 Allman Brothers Five years ago, you couldn't have caught me dead listening to an Allman Brothers album. Ten years ago, possibly, but the disc would have been in my "sell" pile. Fifteen years ago, it'd not have been that unlikely. Funny how it all comes around. Nowadays I listen to childhood and adolescent favorites with the same dedication as newfound pleasures, having abandoned the silly notion of "guilty pleasures." I'm glad about that, too, because it's nice to be free to enjoy the cheesy fruits of the classic rock tree. Too many years I spent enslaved to a diet of jazz and modern rock, subconsciously starving my sickly, mullet-sporting inner child. Now, not only can I put on an Allman Brothers CD with no difficulty whatsoever, but I find myself doing so with alarming frequency, enjoying their tight boogie rock with no irony 'tall. Don't get me wrong, I've not lost my way, and Lee Morgan is still king. But it's important to find balance, as with The Force. When classic rock bands are great, they can be really bootie-shakin' cool, and what's more, a good ol' git-naked party-funnin' good time. Brothers and Sisters is such a CD. Don't pay attention to those who would steer you toward the drunken bloat of Eat a Peach, or for that matter, almost any other Allman disc. As "free" and "loose" as I've become, I still have only so much patience for rock bands, so I tend to find their one or two shining moments and dig deep into those. Brothers and Sisters is damn near flawless, full of full-on happy-time boogie rock. Pianos, harmony guitar lines, organs, kick-ass unrelenting drums, percussion, acoustic guitars, bluesy vocals – and, as is not generally the case with the rest of the Allman catalog, great songs. "Wasted Words," "Ramblin' Man," and "Jessica" are the big ones here – "Jessica" alone is so totally perfect that it alons justifies this disc being in anyone's collection, from the pot-belliest of Redneck country-rock fan to the brattiest baseball-capped Frat boy, to the suavest DJ in the coolest neighborhood in the city, to the loopy hippie lady down the block. Seven and a half minutes of pure compacted joy, not overlong by even a note, nearly symphonic in its instrumental precision; it seems to have been written specifically so you could hear it on the car radio and instantly feel like you're tearing down a rural highway in the middle of summer with the top down and a six pack of beer on your lap. Well, that's how I like 'em. The rest of the disc is nearly as good. Even the white blues of "Pony Boy" and "Jelly Jelly" are thoroughly fantastic, not to mention the equally white blues of "Southbound" and "Come and Go Blues." This isn't that far from what Clapton was doing in the 70s, or for that matter, Lynyrd Skynyrd, but Brothers and Sisters has much more of a "unity" vibe, truly a happier feel to it than almost any rock album you can name. Strangely, I think it was recorded right after Duane Allman died in a motorcycle crash. The band was probably just beer-swillin' their way through the pain, or just going on as Duane would have wanted them to. Richard Betts gets the best moments ("Ramblin' Man," overplayed though it is, is never unwelcome), though Gregg Allman has some awesome vocals on here ("Wasted Words" ought to be as overplayed; "Southbound" is saved from being simple "hey everyone, blues jam, join in" by Gregg's passionate vocal). The musicians all play the holy fuck out of every song, and the arrangements are tighter than a brand new trampoline. This is glorious summer music, or just music to turn any time into a glorious summer. Anyone failing to shake their bootie to this one is lookin' for a stingin' ass slap.
Review by Shlomo Slackerman |