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22 Sep 2017

Antonio Valotti “Blackout” 1975 UK Psych Funk Rock,Electronic


Antonio Valotti “Blackout” 1975 UK Psych Funk Rock,Electronic
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https://vk.com/wall-134835653_687

De Wolfe Label

http://www.dewolfemusic.com/search.php#!/?code=62IQ3u&id=9671098


The mystery of the composer from Britain is an ominous library-funk and rock mixed with crocheted electronics. They write that under the pseudonym of Antonio Valotti himself hid himself Meyer de Wolf - the founder of one of the oldest "library" labels - the company "Music De Wolfe". It turns out that if this information is correct, then at the time of recording he was 88 years old.





Tracklist 
A1 Blackout 3:41 
A2 Dark Pizzicato 2:39 
A3 Black Times 3:32 
A4 Deep In The Dark 3:19 
A5 Dark Flight 3:21 
B1 Spiro 2:31 
B2 Place To Place 2:25 
B3 Grey Times 2:44 
B4 Smoulder (Version 1) 3:03 
B5 Smoulder (Loop 1) 2:08 
B6 Smoulder (Loop 2) 0:30 
B7 Smokey Shuffle (Version 2) 1:57 
B8 Drum Time (Drum Solo) 3:11 

Allman Brothers Band “Live at Fillmore East” 1971 2 LP `s Capricorn label US Southern Blues Rock,one of the three best live albums in Rock History,Classic.!


Allman Brothers Band “Live at Fillmore East” 1971 2 LP `s Capricorn label US Southern Blues Rock.one of the three best live albums in Rock History..Classic..!

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIRBLUh3MGM

full  spotify

https://open.spotify.com/album/35w2w6W38bXCo4bG1akRe9

full spotify remastered with super sound….Fillmore East Recordings…

https://open.spotify.com/album/6A9l3W3lo9IByKiyS8OYHy


The Allman Brothers Band At Fillmore East has been considered rock’s best live album since its 1971 release.
The original Fillmore East album is one of the finest live documents of the rock era, capturing the original line-up of one of the ‘70s’ tightest outfits before they were cruelly robbed of Duane Allman and Berry Oakley. Taken from five 1971 performances at New York’s fabled Fillmore East, the extended and effortlessly melodic workouts of “In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed” and “Whipping Post” still have the power to rivet and move.On display here is the Allmans’ fabled chemistry at its finest. The band not only rocks, it rolls, swings, and stretches out in exploratory, jazzy passages. The dual guitar interplay of Duane Allman and Dickey Betts glides effortlessly over the propulsive rhythm section of Oakley and twin drummers Jaimoe and Butch Trucks, while Greg Allman’s powerful blues voice and melodic keyboard work provides the icing on the cake. Though the later-released THE FILLMORE CONCERTS presents these songs in their original entirety, AT FILLMORE EAST, with its seamless edits of multiple performances, may be the superior recording. It highlights all the glint and sparkle of what still ranks among the best jamming committed to record. ……

Whereas most great live rock albums are about energy, At Fillmore East is like a great live jazz session, where the pleasure comes from the musicians’ interaction and playing. The great thing about that is, the original album that brought the Allmans so much acclaim is as notable for its clever studio editing as it is for its performances. Producer Tom Dowd skillfully trimmed some of the performances down to relatively concise running time (edits later restored on the double-disc set The Fillmore Concerts), at times condensing several performances into one track. Far from being a sacrilege, this tactic helps present the Allmans in their best light, since even if the music isn’t necessarily concise (three tracks run over ten minutes, with two in the 20-minute range), it does showcase the group’s terrific instrumental interplay, letting each member (but particularly guitarist Duane and keyboardist/vocalist Gregg) shine. Even after the release of the unedited concerts, this original double album remains the pinnacle of the Allmans and Southern rock at its most elastic, bluesy, and jazzy…. by Stephen Thomas Erlewine………


There has never been a better showcase for improvisational rock than this 1971 concert recording, and few (if any) live rock albums are in its rank. With only two studio albums (and plenty of touring) under their belt, the Georgia sextet tore into the Fillmore East with road-tested buoyancy. Titanic guitarist Duane Allman was at the peak of his powers, pushing his foil, Dickey Betts, to unsurpassed peaks. Vocalist-keyboardist Gregg Allman would have been a star in any other setting; here he’s merely one more component in a brilliant ensemble. Duane Allman died shortly after At Fillmore East shipped, and the Brothers haven’t scaled such heights since. But, then, neither has anyone else. –Steven Stolder…


This album is so hot, it would make the Devil jealous. In the late '60s and early '70s, the pop/rock music scene discovered it wasn’t limited to 2-½ minutes per song. A lot of European bands did the Progressive Rock gig. Genesis, Yes, ELP and others produced synthesizer heavy, very controlled fusion of classical music and rock/blues. We Americans had the JAM session: free form improvizational blues and rock. This album is one of the finest examples of extended improvizational blues and one of the finest live albums ever. At times, it is soft and saucy relying on Duane Allman’s guitar, at other times, it is hard rolling highway music driven by the drums and bass. A great and essential album. “Lord have mercy!” 
If you have a good surround system, preferably with well matched full range speakers, buy the DTS version. While I am not totally happy with the mix-down engineer’s choice of where to place the instruments (the lead guitar shouldn’t be in the left rear channel), and I would like a two channel mix, all music, particularly of this quality, deserves better than the CD format. CDs are harsh, brittle, synthetic, unnatural sounding and induce listener fatigue in minutes. The DTS version returns all the richness of the original recording. Sit back and enjoy!…..By Jason P. Gold…


Forty-five years ago, on March 11th, 1971, the Allman Brothers Band took the stage at Bill Graham’s vaunted Fillmore East Theater in New York for the first of a series of shows that are among the most celebrated in rock history. The Allmans weren’t even supposed to be the headliners. The posters Graham had printed up read: “Johnny Winter and Elvin Bishop Group. Extra Added Attraction: Allman Brothers.” By the end of the first night, the order had been forcibly flipped on its head. 

During six sets of music spread across three evenings, the Allman Brothers Band — undeterred by bomb threats and a disastrous experiment with a patchwork horn section — pushed their songs to their very limits and redefined what it meant to jam onstage. The nearly 23-minute version of “Whipping Post” that closed the final night on March 13th set a high water mark in the then-fledgling tradition of Southern rock. 

Three months later, on June 27th, the Brothers were back at the Fillmore East once again but under completely different circumstances. The venue was closing its doors forever and perhaps remembering the magic of their last run on his stage, Graham had handpicked the Allman Brothers Band to give his beloved concert hall a final, proper sendoff. They played until dawn, and when the show was over, a great church of rock, soul, jazz and blues music went along with it. Three months after that, Duane Allman — half of the '71 group’s iconic guitar tandem — died in a Georgia motorcycle accident. 

Rolling Stone recently caught up with some of the people onstage at that legendary run to discuss how those shows came together, and why they’ve endured in the minds and hearts of so many rock fans for nearly five decades. 

Gregg Allman, Allman Brothers Band singer/keyboardist: Bill Graham was the most assertive person I’ve ever met. He was a straight shooter, a no-bullshit kind of guy. You always knew where you stood with Bill, man. He pulled no punches, but as tough as he was, he was always very fair. 

Butch Trucks, Allman Brothers Band drummer: You just didn’t want to get in his way. Bill Graham did not tolerate people doing a half-assed job, and it’s the reason that playing the Fillmore and being in the audience at the Fillmore was so great. He ran it like clockwork, and he made sure that everybody in every seat could see and hear correctly. 

Dickey Betts, Allman Brothers Band guitarist: He was a great guy. You know, either you hated Bill or you loved him, and I was one of the latter. He was one of the cornerstones of getting our band going. 

Elvin Bishop, Elvin Bishop Band singer/guitarist: He ran a good organization both on the West Coast and the East Coast. He was kind of revolutionary because, before he came along, concerts were all one kind of music. They would never mix things up, and Bill Graham would have Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Albert King and the Jefferson Airplane all on one show. 

Trucks: When I met Bill Graham for the first time, it was when I showed up for that closing night and walked across the stage. [He] saw me and came running. Up until that time I had never met him. He was always just this voice you heard on the other side of the room chewing somebody’s ass out who screwed up the night before. Anyway, he came running across the stage and grabbed me by the neck, and he was a large, strong man and he said, “I can’t thank you enough for last night.” And he went on and on and on, but in a nutshell he said, “It makes all the years of bullshit that I’ve had to put up with worthwhile.” 

Allman: The Fillmore was originally an old Yiddish theatre built back in the Twenties, and it had a great vibe to it, man. The acoustics were nearly perfect in there. It had nice sight lines for the fans, and I think it held about 2,000 people or so, which was just right. The Fillmore East became a regular stop for us. It was like we had almost become the house band or something. 

Betts: It was a great-sounding room. It was fun to play. Then you had a guy like Bill Graham that made sure that the PA system was set up correctly. It wasn’t too loud, it wasn’t too soft, and everyone in the room could hear and see. 

Trucks: The audience was great and the sound was great. Every time you went in there it just sounded so goddamn good, and the audiences were just so in tune with what’s going on. 

Allman: Bill wouldn’t pay you as much as some other promoters, but Bill would take a chance on people, and if you were good enough, he’d invite you back time and again, so we never worried about what he paid us. 
Betts: [He] presented the show in a very sophisticated way, in a way that many people weren’t used to seeing a rock & roll show done. He took a lot of cues from Broadway, I guess, like rolling drum sets on risers and rollers and setting them up on the sides. He could change bands very quickly. He had his light show, and it was very state-of-the-art back then, and he would get the old urban and Delta-blues players and educate the audience to what they meant to rock & roll. 

Allman: My brother had always believed a live album was what the Brothers needed to do, and the record company finally agreed with him. The Fillmore was just the logical choice. I don’t think we even discussed another venue. 

Trucks: That was one of the first places that the audience really got it. You know why we were able to record At Fillmore East? We actually weren’t the headline that weekend. You go back and look; we were the special guests for Johnny Winter. But after we played our first set on Thursday night, half the audience got up and walked out. Steve Paul, who was Johnny Winter’s manager, said, “Well, I guess Johnny is gonna be opening for the Allman Brothers from now on because we can’t have that happen again.” If that hadn’t happened, we absolutely wouldn’t have had all that time to do all the stretching out that led to At Fillmore East. We only had 90 minutes and had some songs that lasted longer than that! 

Betts: It became obvious that we were a great band live. We could really play and the record people came up with the idea that, “Man, these guys need to be caught in the act.” We had a great situation. You know, we had [producer] Tom Dowd and Johnny Sandlin that came in and [recorded] those shows and they did a great job of it of course. 

Trucks: We learned very early on that playing music is a very selfish thing. We’re up there playing for ourselves first and foremost. If I’m not getting myself off, how can I expect anyone else to get off on it? I start with myself then move out to the guys in the band, and then we start communicating. We kick it into overdrive and go into places that we can’t go by ourselves. 

Allman: We just played and played, one gig after another. You got to remember that we spent 300 days on the road in 1970. I mean, we were never home. All we did was play, man. 

Trucks: If it wasn’t for Tom Dowd and his genius at knowing acoustics and setting up microphones … There were certain things that he did to get the sound that you just can’t miss on At Fillmore East that every engineer out there would scream and holler is completely heretical. For one thing, Tom Dowd always told us that the most important thing about making a live album is that the most important microphones on that stage are pointed at the audience. He wanted all the sound on the record to feel like what it was like if you were at the Fillmore East, so he opened all of the vocal mics onstage and left them open for the whole show. Not once did he shut anything off. He knew that we could play well enough and that as long as we were playing our best, [the album] was not going to have to be remixed or repaired or anything else. You get all that ambience coming at you, and you don’t have to add a whole lot of outboard equipment or reverb or this, that and the other. 
Allman: Tom almost missed recording the album. He’d been on vacation in Europe, and he only flew back to New York because the weather had been shitty in France or wherever. Tom didn’t even know we were recording that night, and when he found out, he barely made it into the truck. Thank God he did, or who knows what might have happened. 

Betts: He was a great guy to work with and he was so subtle with his psychology. It took a while for me to figure out how good he was. I thought he didn’t do anything! He would be there without seeming like he was intruding. There was one thing that I finally figured out that he was doing. If I was trying to do a guitar solo, he would say, “You know, that was good, but I really like what you were doing back when we first started tonight.” And I’d say, “What’s that?” And he would sing to it and say, “Well you started out with this.” Then I finally realized that I had never done that [laughs]. It was his idea, but he didn’t want to seem like he was telling me what to play. I loved him for that. 

Betts: There was kind of a running joke in the music business. Nobody said it in public in an interview or anything, but people would say, “The only thing live on such-and-such record was the audience.” [Laughs.] And I’m not saying anything bad about any of the other bands that we worked with and stuff, but a lot of times they would go back into the studio and re-do things; re-do vocals and stuff. The Fillmore East album is absolutely live. We didn’t go back and re-record one guitar solo; we didn’t add anything to it. Now there is some editing because we had some horn players and some harp solos that ran about three times longer than they should have been. 

“The Fillmore East album is absolutely live. We didn’t go back and re-record one guitar solo; we didn’t add anything to it.” —Dickey Betts

Trucks: We did some vocal overdubs, but everything else is just what we played. 

Allman: The mood was good. It was always good, man, so the only change was we left the horn players out on the second night, except for Juicy Carter, and he only played on a few songs. 

Trucks: There were three guys who used to play with Jaimoe out of Mississippi: Juicy, Fat and Tick. Juicy was the baritone player, and he used to play with us a lot — for years and years. Fat played the alto, and of the three of them, he was probably the only one that could really play. And Tick played tenor. You put all three of them together with us playing at the level we were playing, and they just weren’t there. After the opening night when we finished, Tom said, “Nix the horns! No way! That sucked! No fucking way!” Duane looked at him like, “Huh? I thought this was our band.” Luckily Duane trusted Tom’s judgment enough to say, “OK.” Duane was just of the mind that you gotta include the whole world in what we’re doing. He was constantly looking for ways to expand what we were doing. 

Allman: My brother liked having them sit in from time to time, so to us, it was no big deal. 

Betts: Duane was a very, very wise man for 22, 23 years old. It was really easy to talk sense with him about what we were trying to do. Let’s say we were riding from Georgia down to Florida where our folks lived and stuff, and we’d be drinking a little bit and having these long conversations about things like the Zen aspect of it all. Finding that innocence of mind, or what athletes call “getting in the zone.” You just get free and let things happen rather than make things happen. We used to laugh about so many bands who busted up because the guitar players would get so jealous and try to outdo each other all the time. We had an understanding that that was the worst thing you could do. It’s not a contact sport. It’s music. 

Bishop: I thought they were great. I liked how they just went for it. I kind of agreed with their concept of giving it enough structure so that the bottom never fell out, but enough freedom that you could jam good. 

Allman: My brother, he was the bandleader on stage. He’d count it off to start a song, and we would end it when he raised his hand, but in between, the band just let itself go wherever the music would take us. 

Trucks: For my entire career, from the moment Duane Allman reached inside me, flicked the switch and turned me on, to this day, I’ve always locked on whoever is playing lead, whether it was Duane, if it was Dickey, if it was Gregg or if it was Berry Oakley. Quite often, I will see something they’re doing, even if I can’t hear it. I’m so comfortable in just feeling Jaimoe that I don’t have to listen to 'em. He’s just there. So if someone plays a lick or goes somewhere, I’m right on their ass, and it’s my job to stay on their ass and push them to higher places. I think it’s how I got the name “The Freight Train.” 

Betts: It would switch from one guy to the other as the song evolved. We didn’t have anybody we took cues from. We just followed each other. [Berry] Oakley was great if a song was starting to lag. He would start really pumping on the bass to pull us into another direction. At the same time, I would do that too, start a riff or something that would kind of pick it up and make it sound good in a certain situation. Duane did the same thing. 

Allman: My brother made up the set list, and it didn’t change very much from night to night. He liked it that way. We’d swap out a song or two, but we pretty much kept the same songs. The thing was, we’d never play them the same way twice. 

Trucks: I seem to remember us going out there to the recording truck and listening to the set we just played and then we’d work out what we’d do next. 

Betts: We just played whatever came up. Somebody would say, “Let’s play 'One Way Out’ or something.” Well, except for “Whipping Post,” which we usually saved for the end of the show because it was such a slammer. “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed,” we’d put that near the end of the show. 

Trucks: In those days, when we climbed into those songs, that’s all there was. It’s never been like that since. I mean, I’ve been able to get into the moment for brief times many, many times since then, but not for those long extended jams like on “Whipping Post,” for instance, where once the song started, you climbed in and there was no tomorrow, no yesterday; you were just totally in the moment from the time it started to the time it ended. On every song on that album, that’s what was happening. We were just at the peak of reaching the point where we knew each other well enough, we knew the material well enough to where we didn’t have to think about it and could let it all flow so naturally. We knew what each other was going to do — yet we were constantly wide open to letting it go and taking a dive and seeing what would happen. 

Allman: [“Whipping Post”] was intense, man! Like I said, that whole set was intense. 

Trucks: When you listen to Dickey’s solo on “Whipping Post,” he just lets everything go. We’re just doodling around, letting him go, and then all of a sudden, he starts playing this melody [sings], and you can hear Berry and Gregg and Duane all feeling around for where this chord progression is because we’d never done this before. By about the second or third progression through, Berry and Duane had locked in to what the chord progression was and then Dickey really laid into it and it just fucking took off. Then when we came roaring back in with the “Whipping Post” theme again, the place just exploded. We had just paid a visit to a place we’d never been before.

Allman: A bomb scare made that night’s second set start real, real late, and boy, did we get into a serious groove. We played some mind-blowing stuff in that set. 

Bishop: I think there had been a bomb scare or something that happened. We were all gone for a couple of hours out of there, and when we came back, I guess they ran out of tunes so they got me to come up and jam on “Drunken Hearted Boy.”

Trucks: There were several [bomb scares] right around the same time. I do remember one at the Fillmore the weekend we were recording. Apparently they did find something. I never found out whether it was a bomb or not; they just said that they found something in one of the balconies. I have a feeling that there wasn’t a bomb, but rather than just saying, “We just wasted your time and emptied all of these buildings for nothing,” we’ll just tell you we found something. I just remember standing outside for a very long time thinking, “Hey, we should be inside playing music.” And, “All these people were in such a great state of mind and now we’re gonna have to go back to work to get them back into that frame of mind again, as well as ourselves.”

Trucks: The cover was supposed to obviously look like the outside of the Fillmore East where you supposedly load in and out, but that’s actually in an alleyway across the street from Capricorn Records on Broadway in Macon, Georgia. Our roadies just took our equipment truck out and line-loaded all our gear and packed it up and then somebody stenciled The Allman Brothers at Fillmore East on one of the cases. 

Betts: Jim Marshall wanted us to be there at daylight in this alleyway to shoot these pictures and we thought, “Now what the fuck do we need to be out there at daylight for?” He wanted that natural yellow light, you know? He didn’t want to use flashbulbs or have a bright sun banging away at the situation. So anyway, we stayed up all night and went down there. 

Trucks: We all sat down, and Jim Marshall had set himself up in the truck so he could get high enough to get the right perspective for the pictures. Then he started hollering at us about who to be where and do this now, do that now. I mean, he was not at all nice. He was a real son of a bitch who was lucky he didn’t get his ass kicked. At one point, some guy walked up to the side of the truck and right in the middle of taking all the pictures, Duane just jumps up and takes off to the side of the truck. Marshall goes ballistic, but we all saw what he was doing — he was picking up an eight ball from his connection. So he ran back, sat down real quick, Marshall is going, “Blah, blah!” and we all just busted up laughing. Luckily, he had enough sense in his tirade to take a picture, because that’s the picture, and it’s the only one of the whole goddamn day when we weren’t snarling at him like a bunch of pitbulls. 

Allman: At Fillmore East went gold on October 25th, 1971. Four days later my brother was dead. 

Trucks: [The record company] did not want to put it out. They fought with us and fought with us and fought with us, until they finally realized if they were gonna have anything at all, then that’s what they were gonna have. We were firmly convinced that we would never be a big-money band because Atlantic Records had pounded that into our heads. “You’re a Southern band, and you’re playing music, especially with a black guy in the group …” This is exactly what we heard from Jerry Wexler. “You gotta get Gregg out from behind that keyboard, stick a salami down his pants, and make him jump around onstage like Robert Plant, then maybe you got a chance.” Basically we just said, “Fuck you!” We had tried that kind of shit before and not only did we hate it, we hadn’t made a plug fucking nickel, much less become big rock stars. We decided that the music we were playing was much more important than becoming rock stars.

Allman: It meant so much to us that Bill Graham wanted the Brothers to close it all out at the Fillmore. 

Betts: That was a special show. We played until daylight that morning. I remember it was dark in there, and when they opened the door, the sun about knocked us down. We didn’t realize we had played until seven, eight o'clock in the morning. Bill Graham just let us rattle and nobody said, “We gotta cut the time.” It was just a really free kind of thing. All of our performances at the Fillmore were special. For us, just because they had tape rolling in a truck outside, it really didn’t affect us that much. We didn’t play for the tape, we played for the people.

Trucks: We played for roughly seven straight hours with everything we had. We played a three-hour set and then came back out. The feeling from the audience, not necessarily the volume, but the feeling was just so overwhelming that I just started crying. Then we got into a jam, I think it was “Mountain Jam” that lasted for four straight hours. Nonstop. And when we finished, there was no applause whatsoever. The place was deathly quiet. Someone got up and opened the doors, the sun came pouring in, and you could see this whole audience with a big shit-eating grin on their face, nobody moving until finally they got up and started quietly leaving the place. I remember Duane walking in front of me, dragging his guitar while I was just sitting there completely burned, and he said, “Damn, it’s just like leaving church.” To this day, I meet people who say they were there, and I can tell if they were just by the look in their eye. 

Allman: Bill Graham’s introduction when he said, “We’re going to finish it off with the best of them all — the Allman Brothers” — that is something I’ll always remember. 

Trucks: I think Fillmore East was the last truly honest, from-the-soul record that we ever did. There’s absolutely nothing in there but us playing music. Even by Eat a Peach, a little bit of bullshit had started to sneak its way in, and by Brothers & Sisters, we were almost over the edge of more bullshit than music. We found ourselves in the position we swore we’d never be in of being rock stars playing bullshit rather than being musicians playing music. 

Allman: No one did it better in a live setting than the Allman Brothers, and Fillmore East is still the proof, all these years later. 

Betts: It was a great band, good music. It’s honest, I guess. 

By Corbin Reiff……Rolling Stone…………………


When 1971 began, the Allman Brothers Band may have been one of the best live acts in America, but career-wise they were just another mid-level group struggling to make a breakthrough. Their first two albums presented a young Southern blues-rock band with two guitar virtuosos in Duane Allman and Dickey Betts and a searing, soulful singer in Duane’s little brother, organist Gregg. But their studio efforts still hadn’t been able to capture the kind of fire the band could kindle on the stage, where their blues roots blended with jazz-influenced jams for a truly transporting experience. 
The band had been running itself into the ground playing hundreds of dates a year just to keep even, earning fans on the road but not making much mainstream headway. The fact that multiple members had allegedly developed major substance abuse issues by that time surely didn’t help matters either. The follow-up to their second album, Idlewild South, was probably starting to look like a make-or-break proposition, especially since Duane had already collaborated with Eric Clapton in Derek and the Dominos by then, and could easily have gone off to other things if the band hit a wall. 
The Allman Brothers understood the nature of their talents well enough by 1971 to determine that their next album should be a live recording. It would turn out to be the best decision the band ever made, both artistically and commercially. 
Though the Allmans were on Georgia-based indie Capricorn Records, the label was distributed by Atlantic, who had helped set them up with renowned producer/engineer Tom Dowd for Idlewild South, and Dowd returned to helm the live recording. It probably didn’t take too much deliberation to decide on the ideal venue for the task. 
In those days, Bill Graham’s Fillmore East and West were the standard-bearers for mid-size rock venues, and the Allmans had already ingratiated themselves to Graham; they’d played both clubs by 1971 and knew how well those concert halls suited the band’s sound. In due course, it was arranged for Dowd to man a 16-track console in a remote recording truck outside the Fillmore East to capture the Allmans’ performances on March 12 and 13. 
The gravity of the moment was not lost on the band. After the first night’s show, they convened with Dowd to discuss which tunes they’d gotten good takes on, and which they’d have to load into the set list for the second night in order to take another crack at them. Their music may have been fueled by fearless improvisation, but offstage they were leaving as little to chance as possible. The band had even agreed between sets to take surprise guest saxophonist Rudolph “Juicy” Carter off the bandstand at Dowd’s behest, because of mixing issues. 
When At Fillmore East was released in July, it presented an entirely different Allman Brothers Band to the world at large. While the hardcore fans who’d been turning out to the shows were already well aware of the band’s jamming expertise, as far as the casual listener could tell from the first two studio albums, this was an ensemble that kept even its most adventurous excursions relatively concise for that era. So when the general public got an earful of what the Allmans were really all about onstage via the band’s first-ever live record, minds were blown. 
Originally issued as a two-LP set, At Fillmore East featured only seven songs — not because it was skimpy on content but because it dutifully documented the band’s propensity for opening up ostensibly concise songs into breathtaking 20-minute jams. 
The first LP shows off the blues-rocking side of the band’s sound. The Allman Brothers Band transformed a quartet of blues covers into something entirely their own, as the world got its first full view of what the band’s mighty twin-guitar team could do with barnstorming versions of Blind Willie McTell’s “Statesboro Blues” and Elmore James’s “Done Somebody Wrong,” with wailing harmonica from guest Will Doucette on the latter. A simmering, slow-blues take on the T-Bone Walker standard “Stormy Monday” gives both Gregg’s growl and his smoky, jazz-inflected organ work a chance to shine. And a jumping, syncopated cover of the Willie Cobbs composition “You Don’t Love Me” maximizes every moment of its 20-minute length, especially when the rest of the band drops out to let Duane do his thing unaccompanied. 
Sides three and four of the original At Fillmore East release were what really separated the band from the blues-rock pack. Consisting of three original tunes, they showed that the Allman Brothers Band had as much in common with Santana’s contemporaneous jazz-rock excursions as they did with the likes of Canned Heat, if not more. The group-written instrumental “Hot ‘Lanta” is a burning blues/jazz/rock amalgam that shows off the strengths of the whole sextet. The album’s final two tracks, however, would make rock history. 
“In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” is extended to twice the length of its Idlewild South studio version, turning what was already one of the most finely crafted rock instrumental pieces ever written into something at once dreamily transcendent and thrillingly visceral. And “Whipping Post,” expanded from the five-minute track on the band’s debut into a roaring, fire-breathing 23-minute beast, is simply a force of nature. The churning, cyclical feel enabled by its odd time signature and the band’s double-drummer percolations is the perfect framework for Gregg’s epic tale of female perfidy. When he wails, “I’ve been tied to the whipping post,” you feel like he’ll be under the lash for eternity, or at least what feels like an eternity. 
At Fillmore East took the Allman Brothers Band into the upper echelon of rock ‘n’ roll. It went gold quickly, and became a ubiquitous presence on rock radio forevermore. There have been numerous deluxe, expanded reissues, from two-CD packages all the way up to full-on box sets. It would eventually be hailed not only as one of the greatest live albums ever recorded, but simply one of the greatest albums overall. It helped put Southern rock on the map in the bargain, and solidified the approach the Allman Brothers Band would take from there on out. Unfortunately, the Fillmore East closed its doors forever on June 27, 1971, but guess who was the headlining act for the farewell? More tragically, Duane Allman died on Oct. 29, 1971 at the age of 24 from injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident. Even though he became one of rock’s most maddening what-ifs, at least he stuck around long enough to make a piece of musical history. ……………..By Jim Allen…



There are many great live double albums. It was probably Cream with Wheels Of Fire who set the template for distended albums that allowed the band to ahem 'explore’ their lengthier numbers by making them a little more…um, lengthy. Van Morrison’s Too Late To Stop Now? Thin Lizzy’s Live And Dangerous? Crosby Stills and Nash’s Four Way Street? All marvellous of course, but the Allmans did it best… 
By 1970 the band had completed two fine studio albums but hadn’t been able to translate their live reputation into fiscal returns. The solution, of course, was to give the public a good compromise. Remarkably, for such a deep-rooted bunch of good ol’ southern boys, they’d found a spiritual home on the East Coast at Bill Graham’s New York Fillmore East. With this in mind the tapes rolled on two nights in November and the results were condensed into At The Fillmore East. Paydirt was hit. 
While many remember the Allmans as essentially a superior version of (ugh) Lynyrd Skynyrd or even (good grief) Black Oak Arkansas, what they really represented at this point was a melting pot of styles welded together to produce something incredibly sophisticated while retaining the requisite 'jamming’ looseness needed to entertain the free-thinking audiences of the time. Duane Allman, already a session player par excellence, loved everything from jazz to blues as did co-lead Dickie Betts. Their duelling Les Pauls rode the matching rhythms of twin percussionists Jaimoe and Butch Trucks (still the best name of any drummer on the planet). Topping it all off was sibling Allman Gregg’s husky blues wail and lyrical Hammond. 
Together they could do what so many bands of the time tried and failed: play numbers for half an hour and never once resort to cliché or repetition. Here reside the defining moments of the Allmans’ career. “Whipping Post”, already a behemoth of tortured soloing, here becomes an exploration on a par with anything Miles was attempting. Indeed the other monster cut here, “In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed” is Bett’s homage to Miles, and amply demonstrates his fantastically complex style. 
Whether delivering the blues with Duane’s slide licks daring grown men to weep (“Stormy Monday”), or with Gregg’s song writing skills to the fore on more succinct gems like “Midnight Rider” (a bonus cut on this deluxe edition) this remains a snapshot of a band getting off on each others’ abilities and sharing the joy with one lucky crowd. Tragedy was lurking just around the corner, but for these precious moments they were, and remain unbeatable….by  Chris Jones….BBC review


Klinger: In the world of list-making rock snobs (a milieu in which I am certainly more than comfortable), there is really one serious taboo: greatest hits/best of compilations don’t count. That’s, in part, why the Great List—that compendium of acclaimed albums from which we take our marching order—features only regular albums. In fact, if someone’s all-time top 50 list contains something like ChangesOneBowie or CCR’s Chronicle, that person should expect some degree of mockery from the nerderati. (I’ve made one exception over the years for a young woman who put Ringo Starr’s Blast from Your Past on her list. I not only made an exception—I married her.) But this week, we see another example of a rare loophole—the live album. 

The Allman Brothers’ At Fillmore East is the first live album we’ve covered since James Brown’s Live at the Apollo, way back at No. 40, and both albums are a good example of why we can allow live albums in our list-making. Not only do they provide an overview of the artists’ careers up to that point, but they also demonstrate the ways they had come to be adapted over time (punchy, turn-on-a-dime shifts for Brown, longform jams for the Allmans). Mendelsohn, you’ve professed a certain fondness for these extended blues exercises in the past, so I’m interested in how you’ve taken to this particular double-disc of in-concert extrapolations is hitting your ears. 

Mendelsohn: I could listen to this record all day. Mostly because that’s how long it takes. Seriously, this album just goes on and on and on. Every 20 minutes or so the band takes a break to catch their breath and rehydrate but then they jump headlong into another half-hour groove. All told, I don’t a problem with longform blues, but in my defense, I made that statement in regard to Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Chile”, which is heads and shoulders above anything the Allman Brothers ever did. 

Klinger: Although to be fair, you also waxed poetic about Derek and the Dominoes, who have even more in common with the Allmans than Hendrix—most notably, they share producer Tom Dowd, who helped form the raw Fillmore tapes into a more digestible double LP. Interesting story: it was Dowd who grabbed Duane Allman by the lapels and made him get rid of the horn section that was supposed to be on this record. They were allegedly an out-of-tune mess and would have been the ruination of this record. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Tom Dowd was a freakin’ genius—and apparently quite the strong persuader. 

Say, you’re not listening to the Complete Fillmore Concerts dealie that’s making the rounds these days, are you? Because I could see how that’s like eating an entire chocolate cake in one sitting. 

Mendelsohn: You mean there is more? My main problem with this record is that in some places, but not all, it sounds like any other bar room blues band knocking out an extended jam. The Allman Brothers seem to be the template that every bar room blues band seeks to emulate with Duane Allman’s crisp guitar, Greg Allman’s smooth organ playing, and the combined, inoffensive vocal stylings of Greg Allman and Dickey Betts. I like the double drums of Butch Trucks and Jaimoe Johanson—ain’t nothing wrong with that. 

I understand my critique is unfair. I shouldn’t fault the Allman Brothers for being the architects of southern rock, or generic blues or even the insidious jam bands that litter the back water college bar landscapes. Had I come into the project with less prejudice toward those things, I would probably be much more effusive with respect to the Allman Brothers’ massive musical journey they laid down on wax one spring weekend in New York City back in 1971. 

Klinger: I understand coming into this week with prejudices—I was less than excited about the prospect of 20-minute guitar solos and bluesish whatnot myself. I’ve seen enough crappy bar-band puffery to last me a lifetime. But to blame these guys for what followed in their wake is like blaming The Simpsons for Family Guy (cue separate nerd argument). The way that these guys are able to thread their way through some pretty intricate changes throughout the same song is pretty fascinating. Listening to “You Don’t Love Me” and the way it goes through countless shifts in tone, tempo, and mood before finally breaking through with the striking “Joy to the World” coda, it’s hard not to be impressed. This band was tight and fully in sync with one another. In fact, I suspect it was easier to get them to collectively navigate their way through a half-hour of “Whipping Post” than it was to get them all on the bus at the same time. 

Mendelsohn: That’s the part of this record I really love. There is an intricate, almost exacting science to those 30-minute jams. Once they get beyond the generic blues material and into the more detailed spaces of the songs, you can really start to see the jazz influence and that is just spectacular. Yes, the Allman Brothers’ stock and trade was in the blues and southern rock, but as they start to incorporate the jazz elements, the songs take on an epic, almost prog-rock quality. Take a listen to “Mountain Jam”. That song is not 30 minutes of improvisation and noodling, it’s a suite in the vein of classical music, composed of movements as the band works from set piece to set piece. 

I think “Mountain Jam” also perfectly encapsulates that notion of duality that goes into making great art and what really makes this album a standout. There is beautiful give and take in the dual guitar work of Duane and Dickey. And if the dual drum solo in the middle of that song doesn’t make you sit up and take notice, then you are probably dead. That duality extends to the mix of low blues and high jazz and that, of course, leads us right back to Mr. Dowd, who mastered his production craft recording the likes of John Coltrane, Charles Mingus, Charlie Parker, and Thelonious Monk. Coincidence? 

Klinger: Well, the Allman’s forays into jazzier territories do make their music a good bit more intriguing, and that may well be what led Dowd to them. However, the fact that you’re referencing “Mountain Jam” tells me that you are in fact listening to the Deluxe Edition Fillmore Concerts version of this rather than the initial double LP from 1971. And now I feel like the kid who read the wrong chapter for the test. Tell you what, I’ll go track that number down and we’ll meet back here in about a half an hour. 

Mendelsohn: Sorry about that. I thought you are referring to the At Fillmore East Deluxe Edition, which is different from The Fillmore Concerts, which I found out just tacks “Mountain Jam” and “Drunken Hearted Boy” on to the back of the original At Fillmore East (which in turn is slightly different from the UK version of the record, but only in track list order). And here I was wondering why the band decided to also put “Mountain Jam” on Eat a Peach, the record they released in 1972 following Duane’s death. Interesting side note: on Eat a Peach, “Mountain Jam” was originally split down the middle, starting on the end of side one and ending at the beginning of side two. 

Don’t feel bad, Klinger. If anything, I’m the over-achiever in class who reads chapters that were not assigned (or unwittingly listens to half of Eat a Peach) and starts asking questions in regard to those chapters much to the ire of my classmates. But I would maintain that the songs the band wrote, the songs that aren’t reinterpretations of blues standards, “The Whipping Post”, “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed”, and “Hot ‘Lanta”, showcase a very sophisticated application of jazz styles within the blues rock format. 

Klinger: You know, I think this might be one of the most interesting side effects of our little Counterbalance project. Two years ago, I would have shrugged off the Allman Brothers as being not really my thing and never would have picked it up. Today, I’m still able to say that lengthy jazz-blues-rock extrapolations are not technically my thing, but I can honestly say that I appreciate the artistry that goes into creating something like At Fillmore East. 

We’ve talked about this before but it really does bear repeating. Whenever someone slaps together a greatest album of all-time list, some bunch of people kick up a stink because of this choice or that or why Dream Theater isn’t better represented or some such thing. But in the end, these bits of column inch filler can end up being a benefit if it causes someone to try something new with their ears wide open. That person may decide not to pursue it much further, but they still stepped outside their comfort zone long enough to try. 

Mendelsohn: Before we embarked on this little journey I would have been the first to refer to the Allman Brothers as column inch filler. But as we get further into the list, I’m beginning to understand, at least a little, how the canon of great albums is constructed. I might not always agree but usually there is something special about each record, something that sets it apart from its contemporaries. I don’t think At Fillmore East is any different. And knowing that now, gives me a much greater appreciation for a band that I’ve long blamed for some of the worst clichés in rock music. Live and learn I guess, Klinger. Live and learn……BY JASON MENDELSOHN AND ERIC KLINGER….Pop Matters…



The Allman Brothers in 1970, the year before they recorded 'At Fillmore East' GAB Archive

 “OK, the Allman Brothers Band,” was the simple introduction for the band on Friday 12 March 1971 at the Fillmore East in New York’s East Village. Duane’s slide guitar sets off and the sound of Blind Willie McTell’s ‘Statesboro Blues’ begins what is arguably the greatest live album in rock. 

At Fillmore East was originally a double LP, recorded over both the Friday and Saturday night’s shows and captured the Allman Brothers at the peak of their powers. It was the band’s third release in three years and immediately proved successful, making No. 13 on the Billboard charts in July of '71, staying on the bestsellers list for almost a year.

Side one of the record was very much a blues work out as they follow ‘Statesboro Blues’ with Elmore James’s ‘Done Somebody Wrong’ and finish with T-Bone Walker’s ‘Stormy Monday’ – their version is one of the most interesting and non-derivative of this often recorded number.

Yet this first side gives little indication of what the remainder of the album is to be like. This is everything that is great about Southern rock, there’s jazz and even some Latin influences thrown in for good measure. Side 2 of the first LP is a cover of Willie Cobb’s ‘You Don’t Love Me,’ originally cut in 1960 for Mojo Records in Memphis and covered by a host of artists including Quicksilver Messenger Service and Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper and Stephen Stills on their 1968 Super Session album. 

‘Hot Lanta’ is a group work out based around guitarist Dicky Betts’ riff and it showcases Gregg Allman’s Hammond B3 as well as both Betts and Duane’s guitars. The second track, ‘In Memory Of Elizabeth Read,’ which Betts wrote for the band’s second album Idlewild South, begins with Betts’s guitar and he’s joined by Duane as they double the melody line creating what is such a trademark sound. As the number picks up it goes from jazz, with shades of John Coltrane and Miles Davis, to something akin to a Santana jam, but one always steeped in Southern rock image. 

The last side of the LP is just one number, the monumental ‘Whipping Post,’ written by Gregg Allman. Originally a five-minute song from the band’s debut album, it’s lengthened here to over 23 minutes and it is immense. Driven along by the drumming of Jai Johanny 'Jaimoe’ Johanson and Butch Trucks, this is what Southern rock is all about. Listen to it loud and you will be exhausted from the experience, nothing else recorded from this era of rock comes close to competing. 

Various CD reissues have included additional tracks recorded over the two nights but it is the original album that is testament to the Allmans’ greatness. It is a perfect album in every way…the greatest live rock album. 

Epitaph: Tragically, just over seven months after the album was recorded, Duane Allman was killed while riding his motorcycle. Aside from his recordings with the Allman Brothers he of course worked with Eric Clapton on Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, helping to create the magic of the title song. Bizarrely, Barry Oakley, the bass player on the Fillmore album also died in a motorcycle accident, a year after Duane’s death……By uDiscover Team



Track List: 
01. Statesboro Blues 
02. Done Somebody Wrong 
03. Stormy Monday 
04. You Don’t Love Me 
05. Hot ‘Lanta 
06. In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed 
07. Whipping Post

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