A publisher has expressed interest in publishing this blog as an online or print book, with a publishing date of November 2013. I am putting the blog on hold for now. Apologies to those who have been reading it regularly. Dave

October 1, 1969

We were jamming to C blues in an uptempo shuffle, kind of like You Don’t Love Me but with a little more swing—can’t help but swing when Jaimoe’s around. About halfway through things started to take off, and I remember being very conscious of things taking off, I can remember the exact point where everything started to rise a notch and then another, but no one was forcing it, it was just kind of happening.  Berry was underneath it all getting right up our asses as always, Butch, the sturdiest  of all of us, supporting Berry like the hidden beam of a building. I was aware of that piece going on. So later on, hanging around with Dickey in the studio, we were listening to the tapes and I heard more clearly how the three of them in the rhythm section—Berry and both drummers— were actively pushing us with their jazzy shit, their bass drums hitting those subtle, near-silent syncopated thuds, Berry thrumming along: and I realized that’s what sent us over. That’s what sent me sailing. They were toying with us, I told Dickey while listening. "You and me and Gregg way up in the front of the sound, thinking we’re steering the ship, you know, when we’re just the dumb-asses, cause they're in the back moving the rudder." We’re like their marionettes: they lift us and drop us on a whim. We can rip our best solos, play new harmonies no one has ever invented before, but the joke is on us. They’re laughing at us struggle up front blindly.  Sons of bitches.  

Dickey chuckles, sips the Jack and passes it back. 

September 24, 1969

Today I was in Phil Walden’s office on the phone with a New York reporter. The reporter asked me about my influences. I told him the usual: “It’s like learning to talk. Blues gets into your bones. At first you imitate. I imitated B.B. King, Robert Johnson, Elmore James, Muddy Waters' vocals, and a slew of other old blues masters. After that I fell into Coltrane and Miles Davis. And you just follow what you like. It's not a decision. It's already in your bones. Then you play so much guitar that it winds into your own thing. I would hear a guitar riff on a record, and I would sit down with that record and with my guitar and play the riff on the record over and over—lift the needle and bring it back—until I got every note down on my guitar. I’d then practice that riff over and over till it was mine, and then I’d incorporate that riff into my solo, or, it would just be there for me to pull from when I needed it, like a toolbox that you reach for without looking, which I guess is more like a tool belt. 

I rambled on like that, then stopped to see what the reporter had to say. But I heard nothing on the other end of the phone. I say, “You there, fella?” And the kid says, “Just writing it all down, Mr. Allman.” I laugh. I ask him to hold on a second and I say to Phil, “How come I can’t get no privacy? How come you have to babysit my interviews?”  He tells me that it’s his job, and not to take it personally. Dam straight I take it personally. I know I know, he wants to ensure a return on his investment.

Then the reporter asked me: “What are my thoughts on Vietnam?”  Now I know he thinks I’m a southern hick bigot who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow, and I had an inclination to play into it for him, cause I feel this vibe from him, all eager to take me down in his high-flying New York paper with his rag-tag college degree. But bullshit is bullshit, and I didn’t want to have any part of it. So I told him what I know for sure. I tell him that  the most patriotic thing we can do, any time, that anyone can do, is preserve one's own culture.  “That’s the strongest of the weapons. One of America’s most important contributions to the world is the blues.  It’s critical to our own people that we preserve it, share it, take care of it.  We also need to advance it, to keep it current and contemporary, so that every generation can call part of it their own. So assuming you can understand that, that is what we, the Allman Brothers, are doing for our country. We are preserving homegrown USA music and culture and history by  merging it with jazz. Blues and jazz is pure 100% American music.”

He asked me another question as soon as I finished speaking, which makes me think he didn't write anything down this time.  

September 17, 1969

Played at the local Mercer College down the street, crowd larger and more enthused than any of
us expected. We have a name for ourselves around here—not a good one with the cops and
neighbors—but with the young hipsters. It was a legitimately decent crowd, and it was all for us, not for some other headline act. You can feel them kind of rootin’ for us—even the folks that don’t comprehend a longwinded 30-minute jam—they put up with us, cheer us on like we’re the hometown team. Works for me.

As for Macon cops, they keep a keen eye on us and enjoy busting our balls; they want us out of town. They know our bikes and if we ever slow down for them to catch us, we’d be in trouble.

Best thing about playing local last night is that I woke up in my own bed this morning. Nothing
like waking up in one’s own bed when on the road weeks at a time.

September 5, 1969

Sometimes, well, a lot of times, Jaimoe is the only black guy in the club. Seriously. Especially up north, like New York or Massachusetts.  Must be  real uncomfortable for him. He pretends like nothing affects him, but his day-to-day experience is a whole different experience than the rest of us.

We get stares and comments because we look like we do. But having a black guy with us tips it even further. We've had club owners pissed off when we show up with Jaimoe: "No one told me about him, I wouldn't have booked you guys."
Fuck you.

August 28, 1969

My baby daughter born. Donna and her both OK, but the baby is still at the hospital for a short while, not exactly healthy enough to come home. Didn’t plan on this baby thing, that’s for sure.  Adds to the chaos of it all. We will see how Donna and I go. One day at a time, one day at a time.

The band still comes first, I assured Walden. And I mean it. We named her Galadrielle, after the beautiful queen in Lord of the Rings. Not sure what we’ll call her for short, but it’ll come to us.

August 17, 1969

Woodstock making the news everywhere. We should be up there. We would have knocked them out, all 500,000 of them, or 5 million of them, depending on who you believe. Dammit, man, we should not be missing this. Pissed off about it. We should be on that fucking stage.