Artists

Gregg Allman'southward Restless Soul

The spiritual leader of the Allman Brothers is feeling the blues––in a good fashion

April/May 2011

photo: Peter Yang

"C'mon, you tin exercise it!"

Duane Allman was goading his younger blood brother, Gregg, in the backyard of their business firm in Daytona Beach, Florida. Duane had been drinking all day, and he was growing impatient. "Well, you're just a chicken," he scoffed.

Information technology was 1965, and Gregg and Duane were at a crossroads. Non fifty-fifty 20, they had crisscrossed the South playing in a band called the Allman Joys. They did gigs at crude joints like the Stork Lodge in Mobile, Alabama, where they played six nights a week, five sets a night, twoscore-v minutes per fix. Gregg was weary of the road and ready to requite upward and go to dental school—subsequently a calendar week of playing the Stork, he and Duane each pocketed merely $111—but if he pursued dentistry, he would be in debt and stay in debt. He decided to keep with the band. The merely problem was, Gregg was eighteen and about to get drafted to fight in the Vietnam War. Duane—who was exempt considering their father was dead and he was the oldest son—had cooked up a scheme to get his immature brother out of the draft: have Gregg shoot himself in the foot in order to go a medical pass.

"I've invited these prissy ladies over hither to see a foot shooting and you're going to permit them downwardly?" Duane screamed. The girls began to cry. Gregg had drawn a target on his moccasin, placing it carefully between 2 of the bones in his human foot so as to cause minimal damage. After more berating by Duane, Gregg slammed down two more shots of whiskey, made a quick phone call, and came back exterior with his Saturday night special handgun. In the altitude, a siren wailed. And so, BAM! Gregg had done information technology. In a remarkable moment of lucidity, he had called the ambulance before he pulled the trigger. The adjacent day, he hobbled into the Army recruitment office and got his medical exemption. The Allman Brothers Band was built-in.

Southbound

Today, simply a few weeks before Christmas, Gregg Allman is grimacing in pain for an entirely dissimilar reason. He had a liver transplant last summertime and isn't supposed to elevator anything heavier than twenty-five pounds. Just it'southward unseasonably chilly in littoral Georgia, where he at present lives. Yesterday he went out and gathered some firewood and tried to bring it into the house. "I had to take baby steps," he says, shifting uneasily in an upright chair. His cozy blueish-and-white-painted living room is loaded with artifacts, everything from Grammy Awards to photos of his father to books of verse by Poe and Tennyson as well equally an ornately decorated Christmas tree with piles of presents underneath—but at the moment none of that is comforting. "At ane point I heard my tummy rip and now I'm in so much pain," he says. "Information technology was just stupid."

After years of living in California'south Marin Canton, Allman moved back to Georgia in 1999, to Richmond Hill, a sleepy fishing town about twenty miles from Savannah. (The "Big House," in Macon, where the band lived in the seventies, is now a museum.) Later on you enter through a gate and drive downwardly a winding road covered by behemothic oaks dripping with Spanish moss, yous arrive at his large brown-forest-paneled and brick house—not a mansion past whatsoever means. A sign at the end of the driveway reads "Valhalla," and information technology's here that Allman has constitute his sanctuary. He has admission to the h2o and loves to head out with friends on his fishing boat, spending hours in the Lowcountry marshes or just sitting on the deck chairs watching the sunset from the dock. "I just had to get dorsum to the Southward," he says. "It's not as hectic, I'm close to my mama, and this is where it all began and where it will somewhen finish." He winks. "Only hopefully not for a long, long fourth dimension."

His recent liver transplant was necessitated by his having contracted hepatitis C back in the sixties—probably due to an unclean tattoo needle. Dorsum in the hippie heyday, sharing needles was commonplace. The disease lay dormant for years earlier worsening in early on 2010. Constant drug and booze abuse in the seventies and eighties didn't aid matters (this is a homo who once received a brick-size block of pharmaceutical-course cocaine every bit a hymeneals nowadays). He gave up alcohol in 1996 later he was so drunk at the 1995 anniversary to induct the Allman Brothers Band into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame that the presenter, Willie Nelson, had to assist him onstage and asked, "Damn, Gregory, yous all correct?"

"I wasn't all correct; those were the bad-male child days," he says. "And I don't miss them one scrap. I didn't spend a whole lot of coin on drugs. Certain amounts, but a lot of people only gave them to me. Cheers very much." At present that he'southward completely sober, the only drugs Allman takes are antirejection meds such as Prograf.

"I was i of the first people he told [nearly the transplant]," says Allman Brothers guitarist Warren Haynes, "and it was serious stuff. But that same night we were laughing and cutting up only like nothing had always happened. That'due south a testament to his resilience. He'south faced everything head-on. I'1000 very proud of him and the way he's handled everything."

photo: Peter Yang

Southern Homo

Allman, photographed at his home outside Savannah, on January 3, 2011.

Feeling Low

Similar anyone who has undergone major surgery, Allman has good days and bad. Today is non one of his better moments. He speaks slowly and deliberately, oftentimes closing his optics for so long he about seems to take fallen asleep. But then he snaps out of it, becomes engaging, and chortles with a gravelly laugh. "Sorry, man, these drugs can really mess me up," he says. "They make me tired and make my hands milkshake." He has to drinkable more than two quarts of water a day, and he gets up to go to the bathroom a half dozen times in less than ii hours. "I hate information technology," he says, picking at a plate of fruit his housekeeper and right-hand woman, Judy, has brought out for him. He'southward more wearied than usual, coming off a cord of Allman Brothers dates in November as well as a promotional tour for his new solo album, Depression Country Blues.

Consisting almost entirely of covers from legends similar Dingy Waters and more than obscure (just equally revered) blues artists such as Sleepy John Estes and Skip James, Low State Dejection is stirring and emotional, a low-key companion to the more raucous, ballsy jams of the Allman Brothers Band. "You don't have to be an ABB fan to like this," says Haynes, who cowrote the only original, "Just Another Rider." "Information technology'south moody, but it'due south Gregg living his life through these songs." Allman hadn't recorded a solo record since 1997 and had no interest afterward Allmans producer Tom Dowd, a close friend, passed away in 2002. But in 2009, after a summer Allman Brothers tour, Gregg's manager convinced him to become to Memphis to see with T Bone Burnett. The producer and his crew were in Memphis measuring the dimensions of the metropolis'due south legendary Sun Studio so Burnett could build an exact replica next to his house in Los Angeles. "I had never heard of T Bone, and I thought he'd just jive me," Allman admits. "But the first thing he said to me was 'Tom Dowd was such a hero of mine.' And I thought, well, this cat might be all correct."

Still, Allman was hesitant, only Burnett gave him a difficult drive of more than nine thousand songs, and listening to them transported Allman back to the old days of touring in a van with Duane. "Nosotros used to listen to this radio station, WLAC from Nashville, Tennessee, that you could just get at nighttime," he says. "They played Muddied Waters, Howlin' Wolf—you name information technology, they played information technology. Information technology was the first time I heard [jazz organist] Jimmy Smith. I always fantasized playing a Hammond, but at the time in that location were too many damn buttons to push."

Allman flew to Los Angeles and cut Low Country Blues in two weeks. "Nosotros took the album cover photo correct on that road nigh where Forrest Gump runs and runs in the movie," he says, laughing. "This area means then much to me. I just wanted to requite respect with these songs. I call up Duane would have really liked information technology, too."

photo: Peter Yang

The Lost Brother

The specter of Duane hovers constantly over Gregg. In add-on to being the older blood brother, Duane had also causeless the role of de facto dad subsequently their father, Willis, was murdered by a hitchhiker virtually Norfolk, Virginia, in 1949. Given that it'south shut to the holidays, there's a palpitate of activity at Gregg'due south firm: He has v children (with five different women), each of whom he has a tight human relationship with, and he's prepping for a visit from his ninety-3-year-old mother. "Mama A, she's my queen," he says. It's still a little eerie when Galadrielle, Duane's only kid, pops into the living room to say hello to her uncle. Skinny like her father, with long, curly chocolate-brown hair, she peeks effectually the wall. "You sleep all correct, darling?" Gregg asks. "Oh yeah," she says. "It'due south so peaceful here. You sleep all right?" "I did, finally," Gregg answers. Galadrielle disappears into the kitchen and Gregg closes his eyes. "Duane is always hanging around," he says. "At least I sure want to retrieve he's here. I feel a lot of him coming through me, more and more, specially after I got sober. Sometimes I hear myself say something and think, Await a minute, that'south not what I meant to say, that's what Duane would have said. It's real freaky."

"Gregg is a serenity behemothic; he'south the kindest soul you'll ever meet," says guitarist Derek Trucks, a member of the ABB since 1999 and the nephew of band drummer Butch Trucks. "Duane was the get-in-your-face guy. Gregg talks virtually Duane a lot, but he'south comforted by the fact that he and the band are playing better than e'er. Duane would take been real proud of him."

Duane died in a motorcycle accident in Macon, Georgia, in 1971, just months afterwards the ring released At Fillmore East, considered past many to be the greatest live record of all time. The ring—then including bassist Berry Oakley, guitarist Dickey Betts, and drummers Butch Trucks and Jaimoe Johnson—sputtered, but released the 1972 classic double album Consume a Peach, which independent several songs on which Duane played. After adding keyboardist Chuck Leavell a year later on, the band was dealt another blow when Oakley died in another motorcycle accident in Macon, 3 blocks from where Duane was hit. But this time, there was no doubt most continuing on. Duane and Berry were buried next in a Macon cemetery, and less than two months later the Allman Brothers played a New Year's Eve testify in New Orleans, with Lamar Williams taking the identify of Oakley.

Despite losing 2 founding members and the guiding strength of Duane, the Allman Brothers quickly became one of the most popular bands in the country. Only with success came volatility. Every member aside from Johnson was using drugs heavily, and Gregg married Cher (his third wife), going all Hollywood and separating himself from the balance of the group. Betts and Allman pigeon deeper into their own solo careers before disbanding the Allmans in 1982, then reuniting in 1989 to gloat their twentieth ceremony. Nonetheless, the lineup constantly changed. Warren Haynes was an off-and-on member, and while the rest of the ring was now sober, Betts connected to corruption substances (though Betts denied information technology). In 2000, the ring fired Betts for "personal and professional reasons," after which Haynes rejoined full-time and Derek Trucks causeless Betts'due south role.

Rambling On

The wounds of Betts'due south and Allman'due south disintegrated relationship are still raw. "Dickey loved to fight," Allman says. "All of us were sober and we just got sick of information technology." Sometimes significant events can assistance bygones be bygones, but Allman says he hasn't heard a discussion from Betts since his transplant. "I idea I might," he says. "I got nada against the guy. I hope that he finds himself." He ponders his words for what seems similar an eternity. "I wish him well."

Since Betts's deviation, the Allmans have recaptured the glory of their late-sixties and early-seventies heyday. Listen to At Fillmore E, and so listen to a recording of a show from last Nov. Sure, Allman'due south voice is more than gravelly, just it's even so a powerhouse, and the combination of Haynes and Derek Trucks is positively dynamite. "The minute he opens his oral fissure you know it's Gregg Allman," Haynes says. "And that's the best compliment you lot tin can receive."

Despite Allman's up-and-down days, there's no slowing down. The band is once again belongings court at New York'due south Buoy Theatre in March for a about monthlong series of dates. Information technology volition headline the Wanee Music Festival in Live Oak, Florida, in April. A summer tour will follow. "Warren and Derek, they're just perfect," Allman says. "Sometimes I await over at Derek and can come across Duane. I love them to expiry. Oteil [Burbridge, the band's current bassist] the aforementioned way." Despite Allman's legendary status, he remains extremely shy. He still gets stage fright earlier every evidence, but every bit presently as he gets behind his Hammond, the shaking in his hands stops.

Now, save for his 2 dogs, Maggie and Otis, the house is silent. He lives lonely (he was recently divorced for the sixth time and vows never to marry once more, though he admits he would like to find a companion), and though friends come in and out of the house, you lot become the feeling that he's much happier on the road. "I am, I really am," he says. "It can go tiring, but I dear playing and being effectually the guys. This house is groovy, simply it tin can become lonely." Almost on cue, his route manager, Vid, comes in to tell him that Gregg's new earphones for sleeping on the omnibus are ready. In a few hours he'll head to Asheville, Due north Carolina, to play with Steve Miller and Haynes, at Haynes's annual Christmas Jam benefit evidence. "That's neat, homo, thank you then much," he says to Vid. He shifts in his seat again. "I'1000 and so glad that I wasn't gonna be an invalid. Or have this thing take my playing abroad. I prayed on that one. I would accept been lost."

But he'due south here, and the playing—and his health—will only get better. "I desire to practise this at to the lowest degree ten more years," he says, continuing up and gesturing to the garage, where he'll show off his collection of motorcycles. "I still have something to testify, if simply to myself." He gives a quick tour, and so goes back inside, non wanting to linger in the chilly stillness of the garage. Only at about 5:45, simply as the sun drops behind the marsh, Allman boards the tour motorcoach for the overnight drive to Asheville. For now, at least, the road indeed goes on.