Allman Brothers' Butch
Trucks Talks Epic 1971 Radio Concert
Drummer recalls
cathartic post-Fillmore performance,
newly issued as 'Live From A&R Studios:
New York, August 26, 1971'
By DAVID FRICKE
Allman Brothers
Band drummer Butch Trucks (third from
right) recalls an intimate 1971 radio
performance, newly issued on the band's
own label.
On April 1st, one of
the greatest shows from the Allman
Brothers Band's most incendiary year on
stage a live radio concert from A&R
Studios in New York on August 26th,
1971, aired over the free-form FM
station WPLJ will finally be released
in official form by the group's own
label, Peach Records. "Oh, man, I'll
never forget that one," drummer Butch
Trucks says when reminded of that
broadcast, which came six months after
the New York shows recorded for the
iconic 1971 double LP At Fillmore East,
has been long treasured by Allmans fans
on bootleg and is now remixed for the
first time from the original multi-track
masters. "We were set up in that studio
just like we did on stage," Trucks says
of the band, then in its original,
classic formation: founding lead
guitarist Duane Allman, his younger
brother, organist-singer Gregg Allman,
second lead guitarist Dickey Betts,
original bassist Berry Oakley, and
drummers Trucks and Jaimoe.
"But it was better," Trucks goes on. "Rather
than having their backs to me, the front
line Duane, Dickey and Berry was
facing us in kind of a semi-circle,
which made it even easier to communicate.
When I play, I stare at the left hand of
whoever is playing lead. And I get to
know what people are playing well enough
that when they start going somewhere,
once they arrive, I'm already there."
That was especially true at A&R Studios,
when Duane took the occasion to pay
tribute to a recently fallen idol: the
R&B saxophonist King Curtis, who had
played on many recording sessions with
Duane and was murdered on his New York
doorstep on August 13th, 1971, two weeks
before the Allmans' broadcast. In an
extensive, exclusive interview, Trucks
explains how Duane turned his grieving
into an epic-medley requiem of Willie
Cobb's 1960 blues "You Dont Love Me"
an Allmans stage feature with Curtis'
1964 instrumental "Soul Serenade." Two
months later, on October 29th, Duane
just out of rehab for drug addiction
died in a motorcycle accident in Macon,
Georgia, the band's hometown. He was 24.
The Allmans are also reissuing five
previously released, vintage gigs
through a new distribution deal,
including two other, classic Duane-era
shows at American University in
Washington, D.C., in 1970 and at Stony
Brook, New York, in 1971. Meanwhile,
Trucks has been busy since the last
version of the Allmans, with guitarists
Warren Haynes and Derek Trucks, played
its final concerts in October 2014. The
drummer leads a group, the Freight Train
Band, that features his son Vaylor on
guitar "He's the little kid on the
cover of [1973's] Brothers and Sisters,"
Butch notes and Berry Oakley Jr. on
bass.
And on March 20th, Trucks will be back
in Macon with a group called Les Brers
after the song "Les Brers in A Minor" on
1972's Eat a Peach and derived from a
Southern colloquialism for "brothers"
that includes Jaimoe, recent Allmans
bassist Oteil Burbridge and
percussionist Marc Quiρones and
ex-Allmans guitarist Jack Pearson. "We
are of the opinion that even though the
Allman Brothers broke up, there is a
void to be filled," Trucks explains. "Whatever
songs we write and play, it's going to
be coming from that direction, with a
lot of improvisation and dynamics and
not knowing where you want to go next.
"It's the kind of thing the Allmans did
all the time." Trucks says. "It could
turn into a total train wreck at times.
But you don't find new territory by not
taking chances. If you're afraid to dive
off the cliff, you'll never soar with
the eagles."
How big was the audience at A&R
Studios that day?
It was no more than 200. It's one of
the reasons the station chose A&R. Not
only were the acoustics great, it was
big enough that you could set up a band
like the Allman Brothers.
Did you have enough room for your
regular stage rig?
We cut everything down. Duane didn't
have his full stack of Marshalls. He
went with what he would use in a studio.
If there's anybody who knew how to play
in a studio, it was Duane Allman.
Did it bother you that most of the
people you were playing for were miles
away that they couldn't see you?
That the crowd couldn't see us
didn't mean a damn thing. Duane had two
very iconic statements he used a lot.
One was "This ain't no fashion show."
The other was "This ain't no ballet." We
were up there to play music. All you
need is ears. You don't need to be able
to see it. We weren't putting on a show.
And those fans that made it into A&R
were, I would imagine, the ones who came
to see us at the Fillmore East every
time. And they were there to hear what
we had to play, not to see how cute we
were or how big our dicks were.
The set list has
some inevitable crossover to the
Fillmore East recordings in March: "Statesboro
Blues," "You Don't Love Me." But there
is a surprising omission: no "Whipping
Post."
We had a time limit. Once we started
headlining at the Fillmore East, we were
free to play all night, at least for the
second set. "Whipping Post" could get
lengthy. So we decided, "Let's go with
some other stuff." That being said, we
had no clue that Duane was going to do
what he did with "You Don't Love Me."
That was what "Whipping Post" would have
been.
The set was pretty much what we did
every night. Maybe half of our sets were
structured songs like "Statesboro Blues"
and "Trouble No More." They were all
three, four minutes at best. The other
half of a set would be no more than four
or five songs, but each one would be 10
or 20 minutes.
By this point, "Statesboro Blues" was
a signature number in your shows. But
even though you recorded it for your
second studio album, "Idlewild South,"
you didn't put it on that record. What
was wrong with the studio version?
That's a good question. I really
don't know. It really wasn't our song.
Of all the songs we played, "Statesboro
Blues" was the most ripped-off. We
played it exactly the way Taj Mahal did
it on his first album [Taj Mahal, 1968].
Jesse Ed Davis' slide guitar on that
version is what started Duane on his
path as the best electric-slide player
of his day. It opened the door for
everyone that followed.
Your version was basically an homage
to Taj and Jesse.
Exactly. The song wasn't ours. And
we knew that. I think we decided not to
use it [on Idlewild South] for that
reason. And we had plenty of other
material that was ours.
How come "Revival" from that album
never took root in the live set? Was it
too hard to recreate the vocal-choir
effect on the record?
Thats a good question too because
with this last version of the Allman
Brothers, we played it all the time. You
may be right about the harmonies. When
we recorded "Revival," Gregg was the
only one in the band singing other than
Berry doing "Hoochie Coochie Man," which
was more like him talking the words.
Dickey wasn't singing yet. The first
song he ever sang was "Blue Sky" [on
1972's Eat a Peach]. And the second was
"Ramblin' Man" [on 1973's Brothers and
Sisters]. To do "Revival" on stage, each
of us would have needed a microphone.
When we did it in the studio, every
member of the band was around one
microphone, doing the harmonies.
The Allman Brothers Band were on the
road almost non-stop in the first half
of 1971. By the time of this broadcast,
you were coming off the Fillmore East
recordings and your famous sets during
the theater's closing week. How were you
feeling dazed, tired, energized?
We were in another universe. We were
out spreading the gospel of this music
we had discovered. We never thought that
we would be more than an opening act.
Atlantic Records was riding our ass
constantly to get Gregg out from behind
the organ, stick a salami down his pants
and jump around the stage like Robert
Plant. We told them to go fuck
themselves. "We're playing this for
ourselves. We've tried it your way
before. We didn't make any money and we
had a miserable time."
This time, we decided, "OK, we don't
care if we don't make any money. We're
having the time of our lives." Little by
little, people started understanding
what we were doing. But it had to start
with us. Once the crowd got in and we
could feed on their energy, we'd feed it
back to them.
King Curtis died
two weeks before the WPLJ broadcast. Did
Duane say anything before the band went
on the air about doing something in
Curtis memory?
No, that just popped up. But from
the time he came back from the funeral,
up to that show, he talked about Curtis
a lot, about the funeral and about
mortality. I think Duane understood that
the way he lived life, he wouldn't live
a long one.
That day, on the air, was the first time
we knew we were doing a tribute or,
actually, "You Don't Love Me." I don't
recall a set list. But if we had one, "You
Don't Love Me" wasn't on it. Duane was
at the microphone, talking about King
Curtis. You can hear him: "Have you guys
all heard 'Soul Serenade'?" He played a
bit on guitar, then you could almost see
a light bulb go off in his head. He
stopped and start playing that riff [hums
the opening lick of "You Don't Love
Me"].
We knew what was coming then, although
we didn't now when or exactly how. Duane
played "Soul Serenade" a little slower
than I was expecting. I was ready to
kick into something more uptempo. But
Duane was still so torn up by the fact
that King was dead. It ripped him apart.
When he came back from the funeral,
that's when Duane started talking about
his own funeral. He really did.
Actually, it was about a month after
the A&R Studios broadcast and right
before his death that Duane went into
rehab for heroin addiction. Did drug use
affect his playing?
It did for awhile. It was one of the
few times I actually got in Duane's
face. But you have to know Duane to know
how something like this could happen.
You ever read Faust by Goethe? His Faust
all he wanted to do was experience
everything life had to offer. Good and
bad didn't matter. His deal with
Mephistopheles was, "The minute I tell
you I am content where I am, that is the
minute you can have my soul."
Duane Allman was very much Goethe's
Faust. He wanted to try everything. When
I first met him, he was eating Black
Beauties [diet pills with amphetamine
and benzadrine] like they were going out
of style just wired out of his gourd,
until the night he realized it was
messing with his music. That's the night
he stopped. I saw him go through many
periods where he would experiment with
some drug psychedelics, whatever
until he realized it was messing with
his music. Duane had this laser-like
focus, and it was his music. He was also
living life to the fullest.
I remember we were playing in San
Francisco [in early October 1971]. Duane
followed me back to my room, walked in,
closed the door, looked me in the eye
and went, "Butch, what the fuck is going
on with you guys? Every time I start to
play, you give me nothin'. When Dickey
starts playing, you guys are kicking ass."
I stared him in the eye and said, "Duane,
you are so fucked up that you're not
giving me anything. How can I give you
anything if you're not giving me
anything to play off of? That's the way
I play. I follow you, every single thing
you do."
He stood there, it seemed like forever.
It was one time when he knew I was
right. Finally he turned around and
walked out. It was almost right after
that he grabbed Berry, [roadies] Red
Dog and Kim Payne and checked into rehab
in Buffalo, New York. Then Duane walked
into the common room there, saw Red Dog
laying there out of it on methadone.
Duane went nuclear: "We didn't come here
to get fucked up. We came here to get
straight." They slipped out that night,
back to Macon. But that was the last
time Duane touched heroin from that
night in San Francisco, when I told him
that shit was screwing with his music
and he believed me. He was that strong
as a human being.
Several important live albums have been
released from the Allmans' archive in
recent years. How did the A&R Studios
broadcast escape scrutiny until now?
We have so many recordings of unreleased
shows that absolutely smoke. We were
putting out two recordings a year for
awhile, old stuff with Duane and Berry;
one with just the five of us before
[pianist] Chuck Leavell joined the band
[Macon City Auditorium; Macon, Georgia;
February 11th, 1972]; and with Chuck and
[bassist] Lamar Williams [Nassau
Coliseum; Long Island, New York; May
1st, 1973]. For some reason, we stopped
putting them out.
Are there other vintage shows that you
would like to see released?
There are some nights we did at the
Warehouse in New Orleans that I'd give
anything to have out. And we have 'em. Also pretty much anything from the
Fillmores [East and West]. But
definitely the Warehouse every time we
played there, it was magic.