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Chatting with your favorite artists
Exclusive Metromix interviews with Brendan Benson, Dashboard Confessional and more
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Musings, Q&A's, and reviews about the local music scene
Q&A's with some of the Bay Area's best in the music scene.
This week: We the Kings prep for their post game concert at the Trop
Q&A's with some of the Bay Area's best in the music scene.
This week: We the Kings prep for their post game concert at the Trop
You’ve heard the phrase “less is more?” Well, the Allman Brothers Band operates on the flipside of that idea.
More is more. More notes, more solos, more minutes per song, more minutes per concert. Save for the band’s classic 1971 At Fillmore East album, I’ve never seen or heard an Allman Brothers live performance that wouldn’t have benefited from some editing. (Actually, Fillmore was generously edited by producer Tom Dowd.)
The same could certainly be said about Thursday night’s ABB concert at Ruth Eckerd Hall, which lasted roughly three hours (not counting a 25-minute intermission). A four-man percussion foray clocked in at about 12 minutes – about 10 too long.
Guitarist Warren Haynes in particular routinely overstayed his welcome when soloing.
But wait: This review is heading down the wrong track. Last night’s show was good, bordering on very good. Most of the fans in the packed house came to see ABB precisely because of its more-is-more aesthetic. And even though I personally would’ve preferred shorter solos and more songs (a pipe dream), the eight-piece ensemble played with vigor, enthusiasm and sublime interaction. ABB is the gold standard of jam bands, a jam band well before the term “jam band” came into vogue, and they lived up to their reputation.
Group namesake Gregg Allman, 61, is still capable of some fine blues singing, but he is by no means the focal point. In fact, one of the reasons his vocals sounded robust is that they comprised such a small portion of the show. So when he roared “tiiiiied to the whipping post” during the encore, he nailed the recorded version’s rage and pain, drawing appreciative cheers from the crowd.
The band’s main attraction is guitarist Derek Trucks, the 30-year-old nephew of ABB drummer Butch Trucks. The Jacksonville-bred, one-time child prodigy is now one of the better guitarists walking the earth. When playing with the Allman Brothers, he hews to the group’s M.O., which relies on ebbs and flows and swells of intensity. Most of his long improvisations began with pensive explorations and built into frenetic crescendos. Trucks deftly constructed the narratives of his solos, often reaching into his pocket to pull out his bottleneck about midway.
I can’t say the same for his cohort Haynes, who tends to take a more predictable, by-the-numbers approach. His best work came during “Dreams,” but just as he had reached a (to my ears) satisfying conclusion, he revved up again and continued for several more choruses.
All of these guitar heroics played out over a percussion trio, anchored by original drummers Trucks and Jaimoe, which laid down a supple, undulating groove that’s as fundamental to the ABB sound as blues licks. When you get right down to it, the band swings – swings like no other in the annals of rock.
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