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Rating: "Duane told me he needed me to keep the band in line and write some songs. It was the best compliment my brother ever gave me." (Greg Allman)
Among the musical genres that can be considered strongly tied to their place of origin, there is no doubt that one is Southern rock. The musical shift that occurred between the '60s and '70s highlights a decrease in the vivid luminescence fully embraced by the psychedelic wave, explored by bands that seemed to have exhausted the sounds of consciousness expansion. The music of the Southern United States reflects and originates as a state of mind that drinks from the fountain of rock as well as rhythm 'n' blues, where the role of spontaneous intermediaries is rightfully played by country and the polyrhythm of jazz. To cut a long story short, the flag bearers of this stubborn combination of styles (which also have a strong melodic connotation) manage to also intertwine a newfound love for American musical tradition (perhaps better called roots...), with fresh music filled with a sincere passion, further exalted by an almost adolescent fervor.
The Allman Brothers Band broadly reflects the expressed concepts, though it should not be considered exclusively a heritage of the armada of southern rockers but rather part of the larger universe that is American rock. Characterizing the ABB was an uncommon ability to let the musical customs of the star-spangled tradition flirt with orientation towards blues expansions, leaving ample room for improvisation and a spirit of passion and inner pride well represented by never banal lyrics.
Born as Allman Joys (then becoming Hour Glass and later 31st of February), Greg (vocals, organ, and guitar) and Duane Allman (guitar) met the Second Coming on their path, providing the future Allman Brothers Band with another guitarist (Dickey Betts) and a bassist (Berry Oakley), allowing with the addition of Butch Trucks and the black Jaimoe to complete the rhythmic setup with the unusual but brilliant presence of two drummers.
It’s the rhythmic effervescence that emanates from the initial "Don’t Want You No More" fused with the sorrowful notes of "It's Not My Cross To Bear" that reflects how beneficial it was for Duane to mingle with emerging talents like Wilson Pickett or Otis Rush; prevailing is indeed an atmosphere of enchanting simplicity where the predictable flow of instruments is exalted by Greg's engaging vocal execution. The immediacy and the no-frills riff of "Black Hearted Woman" allows the musicians' versatility to disentangle an incandescent sonic web, in which emerges – in the writer’s opinion – a powerful and seminal form of hard rock. The velvety atmosphere of "Dreams" (evident is the call to the rarefaction of the famous "Kind Of Blue" by Miles Davis) with clever guitar and organ counterpoints seals the composing grace of the young Greg. The funk of "Every Hungry Woman" opens the side b of the album, perfectly in line with the festive (re)interpretation of "Trouble No More" (Muddy Waters), able over the years to become a classic of the group. Closing with "Whipping Post" featuring a rare 11/4 bass intro, allowing space for an original recipe where a muddy blues mingles with another friendly ingredient, an irreverent rock liveliness, where amidst continuous tempo changes, the guitar acrobatics of Duane and Dickey become the main course, confirming the magical interplay existing between the two musicians and not least with the rest of the group.
We are faced with a remarkable debut allowing the band to express a desire to emerge through songs that, when developed, manage to transform into real musical discourses, leaving the free expressive intensity of the instruments to undertake an ideal sonic journey that finds its strength in the successful and heterogeneous stylistic fusion with blues and country taking the lead, a previously almost unthinkable blend and until then devoid of a true natural father. Without necessarily being one of those albums, even with its surmountable imperfections, a victim of a recurrent and opportunistic posthumous revaluation, what remains today is simply its unchanged artistic and historical value.
Tracklist and Lyrics
01 One Way Out (04:52)
One Way Out
Ain't but one way out baby, Lord I just can't go out the door.
Ain't but one way out baby, and Lord I just can't go out the door.
Cause there's a man down there, might be your man I don't know.
Lord you got me trapped woman, up on the second floor;
If I get by this time I won't be trapped no more.
So raise your window baby, and I can ease out soft and slow.
And lord, your neighbors, no they won't be
Talking that stuff that they don't know.
Lord, I'm foolish to be here in the first place,
I know some man gonna walk in and take my place.
Ain't no way in the world, I'm going out that front door
Cause there's a man down there, might be your man I don't know.
Cause there's a man down there, might be your man I don't know.
Cause there's a man down there,
Lord, it just might happen to be your man...
Lord, it just a might be your man,
Mmm-mm-mmm-mm...
Lord, it just a might be your man,
Oh baby, I just don't know..
03 Hot 'Lanta (05:17)
by G. Allman, D. Allman, R. Betts, C. Trucks, R. Oakley and J. Johanson
(c) 1971 & 1974 by No Exit Music Co., Inc.
Instrumental
08 Ramblin' Man (04:54)
[Chorus]
Lord, I was born a ramblin' man,
Tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can.
And when it's time for leavin',
I hope you'll understand,
That I was born a ramblin' man.
Well my father was a gambler down in Georgia,
He wound up on the wrong end of a gun.
And I was born in the back seat of a Greyhound bus
Rollin' down highway 41.
CHORUS
I'm on my way to New Orleans this mornin',
Leaving out of Nashville, Tennessee,
They're always having a good time down on the bayou,
Lord, them Delta women think the world of me.
CHORUS
[Repeat and Fade]
Lord, I was born a ramblin' man...
09 Melissa (03:50)
Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah.
The gypsy flies from coast to coast
Knowing many, loving none,
Bearing sorrow havin' fun,
But back home he'll always run
To sweet Melissa... mmm...
Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same.
And no one knows the Gypsy's name
No one hears his lonely sighs,
There are no blankets where he lies.
In all his deepest dreams the Gypsy flies
with sweet Melissa... mmm...
Again the morning's come,
Again he's on the run,
Sunbeams shining through his hair,
Appearing not to have a care.
Well, pick up your gear and Gypsy roll on, roll on.
Crossroads, will you ever let him go? (Lord, Lord)
Will you hide the dead man's ghost,
Or will he lie, beneath the clay,
or will his spirit float away?
But I know that he won't stay without Melissa.
Yes I know that he won't stay without Melissa.
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