Lynyrd Skynyrd
Pronounced Leh-' Nerd' Skin-' Nerd'

Summer 1974: rummaging through the bargain bin at a record store, I come across the album in question: a cover photo as Southern as it gets, seven hulking guys dressed like a flea market, with plenty of hair in dire need of shampoo.

The Allman Brothers come to mind, whom I respect but don't love, some of their sequences are too "smudged," perhaps too bluesy. But the record costs only Lit. 1,500 instead of the usual 3 or 4,000 (sic!), I decide on a "blind" purchase, take it home, and as the first track "I Ain't The One" starts, I scrutinize the liner notes: there are seven of them because they have three guitarists! Never seen that before!

Out of my speakers comes a wonderfully raw, Rolling Stones-esque rock sound, which a nimble-fingered pianist (Billy Powell) prevents from turning into hard rock. However, the voice, the voice is as un-English as you could imagine, nothing special technically, but so filled with smoke, bourbon, and southern air that it's unbelievable. Ronnie Van Zant is the name behind that voice. The second track "Tuesday's Gone" arrives, and it's a beautifully flavorful ballad, with a steaming slide that twirls around the harmony and "touches" me. Which of the "three" will play it? Luckily, the liner notes are exhaustive, and so for the first time, I enjoy the (today) mythical Les Paul by Gary Rossington, back then a thin, unsavory-looking fellow, today a chubby guy who still plays like a demon, relaxed and "steaming hot". "Gimme Three Steps" comes on and I enjoy the lyrics. Ronnie tells the story of making a move on a certain Linda Lu, at the bar, when her man arrives, angry... "Gimme three steps, Mister, and you'll never see me again!" Fantastic!

The tracks follow one after another, some inspired, others downright "phoned-in". The production is quite raw... who is it? It's Al Kooper, that somewhat unlucky guy who left Blood Sweat & Tears right before they hit it big; then he made an album with Stephen Stills before he got rich with Crosby and the others, maybe this is the way... (and indeed it was, as he also had a falling out with the Lynyrd's afterwards... boom!). And I'm at the last track, it's called "Free Bird", again a ballad, not bad, a bit predictable too, but wait, an instrumental outro starts at a tight tempo with a compact and tough guitar solo, darn, what energy! especially since it never stops... and the best part is that it stays interesting... particularly gripping... damn it really pulls... but how freaking long is it... and holy smokes! The solo fades, leaving me stunned. Six minutes of devastating guitar soloing, but who is it? It's Allen Collins, one of the three, I discover, with a Gibson Firebird. I look at his photos on the album and can't believe it, he's tall but as thin as a rail, clearly underfed and also with a delinquent-looking face, framed by spectacularly curly hair down to his waist. He exudes intimidation, after I've heard what he's capable of!

August 2006: far from becoming one of my all-time favorite bands, I cherish this "pioneering" memory of Lynyrd, having caught them when no one knew them yet. Today Southern rock is again out of fashion (but the Black Crowes, a FANTASTIC band, are back together, as I understand). Rossington is fat but good, I've already said, Van Zant has been gone for 29 years, and Collins for 11; the band fearlessly carries its legend around (also due to the well-known 1977 tragedy, let’s acknowledge) throughout the USA. The record in question today shows its age in terms of sound and compositional inconsistency, but the feelings of authenticity and spontaneity remain pure and intact: they played what they were. They sang what they saw and did, loved their life.

And then, Allen Collins's outro in Free Bird is one of the ten solos to bring to that classic deserted island.