Gregg Allman Quotes

It's hard to live your life in color, and tell the truth in black and white.

MIDNIGHT RIDER THE ALLMAN BROTHERS Originally released on the album Idlewild South (Capricorn, 1970) Written by Gregg Allman and Robert Kim Payne

It's like traveling on a train, rolling through the hills. It's a journey with your partners, and they're all going with you, and some of them make the same turns, and a couple may go a different route, but they all meet you on the other side.

It was once said that the blues is nothing more than a good man feeling bad, and that’s what it is. Believe me, singing a blues song makes you feel better afterwards. Singing the blues doesn’t mean that you have them at that minute—the blues usually crawl up on you late at night or early in the morning. You get the blues when someone close to you dies or has an accident or gets sick, or when your dog passes away, and singing is a way of letting go of it.

think

I’ll go to my grave and my brother will greet me, saying, “Nice work, little brother—you did all right.” I must have said this a million times, but if I died today, I have had me a blast. I really mean that—if I fell over dead right now, I have led some kind of life. I wouldn’t trade it for nobody’s, but I don’t know if I’d do it again. If somebody offered me a second round, I think I’d have to pass on it.

I’ve played with many bass players, and Berry Oakley was the perfect bassist for the Allman Brothers Band. If you wanted him to get crazy, he could, but only if everybody else did. He didn’t go off on tangents in the middle of “Melissa,” and Joe Dan was like that too. He could bring down the band when he had to, because if the bass player or the drummer shuts down, the other guys got to. The right hand of the bass player and the right foot of the drummer are the main beam of the whole damn cabin; without that, the whole thing collapses. The bass player and the drummer have to constantly think about what they’re doing, whereas a guitar player can have his mind in South Georgia somewhere, thinking about being home. After a while, I asked, “Joe Dan, why are you here?

To sing properly, you have to get into a mind-set where you don’t give a damn if somebody doesn’t like it. You couldn’t care less, you’re singing for the gods—because they gave you the ability to sing, or at least what sounds like singing to you. You’re putting your whole soul into it, all the happiness you ever had, every tear you’ve ever shed—all of that goes into your singing.

I reached my hand under the pillow, turned the dial, and the sound—static mostly—came back up. At first I was worried it was Gregg Allman. But as the static cleared I heard Elton. I loved Elton. He was like Bowie, if Bowie were less fantastic and a whole lot chubbier. You couldn’t worship Elton like you could Bowie, but what he lacked in star power he made up for in desperation. His voice soared up into my brain; he was talking about the princess perched in her electric chair and how sugar bear had saved his life.