Alan Paul, Duane Betts & The Weight Of History: Friends Of The Brothers Play City Winery New York

One of the highest highlights on a very high night of The Allman Brothers Band music at City Winery New York comes a few songs in. Duane Betts is feeling it, you can tell. The son of one legend and the namesake of another, Duane is standing with his head tilted skyward and his eyes closed on a stage crowded with talented players, all bathed in a dim purple light. He sways in the moment, cradling a classic Les Paul Goldtop like someone raised with one always close at hand — maybe even this one. He’s sitting in tonight, with a seven-years-in-and-rising band called Friends of The Brothers, themselves coming in hot off a run of gigs that included a plum spot for the second year in a row at the annual Peach Music Festival at Scranton’s Montage Mountain.

It’s Sunday night, July 30, and the aptly named band are finishing up a few events helping Alan Paul, their co-founder, acoustic guitar player and sometime lead singer, celebrate the release of his fourth non-fiction book, and second about The Allman Brothers Band — Brothers & Sisters: The Allman Brothers Band and the Inside Story of the Album That Defined the ’70s. Better known (for now anyway) as a music journalist, editor and bestselling author, Paul is grinning like a Cheshire cat at stage left, his enthusiasm infectious. Several numbers in and humming on all cylinders, FOTB begins vamping a familiar two-chord mini-riff, with a passing chord on the upbeat, lightly. And the son of Dickey Betts is taking his time, letting the musical moment unfurl.

Seeing Duane Betts play only occasionally through the years, I’ve sensed that the rock-royalty lineage he carries can feel heavy at times, that its weight can become palpable to him, even onstage, out of the blue. But it’s been some years since I’ve caught him live, and here he is tilting his head back into the warm yellow spotlight, and all that weight shifts and becomes his own, a heft he wasn’t born to so much as he has himself earned. As the band, starting in a whisper, gradually grows louder, the chords finally lock into his father’s unmistakable American ode to joy from the Eat a Peach album, “Blue Sky.”

Betts begins teasing out melodic runs, using internal dynamics within his lithe phrases to join with, and then lead, the band in its gradual build to the song’s signature opening figure. A serious Allman Brothers fan could be forgiven for getting verklempt — especially with Lamar Williams, Jr. — son of the great bass player of the Allmans’ 70s superstar heyday — standing back by the amps smiling at Duane’s reverie like that’s his brother from another mother. Also on hand is Butch Trucks’s son Vaylor, who’s just walked off stage and is waiting to return. Duane sings the verses in a voice as sweet as a Carolina breeze, and Lamar steps up to harmonize perfectly on the chorus. Once the first full-on solo starts, what Lamar and everyone else in that room sees is Duane casting a spell with a series of extended pentatonic surges that recall the spirit of his father, but employ pacing and tone, phrasing and feel, to etch out an indelible piece of sonic real estate all his own. Not imitation or evocation, Duane’s performance tonight is hittin’ its own note — and the room is filled with love.

That’s the thing about The Allman Brothers Band fan base and the extended sprawl of bands that maintain ties of blood and/or spirit to the earlier seminal members: It’s a family affair. And one thing about families, they are rooted in, and thrive on, stories. Origin stories, hero’s journey stories, stories with morals, bittersweet stories always in search of the next happy ending. The kinds of stories told about the Allman Brothers by Alan Paul, the man whose day job as a writer has brought Duane, Lamar, Vaylor and a packed house of fans out on a Sunday night.

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Paul’s hot-off-the-presses book is called Brothers and Sisters, and while it’s the story of that decade-defining album for the ABB, it’s also a newly detailed, richly sourced version of the
chapter in Allmans lore where the band stands at a crossroads, whip-sawed by the deaths of their spiritual leader Duane and then, almost a year to the day after, the eerily similar and thoroughly gut-wrenching demise of bassist Berry Oakley. Could they persevere as a band, and if so, what will that sound like without their fallen brethren? And, with Gregg devastated, who will lead them? It’s a dramatic moment, and the author is more than up to the challenge.

Paul has been the sympathetic yet keen-eyed chronicler that a band this steeped in legend deserves. Over the years, his integrity as a fan and a writer has garnered him more and deeper access. Paul’s latest book, in fact, is built from a trove of long-buried tapes, interviews conducted with the band by longtime Allmans tour manager Kirk West, when the band was broken up in the ’80s. It’s the archivist’s equivalent of a gold strike, and Paul knows what he’s gotten his hands on.

This is the book that proves what was becoming clear already: Alan Paul is the trusted conduit between the fans and the inner reaches of the ABB enterprise, delivering insights and anecdotes that let readers in on the whole vibe. And as part of his book launch, Paul has brought the Friends of the Brothers out on the road with him because the music is where it all begins. Put it this way: When your book tour itinerary could run on the back of a black concert tee, adorned with mushrooms and peaches, you’ve been doing something right.

By the time Friends of the Brothers had hit the stage, the author/guitarist had already signed dozens of books, caught up with old friends and fans and sat with his old mentor Brad Tolinski, longtime Guitar World editor, for an author interview. Paul donned his other hat (literally – he put on a black fedora) and his guitar and stood among fellow bandleaders/ guitarists Junior Mack and Andy Aledort, along with B-3 organist Pete Levin, bassist Craig Privett, piano man Mike Katzman, and drummers Dave Diamond and Dan Roth. After an introduction by West himself, the count-in was familiar to those who know, and the opening riff to “Statesboro Blues” hit as hard as it should.

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Always a good call for “establishing the ground game,” as ABB fans used to say, “Statesboro” rumbled and swaggered through the hall as befits its proud lineage from 1920s Piedmont originator Blind Willie McTell down to Taj Mahal with Jesse Ed Davis in 1968 and finally Duane and company a couple years later. Aledort‘s slide playing would get flashier later in the set, but he was still yards ahead of the usual tribute band approach on the opener, combining direct quotes from Duane with some beefy Warren Haynes-style licks and adding some tasty previews of his own thrilling high-wire approach. The group was in jam mode right out of the gate, several band members establishing their bona fides taking a few turns through the thunderous changes, while Junior Mack’s vocal sounded at once like a young Gregg Allman and like no one but his own bad self – no easy feat, and one that had the crowd visibly digging his chops and his spirit right from the start.

A nice read followed on the song that probably best captures Gregg’s post-Duane mindset, “Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More” — Aledort’s slide and Junior Mack’s bluesy picking tastefully interwoven as Katzman comped on piano, the hooky arpeggios conjuring the song’s elegiac hope-against-hope mood. The rhythm section, so down and dirty for “Statesboro,” played with a more supple swing, letting this beloved number breathe as Aledort began soaring. And then the guests began arriving.

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Lamar came out to sing lead on “Come and Go Blues,” its suspended chords and dynamic leaps and dives executed with the “I can’t say, I can’t see” tension the lyric embodies. When the bridge downshifted into the song’s riff-based instrumental workout, Friends of the Brothers got a chance not just to trade measures (which they are excellent at), but to show off their band ESP, tuneful improvised licks played sometimes with, sometimes against the lead figure, while smart, disciplined interplay among the guitars and keys formed a lattice of harmony. The song is a singer-songwriter chestnut that Lamar completely owned with the kind of delicate authority that only someone steeped in Allmans music from the cradle could pull off.

Butch’s son Vaylor Trucks stepped out of the shadows next for a beautifully executed “Midnight Rider,” Junior harmonizing with Lamar’s vocal, the bass and twin drummers perfectly propulsive. Vaylor took the lead on an extended coda, his tone like muted quicksilver, seemingly pulling lightning out of the air with every bend of his high strings. Soul was not lacking – but when it came to Gregg’s soulful balladry, Lamar and the band were just getting started.

The plaintive “Please Call Home” is always a highlight for me, and the version FOTB delivered actually equaled or surpassed the musical beauty and emotional weight of many live versions I’ve heard by the Allmans themselves. Lamar’s vocal tone may not have the frayed leather of Gregg’s, but his voice boasts that rare honey-coated grit of classic 1960s Soul men from Sam Cooke to James Carr to Otis himself. Aledort definitely had the Memphis Soul thing dialed in as well, punctuating his aching sustained notes with fluid Steve Cropper-style R&B licks. Associated as it is with the Big House in Macon, “Please Call Home” as much as any of the band’s better-known set pieces feels like an emotional touchstone for the extended Allmans family, and FOTB met the moment with true grace.

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Now it was time to dry the eyes and get back to the party (the pacing and contours of the evening were a testament to some savvy setlist construction; the show never veered anywhere near the jukebox/greatest hits revue that so many tribute acts default to). Duane, still camping out onstage with his Goldtop, was joined by his own touring band’s up-and-coming slide hero, Johnny Stachela, who absolutely tore shit up each time he was called on to solo, while looking cool as a matinee idol with neatly cropped hair.

The group guitar pull portion of the evening began in earnest with “One Way Out” — man of the hour Alan Paul grabbed his lone vocal amidst swapped verses, sounding strong. Lamar gave his vocal turn a great throaty howl on “there ain’t no way in the world I’m going out that front door,” while Junior’s playing and singing were a steady anchor. A paradox of this FM radio hit has always been that it’s one of the easiest ABB songs to listen to, while being in some respects one of the trickiest to play. The percolating drums and signature foundation of riffs went out of sync with the leads once or twice, but such minor fender-benders (or in this case, Gibson benders) were forgotten and forgiven as Johnny, Andy, Duane and Junior all swapped fiery leads and happy grins in an extended series of eight- and 16-bar solos — an approach they leaned into again a few songs later for Brothers and Sisters’ Western Swing-tinged workout “Southbound.”

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Hammond organ maestro Pete Levin, currently in demand in Nashville and playing with song-heavy but jam-light acts like Amanda Shires, seemed thrilled to be unchained, blowing through eight- and sixteen- and even 24-bar turnarounds as he soloed like a gleefully high Phantom of the Opera getting off on the Leslie spinning. His chops are impeccable, so his lengthy forays into the harmonic underbelly of the material was consistently fun, packed with blue notes and Jazzy runs.

Alan Paul’s wonderful book, and the era it dives into, center on 1973 and beyond. It was a brave new post-Duane and post-Berry world for the band, replete with radio stardom for “Ramblin’ Man,” Summer Jam with the Dead and The Band at Watkins Glen, sunglasses and Lear jets, getting Jimmy Carter into the oval office, throngs of groupies and copious servings of white powder, and, most importantly from a musical standpoint, Dickey Betts stepping into the role of slide player, lead player, primary singer-songwriter, and, ready or not, bandleader.

Fitting then that the City Winery show came down the stretch with several Dickey gems in a row. I was having ’70s flashbacks — the good kind — as “Blue Sky” and “Southbound” were followed by “Jessica” and “Ramblin’ Man,” (representing the first time Friends of the Brothers had ever played the song). “Jessica” sounded fresh as the day it was written. It’s a dose of aural sunshine and a determinedly joyful noise made in the face of unbearable tragedy. Like “Blue Sky” — and, yes, like the much-maligned megahit “Ramblin’ Man” — it’s a testament to Dickey’s dogged desire to grow and evolve into a version of himself that could do more than just keep The Allman Brothers Band afloat, but see it grow and thrive, and become superstars in the process. He’s long overdue for the kind of love and recognition that Friends of the Brothers showed him on Sunday night, and that Paul has made no uncertain part of his narrative.

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As for Duane Betts, he was owning “Ramblin’ Man” through the first chorus and the compact but explosive solo he took afterward. You could feel the room rooting him on. Women — and even a certain man who looks a lot like me — were up dancing in the aisles. After all, when it’s family, the inhibitions come down. But then Duane missed the quick turnaround from his solo back into the second verse — no big deal, happens to everyone — and it seemed to set him back a little. He ceded the frontman’s pride of place and let Levin’s organ and Aledort’s guitar relieve him for a spell. By the time he got back on the horse, his ride was more cautious, his approach so reverential that it wasn’t him. There’s that weight again, I thought.

Happily, the music and the vibe in the room were both so lit that FOTB decided not to end the set there, but, after a quick huddle, tacked on none other than “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed,” the ultimate fusion of the Dickey and Duane Allman sounds. It was a welcome addition to get one of the three classic epics from the band’s early Golden Era. Aledort seized the moment by playing gorgeous variations of the composition’s “volume-pedal” opening section. Duane didn’t disappoint, either, ripping off a magnificent solo, his best of the night and truly in his own voice. With the stalwart support of Aledort, Junior Mack, Alan Paul, Levin and
everyone else on that stage, Betts drove “Liz Reed” home with taste, tone and talent. I can’t wait to catch his solo act down the road.

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As for Alan Paul, the road he’s making by chronicling the history, and by playing the music, and by doing right by everyone from the fans engaging him at the book line to Lamar, Vaylor and Duane — the sons of the Brothers, if you will — that road looks like it’s already merged with the one that, as anyone in the room the other night could tell you, goes on forever.

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Setlist

Set: Statesboro Blues, Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More, Come & Go Blues, Midnight Rider, Please Call Home, One Way Out, Don’t Keep Me Wonderin’, Franklin’s Tower, Southbound, Jessica, Ramblin’ Man, In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed

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Source: JamBase.com