You're no angel, but you sure are good
A love letter to Gregg Allman
By Michel Cicero 07/16/2009
Dear Gregg,
I hope you don’t mind me calling you Gregg, because, as it is for most devoted fans, I have been intimate enough with your music to feel a sort of closeness to you. Sorry if that sounds creepy; I promise I won’t stalk you outside the Ventura Theater (OK maybe I’ll stare from across the street, pretending to have a smoothie during your sound check.)
Your voice has been called the voice of God, and since it has saved me on more than one occasion from the dangers of my own mind, it is at the very least merciful — definitely transcendent.
Please forgive me for being mostly unfamiliar with your solo material. But every day, without fail, I listen to “Dreams,” a ritual that has become a near-religious experience for me. When the chains get too tight and the need to break free overrides all rational decision making, “Midnight Rider” frees me. The way you deliver such deep expression of hope and redemption on “Soulshine” (it’s better than moonshine, damn sure better than rain) leaves my spirit satisfied.
When “One Way Out” comes on the jukebox, I need not muster any courage, liquid or otherwise, to dance. Your voice is a constant in my life, rivaling only those of my family and my co-workers (and maybe the singer from Black Water Rising).
When I learned you were booked at the Theater, just two blocks from my office, I was compelled to write you. Bill Locey at the Ventura County Star may have gotten to you first, but I plan to leave an impression (insert cute emoticon here). That said, here a few of the reasons I heart you, Gregg Allman:
Pimpin’ ain’t easy
Maybe it’s that Southern charm mixed with your tough persona and a heap of talent, or maybe it’s that voice again. But six wives — not to mention Cher being one of them — a bunch of kids and even some grandkids make you a pimp, daddy. You may not be an angel but you must be a helluva, man and clearly you know the heart of a sad-eyed woman.
Badass to the bone
You were badass before anyone even used the word. When you walked onscreen as the druglord in Rush, the tension in the theater was palpable. No one could convey the dread that you did, if they weren’t already inherently badass. Jennifer Jason Leigh and Jason Patrick gave great performances, but you stole the show. Please do more acting.
Gentleman sings the blues
God knows you’ve lived the life that makes a man not just understand the blues, but embody them. Loss, grief, drug addiction, alcoholism, divorce, trial and all manner of tribulation, yet the music didn’t stop, and your fans were ultimately blessed by the way your hardship translated into song via your writing, your vocals and your soulful organ playing.
Southern man
The South is full of contradiction: sweet/mean, seductive/cruel, pretty/ugly, spiritual/unforgiving — and oh so complicated, much like its talent. The genre “Southern Rock” is fighting the good fight against language police, but it’s giving way to the pressures of politically correct terminology and the need for popular culture to constantly redefine itself. Fortunately, Gregg, you have not succumbed to the temptation of reinvention where music is concerned. As long as you’re alive, I’m certain you’ll continue to gift us with your great talent for translating the joy and pain of the human condition into something that resonates with regular folk. For that, you are loved. F
Friday, July 17, Gregg Allman will perform at the Ventura Theater, 26 S. Chestnut, Ventura. 653-0721, www.venturatheater.net.
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