This is reprinted from an article by Roger in the Allman Brothers Band newsletter, "Hittin' The Note," in July of 1994 just after producing a piece on the Brothers for CNN.
Where Did The Boy Go Wrong?Or - Did CNN Check That Resume First
The year was 1970. I was 16 years old, a boarding student at Woodward Academy just outside Atlanta. I was now starting to take in stuff by Hendrix, Quicksilver, and Steppenwolf – my musical obsession was really beginning to manifest itself. Atlanta’s “tight squeeze” area on Peachtree Street, known then as “the Strip was standing room only with hippies and cops. Everyone was trying to maintain the mood of Woodstock that year. The era of “help your brother,” “spare change,” and “communal living” were the idealistic dreams of the generation then. It seems a shame that it only lasted for one summer.
Sunday afternoons in Piedmont Park were a definite highlight that year – t seemed that everybody was living for the “free music in the park.” The job I had on The Strip at a roast beef sandwich joint paid $1.50 an hour, so I couldn’t afford to go to too many other places. There were a lot of bands playing then as there are now. Though I do remember the musicians attitudes as just being one of enjoying the music they were playing. I saw it was the music that made us feel good and gave us hope. What I don’t remember is bands vying for a place on MTV, or battling for corporate sponsorships and musical manufacturers’ endorsements.
Bands had names like Celestial Voluptuous Banana, The Stump Brothers, Hydra, The Younguns, and Eric Quincy Tate. The latter has thankfully reunited recently, but that’s another volume in itself. There were also some great acts coming into town at the old Municipal Auditorium. On different nights, I watched the Who and Steppenwolf from the front of the stage for $5.50. Of course, people were talking about this other band from Macon that was setting up and playing on certain Sundays in Piedmont Park.
Many people have stories they could tell about watching the Brothers in the park, but I was only there once, and my memories of that are vague. I may have been one of the few there that didn’t do drugs, so maybe I have retained more than some. I remember a long jam, a beautiful day, and a lot of people having a good time.
That summer ended and the hippies left, leaving only the hard core riff raff and junkies to themselves. One cold morning in my school dorm, my radio told me Janis Joplin had died. It was then I was starting to see that everything changes. Although I had listened to Mountain’s “Mississippi Queen,” “Theme For An Imaginary Western,” and “For Yasgur’s Farm” many times the year before, Leslie West’s guitar licks were starting to haunt me. And of course, I kept seeing copies of the Allman Brothers Band’s first album lying around.
Just after the new year, a lot of people at school were buying tickets for this upcoming show by the Allman Brothers Band in Atlanta’s Municipal Auditorium on Saturday, January 16, 1971, with the Hampton Grease Band opening. I was sitting way in the back when the Brothers came on and couldn’t see very well, but “Idlewild South” had just been released and some of that music was ringing familiar. My most definite recollection is of hearing “Elizabeth Reid” with the lights casting a lazy blue haze. I still have vision frames of that night whenever I see the band perform live now.
Later in the show, my girlfriend and I managed to get close to the stage, and I found myself trapped in a mass of humanity, front and center of the stage. I observed each member of the band, but always came back to this skinny, blond lead guitarist. He was generating silent commands to the other band members, and they were all focused on him.
The music was there as if there was no end and no beginning. Each song seemed to break down to a low fluid drone, then would pick back up to a new thought or emotion. I was also extremely intrigued by the glass bottle this lead guitarist was intermittingly placing and removing from his left hand. I had been playing guitar for 8 years then and had never witnessed guitar playing like this in my life.
In the days that followed, I was haunted by what I had seen that night. I could not get it out of my mind. I began listening closely to the Allman Brothers Band’s first 2 albums along with the Layla album. My roommate obtained a Coricidin bottle from somewhere, and I immediately set out to duplicate these sounds. All I could see was Duane standing there with the rest of the band awaiting his next gesture and his hand just moving flawlessly to whatever guitar position he wanted. That picture is still with me today.
That March, I went home to New Jersey for spring break. One evening, my dad and I were walking around a college campus near my home, when I spotted a flier on a bulletin board advertising an Allman Brothers show in Asbury Park. When I got home, I immediately called to reserve seats. The guy answering the phone at the Sunshine Inn Concert Hall said I would have no problem getting tickets, because no one knew who this band was.
When Saturday night rolled around, I was pretty excited. I couldn’t find anyone to go to the show with me, and I was getting pretty fed up with people asking me if I was talking about the Osmond Brothers; when I was explaining that the show was with the Allman Brothers. I did manage to find a school mate to go with me, but he had no idea what was going on. The opening band was a bunch of crazy guys who threw a show together on short notice the day before. I had been a boy scout years before with eh bass player. They called their band, Doctor Zoom and The Sonic Boom. These two local guys in the band were Bruce Springsteen and Southside Johnny--- these guys were nuts, but they were having fun, if nothing else.
When the Brothers came in, they just walked in through the front door and across the room in front of the stage. Nobody even paid attention to them. The guy on the phone was right. Nobody knew who they were! When they came onstage, they were introduced as being in New Jersey for the first time. Basically, they were just on their way home from having recorded the Fillmore album the week before, but of course, nobody knew that. I think they started with “Statesboro Blues”, and I remember “Don’t Keep Me Wondering,” “Trouble No More,” “Black Hearted Woman,” “You Don’t Love Me,” “Elizabeth Reed,” “Hoochie Coochie Man,” and “Whipping Post.” It was the early show, and there was not much response.
When school was out for the summer, I once again returned home to New Jersey. By this time, my guitar was becoming a part of me, and I had a hard time putting it down. I was driving people nuts with it. I was tuning into music like never before, and the spirit and emotion I had felt from Duane was starting to burn deep. I had read of his desire to play just for the enjoyment of playing. My next reaction was the hell with everything else! All I wanted to do now was play, and play as well as I could.
One day, I was listening to New York’s WNEW-FM – I think it was still called underground radio then. I heard a spot advertising a live broadcast for the closing of the Fillmore East. It included Mountain, Edgar Winter, Cactus, Emerson, Lake, & Palmer, J Geils, Albert King, The Beach Boys, and some others. I liked all of those acts, but the Allman Brothers Band really made me sit up straight.
I had an old Masterwork reel to reel deck, and a crummy bedside am/fm radio – I used alligator clips to get my audio connections. My friends still thought I was talking about the Osmond Brothers. Nobody seemed to care. My dad thought I was nuts when I was running around the house yelling, “Nobody knows what’s going on here!!” Once again, I felt like I had been let in on a great secret.
Bill Graham’s introduction said, “Now ladies and gentleman, the best of them all, the Allman Brothers Band.” I kept my headphones on the whole time. The band didn’t quit playing until around 4AM.The version of “One Way Out” that we hear now was recorded that night. I was becoming consumed by this music and its feeling. It appeared as if I was just getting ready to pull out all of the stops and really start getting into this thing. It seemed like the music would never end. It was great!
Later that summer, I came back to Atlanta with a friend. The girl I had dated in high school bought tickets for the Brothers afternoon show at the Municipal Auditorium. I couldn’t believe the timing. The early show was good. Gregg said it was a little too early for them, but it didn’t matter, I was hip to these guys now. I looked over my shoulder as I left the auditorium that day, and I saw Duane walking around Gregg’s B-3 as he left the stage. As it turned out, it was the last time I saw Duane alive.
That next month, I began my senior year at Woodward Academy in Atlanta. The position of drum major in the Woodward Academy marching band was bestowed on me for this year, so I really was inundated with music.
On October 29, 1971, I was conducting the national anthem on the football field at Headland High School in Atlanta. While driving from the game to the motel (where I was staying on a weekend pass) the news of Duane’s death came over the radio. I was absolutely stunned, and close to being in shock. I spent the rest of the evening driving around listening to the tributes and eulogies to Duane on the radio. Not since the Kennedy assassination and the death of my grandfather had I felt such a great loss. It was all so hard to grasp. WPLO-FM played “A Day In The Life” as a tribute. I tend to relive that night whenever I hear the Beatles sing it now.
I immediately started making pilgrimages to Macon to get closer to the origin of this music. It was sad going to places like the house on College Street. Eventually, I took pictures of the locations that I had heard about.
That next January, I heard the Brothers play the Atlanta Municipal Auditorium for the first time without Duane. It was tough. The majority of the crowd was in tears. In February, I managed to go to Macon to hear the Brothers in the auditorium there. I distinctly remember noticing the great power and tone of Berry’s bass playing. That was the last time I saw Berry alive.
I was hit with the news of Berry’s death that November over WNEW-FM in New York, and was once again in shock. At 19, it seemed that I was learning that grief was going to be a big part of getting older. That next June, I packed up and headed back to Georgia.
On the way, I stopped in DC and took in a show with the Dead and the Brothers at RFK Stadium. It was the first time I had seen the Brothers since high school. It was a great show, lasting over 12 hours. The last thing I saw on the way out was Dickey jamming with Jerry Garcia. I got in my van and headed out into the Virginia darkness, not knowing what I was in for. I was heading south with my guitar, and I was scared to death.
Since coming back to Atlanta, I have watched the Brothers go through each one of their transitions, solo careers and all, and still dealt with my own series of setbacks. I’ve heard that is called “dealing with life on life’s terms.” I have also had the pleasure of doing shows with both Warren and Dickey at different times. In 1990, I saw things come full circle with “Seven Turns” – how refreshing that was to see the Allman Brothers Band play again. The homecoming show in Macon on July 16, 1990 was absolutely overpowering. The New Year’s shows in Macon during “Shades of Two Worlds” were great. And now, “Where It All Begins” is incredible. Dickey told Guitar World Magazine that this is the best the band has been since Duane passed on. They never tried to or wanted to replace him. That was impossible. They have just carried on one day at a time.
I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Kirk and Kirsten for CNN and producing a short piece which I hope will attempt to put things in perspective. Kirk told me during the interview, “if you put it out good, it comes back good, and that’s what the band has always done. That’s true!! They were always hard to beat, even when they were going through each of their hard times. I remember an article from the 70’s that said, “Even on a bad night, they were still damned good.” Mama Louise and Red Dog told me they miss the old times, but how much better can these times be!! Great todays make beautiful yesterdays.
Roger “Hurricane” Wilson
July, 1994