This is a song I know very, very well. I've heard it hundreds if not thousands of times. I can cite the differences in the arrangements of this song from one year to another as the Allman Brothers have changed personnel. I can tell you differences in vocal approaches depending on who is singing it.
Even without all of that knowledge of this particular song, though, I would still have the capacity to perform this piece of music. The chord changes are the standard I IV V twelve bar blues progression, but the rhythm is up-tempo straight eights rock. None of this is, technically, anywhere near as challenging as some of the things that I do with The Yeti Trio.
Despite all of that, sitting in with the Allman Brothers is, as it has been for me in the past, one of the toughest things I have ever done musically.
For me, the first thing that makes it so tough is that I am on stage with 7 musicians whose work and whose opinions I deeply respect. When you have to go on stage and stand in a line that includes Warren Haynes and Oteil Burbridge, with Mark Quinones standing directly behind you - and hearing your every note from behind his organ will be Gregg Allman - that in and of itself is intimidating.
Then there is wanting to do the family proud. My father's behind me playing drums, as is his lifelong partner and my de facto uncle Jaimoe. And my cousin - the man I've know since his birth - who I have seen in little league games, driven to sunday dinner at the grandparents house, and seen develop into arguably the most influential guitarist of his generation - well what would it say about me in his eyes if I can't even play Southbound?
And did I mention that it's loud on stage? Nobody in the audience, nobody back stage, nobody except anyone who has stood on the stage knows how loud it is up there. Loud enough to make you scared to touch your instrument because every time you do, the big box behind you screams with enough force to resonate the air in your chest cavity.
Now the song starts and Warren takes the opening improvisations, which is good because it was all I could do just to play the ascending 7th chords that open the song. Once we hit the 4 and the rest of the band kicks in, I've found a spot I am comfortable with and am playing what sounds to me like a respectable rhythm pattern. I'm ok for now. As we get closer to the solos, I start glancing at the Tube Screamer on the floor, debating whether or not to engage it for a bit more sustain and distortion. I finally decided that I would be scared shitless to even try.
And now we're at the solos. Oteil (on drums this time) goes first with 4 bars of drum fills. Then Warren takes the rest of the chorus and all of a second. Now it's my turn. The ascending 7s hit and I start fumbling out a garbled mess of notes and stop when I expect the 7s to hit again. But they don't. And the pause lingers. And lingers some more. In my state, I had internally rushed the tempo so badly that I had completely misjudged where the hits for the next downbeat would fall. So I try again - a few more notes and my pause where I anticipate the rest of the band should play - but again what feels like 3 or 4 seconds of silence before the next hits. Holy shit. The third time around I decide just to hold a bent note and wait for the band to come in and save me, since when we get to the 4, everyone will be playing again and I can relax a bit.
At least that's the plan, but I have no melodic ideas. None. All of the things that fly off my fingers as I practice aren't there. I can't pull off anything I attempt. All I can do is stay in a basic but competent level of simply running scales and trite blues cliches. Then my 2 choruses are over and Derek's improvising. I can go back to keeping rhythm and then thank everyone for letting me play when the song is over.
I've performed with the Allman Brothers 6 or 7 times over the years, and each experience has been almost exactly like this one. But if they asked me to play again tonight, I would in a heartbeat.
