of great jazz into the blues-based bedrock. (Most of the other observations I’ll offer are specifics about that growth.) The fact that the Beacon gig is a residency allows them to use it as a vehicle to stretch, experiment; for me, the whole run may be seen as a single lengthy work of art. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the band be this colorful for this long. And watching, hearing them push against the pre-ordained paradigm of what they are supposed to be—like watching a surly tiger push against the netting in which he’s trapped, and emerge as a prize pussycat—was thrilling to experience. Where will they be by summer’s end? It’s almost scary to ponder. --The engine room. This is nothing new, but it merits mention. When you watch a show or two from the stage (where, by the way, the acoustics suck), you get a real feel for the extent to which the drum section drives this band, and is responsible for their power and versatility. Butch, Jaimoe, Marc—individually, each brings a unique musical sensibility to the mix, and on different songs, different drummers take the lead. Collectively—as on “Instrumental Illness,” for example—their propulsion and athleticism is remarkable to behold. People think of the Allman Brothers as a guitar band, because the guitarists have always been front and center (and outstanding). But it would be criminal to overlook the importance of the drumming to the signature sound-- and to the places that sound is going. --Anything, any time. When you go to a show, never stop paying attention. Because at this point, with few exceptions (e.g., “Midnight Rider,” generally given a straight reading) anything can happen on any song. Indeed, often the real action begins after the song is done. On the second Thursday, on “Wasted Words,” the band pulled off a fine version—then, after the song proper was done, the outro seemed to go on as long as the song, and that’s where the action was. Pure improvisational restrained magic. Oh yeah, those extended outros, especially when the band takes the energy down, are often the highlights of the show. And "You Don't Love Me"-- I don't think they played that song remotely the same way twice. --Warren steps back. When Warren Haynes joined the band for the second time, for the 2001 Beacon run, it seemed like the stage was tilted in his direction. I believe that the music at that time had a large psychic hole in it, and Warren instinctively knew that he had to fill it. He loomed so large those shows. As the band—and I mean THIS band, these seven guys—has found its collective legs, the partners appear more engaged, Derek is growing in leaps and bounds, and so Warren—rightly, again—has stepped back. He is still a total stud, but his role in the band has morphed into one that is better for the music. Warren is the band leader, but his grace in sharing the spotlight—especially with Derek, who seems to be the featured soloist on more songs—serves the music well. Warren remains one of my favorite guitar players, and he still lets rip plenty often, and it still thrills. But he doesn’t need to as often. --Warren on rhythm. At the same time, perhaps because of this change in group dynamics, Warren’s rhythm guitar playing really caught my ear this run. He has to be one of the best rhythm guitarists around, propelling a song, defining the song, with his in-the-pocket, propulsive rhythm playing. He didn't play much rhythm in Mule because the power trio format makes that impractical; and in Lesh's band he and Herring generally play dual (simultaneous) lead. But his rhythm work is exemplary. Think of that classic chord progression on “Stormy Monday,” or the nasty bite of “Firing Line” or “Good Clean Fun.” Those feels are provided by Warren’s rhythm playing. And too, he can spur Derek on in a solo by accompanying him with hard-driving chords. Even on his own solos, he pulls you out of your seat sometimes with chording (think of some of those “Rocking Horse” solo climaxes.) --Playfulness in the set list. It wasn’t long ago that this band rotated three set lists. This year, they came out on the very first night and planted a firm stake in the ground, opening the first set of the first show with a fully-formed, but 12- or 15-minute version of “Mountain Jam,” clearly arranged to be a whole piece. This segued into “Walk on Gilded Splinters." Then they closed the second set out of the drum solo by going back, picking up where they left off, and finishing “Mountain Jam.” And this, after making a whole lot of us deliriously happy by playing “Afro-Blue.” They brought back “Can’t Lose What You Never Had,” playing it during the second set, as a set one opener, and as a set one closer. The flexibility of the setlists, the dynamic experimentation of playing “softly with intensity,” and the willingness to go anywhere on any song all seem to bring a jazz sensibility to the band, without compromising the blues/rock that defines them. --Gregg. One night, as I was taking notes, the band eased into “Need Your Love So Bad.” I jotted down “1979”, hoping that come morning I’d remember that I was trying to capture that Gregg was singing this song like it was fresh, like it was 1979 again—that is to say, he was totally in command and on top of his game, as if no time had passed since the band first recorded the tune. As I wrote this, the guy behind me leans forward and says, "Write down that Gregg sounds like its 1979." I swear. And this was true both vocally and instrumentally; his keyboard work was an essential part of the band's attack throughout the run. I don’t like to speculate about people’s private lives, so let’s just say that for whatever reason, Gregg is as engaged and as present and vital as he’s been in years—and maybe, which is not uncommon for a bluesman of his age, ever. --Derek is a monster. Enough said. I was particularly struck at the way he often, during extended solos, took the guitar into realms of be-bop reminiscent of the horn players he digs—Miles, Coltrane, Wayne Shorter, and others. Whereas Warren wears the blues like a second skin, and seems comfortable expressing the gamut of human emotion in that idiom (no small feat), Derek often seems to want to shed that skin and use every color in his palate. He manages to do so, combining blues, jazz, and world music into a voice and tone so unmistakable that, like Miles Davis, no matter what the song is, even if you didn’t know he was in the building he can hit one sustained note and you’d know its him. --What a bunch of nice guys. It seems like everyone associated with the band—the musicians, Earl the light guy, Slim the house mix guy, Bert, Kirk, crew, everyone—is just as nice as can be. I don’t say this as a kiss-up sort of thing. Whenever a group of them get together, there is a good chance there will be laughing. And if you approach any of them with courtesy and politeness, it will be returned in kind. That kind of vibe can only emanate outward from what happens on stage. So the fact that everyone seems so nice is a barometer of the simple fact that this is a bunch of guys having fun every night. Sure, there are egos involved, and I’m not so naïve as to think there aren’t the occasional bumps to which we are not privy. But bottom line, the energy is extremely positive. And the things you pick up around the water cooler and on E! True Hollywood Story indicate that maybe this wasn’t always the case. In short, this is a band smoking on all cylinders, seven musicians with great chops who play with and off each other—and the seemingly endless string of guests—with gusto and joy (and speaking of joy, shame on me for not saying anything about the incandescent Oteil Burbridge before now). I look at the Allman Brothers Band as a 3-year-old band with 35 years of history. Often, you hear about a band from your youth coming through town, and half the original members aren’t with them, but they are still a nostalgia act. "Freebird!" "Dust in the Wind!" It would be easy for this band to be a nostalgia act; so many of us grew up with them, thrill to the mere sounds of "One Way Out" or "Statesboro Blues." But it is that turnover, I think, that keeps them fresh and vital and new. Derek and Warren are two of the greatest guitarists plying their trade today; Oteil brings a vast array of influences to the gumbo; Marc lends a flavor to the mix that would be sorely missed if it were gone. The new and the old, the familiar and the exploratory. The overriding devotion to the music. This is a thrilling time to be a fan of this band.