Duane convinced Pickett to record that song as a "crossover" hit. Black man does white song. It worked, sort of. It got Allman noticed by Clapton.
There are many stories out there about Duane Allman in rural Alabama. Many of them are in Randy Poe's book called "Skydog." Back in the 60's, black recording artists had to be careful going to whites only places. But even worse was to be seen with Duane Allman who presented with dirty blonde hair down his back, mutton chops, and bell bottoms. Alabama was not exactly hippie-friendly.
There is a great movie out ther about Muscle Shoals -- it's on par with "The Wrecking Crew" and "In The Shadows Of Motown" about the Funk Bros.
I have seen it, and I posted this in honor of Rick Hall, who was Fame Studio and who employed The Swampers. I just learned that he died on January 2nd of this year. Big shoes, now unfilled.
To escape this sadness I must think of something else.
Today I wrote the most insanely ridiculously pornographic thing I ever wrote and put every obscene thing I could think of as if it were perfectly well balanced ordinary speech and sent my little story to the most emotionally depressed person that I know. For fun. I have no idea how my story will be received. These manic depressives are impossible. It could be flatly rejected with anger. I wrote it like it actually happened in casual life one thing leads to the next and the things said and done were real. But they aren't. But they could be. But they aren't. I made it sound natural but absurdly real.
He wrote back saying, "I'm reading this at lunch at the Satire and laughing so hard I drew the attention of the whole place and the people sitting nearby want to know what's so funny but I cannot show them or explain it. Thanks for the laugh and now I got a boner."
And that got me thinking, maybe I should do more of this.
How do you deal with depression? Be absurd. I'm guessing.
5 comments:
Duane convinced Pickett to record that song as a "crossover" hit. Black man does white song. It worked, sort of. It got Allman noticed by Clapton.
There are many stories out there about Duane Allman in rural Alabama. Many of them are in Randy Poe's book called "Skydog." Back in the 60's, black recording artists had to be careful going to whites only places. But even worse was to be seen with Duane Allman who presented with dirty blonde hair down his back, mutton chops, and bell bottoms. Alabama was not exactly hippie-friendly.
There is a great movie out ther about Muscle Shoals -- it's on par with "The Wrecking Crew" and "In The Shadows Of Motown" about the Funk Bros.
I have seen it, and I posted this in honor of Rick Hall, who was Fame Studio and who employed The Swampers. I just learned that he died on January 2nd of this year. Big shoes, now unfilled.
Bummer.
To escape this sadness I must think of something else.
Today I wrote the most insanely ridiculously pornographic thing I ever wrote and put every obscene thing I could think of as if it were perfectly well balanced ordinary speech and sent my little story to the most emotionally depressed person that I know. For fun. I have no idea how my story will be received. These manic depressives are impossible. It could be flatly rejected with anger. I wrote it like it actually happened in casual life one thing leads to the next and the things said and done were real. But they aren't. But they could be. But they aren't. I made it sound natural but absurdly real.
He wrote back saying, "I'm reading this at lunch at the Satire and laughing so hard I drew the attention of the whole place and the people sitting nearby want to know what's so funny but I cannot show them or explain it. Thanks for the laugh and now I got a boner."
And that got me thinking, maybe I should do more of this.
How do you deal with depression? Be absurd. I'm guessing.
I read a review of a Wilson Pickett bio, In the Midnight Hour, that got pretty good reviews. It's on my list. A crazy mofo.
Duane ... The Man !
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