One Way Out: The Inside History of the Allman Brothers Band Read Free Page B

he had given his brother when Duane was suffering from a bad cold.
    ALLMAN: A few days later we split up when he had just had it and left to go do sessions in Muscle Shoals while I stayed to try and fulfill the contract. We were apart for almost a year—and it seemed like three years to me. It was the only time he and I ever split up.
    Duane and Gregg met up again briefly months later in Miami, where they cut an album-length demo with drummer Butch Trucks’s band, the 31st of February, which included the first recorded version of “Melissa.” These tracks were eventually released as an album with the misleading title Duane and Gregg Allman.
    Following those sessions, Gregg returned to Los Angeles, while Duane made his way to Muscle Shoals, Alabama, which had a thriving recording scene. The Hour Glass had recorded some excellent demos at Rick Hall’s Fame Studios in April 1968—blues-heavy tracks that were quickly rejected by Liberty.
    When Duane appeared again looking for work, Fame was in the midst of producing a string of hit records by Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge, and other R&B greats.
    RICK HALL: Duane showed up and said, “I understand you’re cutting a lot of records. I’d like to be a studio picker.” I said, “I don’t need you. Guitar players are coming out my wazoo.” He said, “OK, boss. Do you mind if I just hang around and maybe you can listen to me play some time?”
    I told him to do what he wanted, but I was skeptical about him; he kind of spooked me. He had long white hair and looked like a junkie and I wasn’t used to that type of person. But he put up a little pup tent on my property and slept there for two weeks. What turned me around on Duane was simply hearing him play; after seeing his determination, I thought I should give him a chance and I couldn’t believe what I heard, which was different than anything I had ever experienced. I don’t believe I had ever heard an electric bottleneck guitar and I know I had never recorded one.
    Whatever reservations I had about Duane went away. I was a producer looking to make hit records and it was all about the music. I came to realize that Duane was actually a kind, courteous, gentle man, but his music was ragged and funky and dripping with sweat and stink. It smelled like it came out of the bottom of the Tennessee River. The other musicians were suspicious of him—they were clean-cut, clean-living guys and he was totally different, plus he was competition—but they had to put up with him because I wanted that funky guitar on my records.
    SANDLIN: Duane looked like an absolute wild person for that time and place. In north Alabama in 1968 when you saw someone with long blond hair you expected them to be a girl. A bunch of rednecks were sure to give him trouble, but the music transcended that. He looked out of place, but he played right where he ought to play.
    HALL: Duane did a Clarence Carter session and the next one was with Wilson Pickett. Wilson and I listened to every song the publishers had sent and agreed that we didn’t have a hit, then Duane spoke up: “Why don’t we do ‘Hey Jude’?”
    I said, “Are you nuts? ‘Hey Jude’ is number four with a bullet and it’s probably going to be number one for the next month and you want to cover the Beatles with Wilson Pickett?”
    Duane said, “That’s absolutely what we need to do.”
    I said, “People will think we’re just a bunch of crazy people down here.”
    But he stood his ground and argued with me and Pickett, who was also opposed. So I said, “Well, how are we going to do it?” He started plunking on his guitar like Chet Atkins playing one of those country-funk things and I said, “Hey that sounds pretty good. Wilson, why don’t you sing along?” He starts singing and I ask, “Pickett, what are you singing there?” And he goes, “‘Hey Jew.’ That’s what the record is, isn’t it?” And I said, “No, it’s Jude: J-U-D-E.” Some people think to