There are two other tragic entries into the Buddy Holly curse. Both involve American musicians who gained their fame at the same time Buddy Holly was raving on. Ricky Nelson was the all-American boy who grew up on American television. He, along with his brother, David, and his mother and father, starred on The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet. When Ricky brought out his guitar on the popular series the girls swooned, and Ricky Nelson was well on his way to becoming a teenage idol.
Ricky Nelson had met Buddy Holly only once but highly respected Holly’s music. Sharon Sheeley wrote Nelson’s number-one hit “Poor Little Fool” and completed a link between Nelson, Holly, Eddie Cochran, and Ritchie Valens. In 1979, Ricky Nelson recorded “Rave On” and “True Love Ways,” both songs written by Buddy Holly, and both songs would be released the year after Nelson’s tragic death. Ricky Nelson’s last performance was in Guntersville, Alabama, on December 30, 1985.
Though Nelson had changed his musical style throughout the years, he still knew what to give his audience. They came for the oldies, and he didn’t disappoint them as he generously sprinkled them in between his new recordings. For an encore Ricky chose to do Buddy Holly’s “Rave On.” It brought the house down, and the last line reverberated throughout the hall: “Rave on for me.” After the show Nelson and his band flew off in a reconditioned DC-3 and came to a fiery crash in De Kalb, Texas. Nelson and his band were killed while the pilot and copilot survived. Ironically, the plane had earlier been purchased from Jerry Lee Lewis, who had a premonition that he would perish in this plane in a terrible crash.
Del Shannon hit the rock charts in the early 1960s. His classic hit “Runaway” filled the radio airwaves in 1961 and introduced what sounded like a Moog synthesizer, but was most likely a Musitron, an organlike instrument. Other Shannon hits included “Hats Off to Larry” and “Little Town Flirt.” Sadly, Del Shannon was doomed to be yet another victim of the British invasion during the mid-1960s.
In the late 1980s, Del Shannon was attempting a comeback. Tom Petty had worked with him and included the line “Me and Del were singing ‘Little Runaway’” in Petty’s “Running Down a Dream.” Even though Shannon’s career was about to be rekindled, he suffered from severe bouts of depression. His last performance came at the Surf Ballroom on February 3, 1990, the thirty-first anniversary of the Holly plane crash. His backing band that night was the Crickets. Del returned home and on February 9, 1990, took out his shotgun and took his own life. Shannon was unaware that he had been just been selected to take the late Roy Orbison’s place in the superstar band the Traveling Wil-burys.11 Some medical experts claimed that the antidepressants Del was taking might have contributed to his death, while others remembered another night just thirty-one years earlier when three young rock stars soared into the heavens to gain rock and roll immortality. The last performance for Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, the Big Bopper, and Del Shannon was at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa.
In the middle 1960s a generation of American teenagers immersed themselves in the British invasion and the American rock stars of the 1950s were cast aside. I suppose it was with a sense of irony that the Beatles landed in New York City on February 7, 1964, to prepare for their first appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show. February 7 is significant because that was the day in 1959 that Buddy Holly was laid to rest in Lubbock, Texas. The Beatles were devoted fans of Holly and their name itself was a play on the Crickets.
Few people know that Holly first suggested the name the “Beetles” for his own group’s name. Just think. Buddy Holly and the Beetles does have a certain ring to it, doesn’t it? The Beatles recorded a faithful rendition of the Holly classic “Words of Love.” As a matter of fact, the first recording the Beatles completed, on a borrowed tape recorder, was Buddy Holly’s “That’ll Be the Day,” with John Lennon taking the lead vocal. Today Paul McCartney owns the Buddy Holly song catalog and is able to combine business with the music he loves. When it comes to great rock and roll, truly some things just do not fade away.
3 “THE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO GEORGIA”
—Allman Brothers Band, “Melissa” Crossroads, will you ever let him go?
—Lynyrd Skynyrd, “That Smell” The smell of death’s around you.
IN CHARLIE DANIELS’S “THE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO GEORGIA,” Satan entices a fiddle player named Johnny to match his fiddle playing skill against his own. The wager, in the best Faustian tradition, is to be Johnny’s soul against a shiny fiddle made of gold. In the fictional world, where good should always overcome evil, Johnny wins and proclaims that he is “the best that’s ever been.”
Rock and roll is not the first form of music to have been associated with the devil or evil. Niccolò Paganini, a nineteenth-century Italian composer and violin virtuoso, was accused of consorting with the devil, who enabled Paganini to astonish listeners with his playing. Paganini’s physical appearance only encouraged this rumor. He has been described as being very pale and extremely thin, with long black hair that fell into his face as he performed. Women were said to have screamed and passed out as he produced musical passages that some listeners claimed were totally unworldly. In addition, rumors circulated that he was selfish and cruel, a gambler and a murderer. It was his musical ability, however, that caused the most speculation. Surely he had sold his soul to the devil. Many even claimed to have proof and watched as the devil pulled the violin bow while Paganini’s fingers flew across the violin’s neck. Ever the consummate showman, Paganini would saw halfway through three of his violin strings before a performance. As he frantically played the instrument, the strings would break one at a time until Paganini was doing incredible passages on the one remaining string. In an issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association (January 2, 1978), Dr. Myron Shoenfield suggests that Paganini’s mysterious feats were due to Marfan’s syndrome, a condition resulting in “hyper-extensible fingers” that would have allowed the violinist incredible reach and dexterity.
Once before a performance in France, Paganini was forced to bring a note from his mother claiming that the devil was not his father. Before he died in Nice in 1840, Paganini refused the last rites of the Church. Obviously, the master musician didn’t accept the fact that he was dying. Unfortunately, when his impending death became a grim reality, it was too late to summon a priest. Paganini’s body remained unburied for three years as the Church would not allow him to be buried in consecrated ground. His body was kept on display under glass to slow its decay. One businessman offered 30,000 francs to place the body on exhibit. Finally, in 1845, five years after his death, the courts ruled that Paganini could be given a proper burial. Despite a logical explanation for Paganini’s unusual skills, the association between good and evil in his playing has continued. In Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Faust, Mephistopheles first appears holding a violin. This possible tribute to Paganini may show that the devil’s instrument of choice is the violin and not a beat-up Stella guitar. However, the tale of Paganini does have a strong correlation to that of Robert Johnson. Ironically, the Robert Johnson similarities have found a home in Macon, Georgia, and perhaps the story does not end as happily as in the Charlie Daniels ballad.
Macon has produced a long list of musicians who have made a significant impact in music history, including James Brown, Little Richard, Otis Redding, and the Allman Brothers Band. James Brown is perceived by some fans as being a bad boy of rock and roll. Though Brown is an icon of the music industry, in September of 1988, he led police on an interstate car chase that resulted in Brown being given a six-year prison sentence. He was paroled on February 27, 1991, after serving a little over two years. Both James Brown and Little Richard have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and both have had struggles with the demons of rock and roll, but at least they have both survived. Otis Redding was not so fortunate. Redding was born in Dawson, Georgia, on September 9, 1941. He first hit the pop charts with the soul classic “These Arms of Mine” in 1963. His follow-up hits included “Respect” and “I’ve Been
Loving You Too Long,” accompanied by the legendary Stax recording house band Booker T. and the MG’s. At the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, Otis Redding stunned the crowd with an incredible, energetic performance. It appeared that Redding was on his way to even greater prominence. But on December 10, 1967, at the youthful age of twenty-six, Redding was killed when his plane crashed into Wisconsin’s Lake Monona. Killed with him were four members of his backup band, the Bar-Kays—Jimmy King, Ronnie Caldwell, Carl Cunningham, and Phalin Jones. Ironically, “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay” was recorded three days before his death and released posthumously. This song spent four weeks at number one, and is considered his greatest hit. To Steve Cropper, legendary Stax Records guitarist and Otis’s cowriter, the opening sounds of surf and sea birds are an ironic reminder of the terrible crash. Yet another example of irony is found in the name of the band that was to open Otis’s last concert—the Grim Reapers (the Reapers were an early precursor of Cheap Trick). Of course, record companies have always been able to capitalize on posthumous releases by popular artists. For example, Buddy Holly, killed in a plane crash on February 3, 1959, at the age of twenty-two, recorded his last hit, “It Doesn’t Matter Anymore,” shortly before his fateful accident. Fans have noted the dramatic irony in the song’s title.
Two years after the death of Otis Redding, a new presence had taken up residence in Macon, Georgia. Duane and Gregg Allman had assembled a group of musicians who would prove to be the genesis of the southern rock movement. The Allman Brothers Band relied upon the dual harmonies of Duane Allman and Richard Betts’s guitars to help establish their presence in rock history. Duane Allman was a disciple of the blues, and the band would go into extended jams on blues classics by Robert Johnson, Sonny Boy Williamson, and T-Bone Walker, among others. Phil Walden, the young soon-to-be head of Capricorn Records, had earlier served as Otis Redding’s manager. At Redding’s funeral, Walden felt determined never again to get as close to another artist, but that was before he had heard the incredible guitar work of Duane Allman! Allman was a session player whose backing guitar tracks had earned him international fame. His admirers included Eric Clapton, who invited Duane to record with Derek and the Dominos. It was Duane Allman who contributed the opening guitar riff to Clapton’s immortal “Layla.” The listener can hear Allman’s passionate playing throughout the project as his soaring slide guitar lines added emphasis and served as a foil to motivate Clapton’s playing to yet another level. The two guitar greats fed off each other’s energy and formed a bond of friendship based upon mutual respect and admiration. Clapton was first introduced to Allman’s playing when he heard Wilson Pickett’s version of the Beatles’ “Hey Jude.” It was claimed that Allman suggested doing the number, and when Pickett hesitated the guitarist asked him, “What’s the matter? You haven’t got the balls?” Pickett answered by laying down a scorching rhythm-and-blues track in the best Muscle Shoals tradition. For his efforts, Wilson Pickett rewarded Duane Allman with the nickname “Sky Dog.” This served as a reference to the hippie southern guitarist who had extremely long strawlike blond hair, dressed in bib overalls, and loved to get high. His guitar work, however, soared like a free bird in flight.1
Tradition and urban legend has it that the Allman Brothers Band would take their guitars into Rose Hill Cemetery and jam late into the night. Uncannily, much like Robert Johnson, this peaceful setting provided the inspiration for many of the Allman Brothers’ classic recordings. The haunting “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” was said to have been composed by Dickie Betts while he was making love to a girl in the cemetery. The melody was running through his head and when he looked at the tombstone above the grave he could make out the stone-cut name—Elizabeth Reed. It seems that Duane Allman was the source of this legend in a 1970s Rolling Stone interview. Dickie Betts now denies this myth, in the proper role of a southern gentleman. Duane Allman’s beautiful instrumental “Little Martha” takes its name from yet another resident of Rose Hill Cemetery. Ironically, this song was to prove to be one of his last recordings.
The Allman Brothers’ strange parallels to Robert Johnson contained much more than jamming to the blues great’s songs in lonely graveyards at night. At the very peak of his career, tragedy claimed Duane Allman. A few days before Halloween, October 29, 1971, on his way to a birthday party, Duane Allman was killed in a fateful motorcycle accident. There was another passion in Allman’s life aside from his guitar; that passion was a Harley-Davidson Sportster. Growing up in Daytona Beach, Florida, All-man developed a love for the motorcycles that made their yearly pilgrimage to the beachside city for Bike Week. It was also the time period for Peter Fonda’s Easy Rider, and Duane Allman’s bike was “chopped” accordingly to bring back memories of Captain America and Billy. The long fork legs, unfortunately, made the bike much harder to handle. Shortly after 5:30 P.M. Duane Allman shot through the intersection of Inverness Avenue. As he approached Bartlett Avenue, a large Chevy flatbed truck slowed down in front of the motorcyclist, blocking the intersection. Allman tried to miss the truck by swerving to the left but he collided with the corner of the truck’s bumper, or perhaps a cable or a weight ball hanging from a crane in the truck’s bed.
The bike’s skid marks measured ninety feet. Allman’s helmet was ripped from his head and the heavy chopper fell upon him, causing serious internal damage. Duane Allman was rushed to the hospital where it was determined by Dr. Charles Burton that the guitarist’s internal injuries included a ruptured coronary artery as well as major liver damage. A little after three hours from the time of the accident, Duane “Sky Dog” Allman died at 8:40 P.M.2 He was dead at the untimely age of twenty-four. The terrible news of Duane’s death shattered the other band members. Close friend and bassist Berry Oakley totaled his car on the way from the hospital after hearing of Allman’s death. It would not be the last tragic irony associated with Oakley and Allman. Butch Trucks, one of the Allman Brothers’ drummers, remembered a bizarre story that took place in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1970. It seemed that Duane Allman was rushed to a Nashville hospital suffering from a drug overdose. His vital signs were low and the doctors didn’t give him much hope of survival. It was then that Berry Oakley entered into a personal bargain with God. Oakley pleaded with God to give Duane just one more year of life, one more year to play his music and live his dream. Amazingly, and seemingly against all medical odds, Duane Allman survived his OD that night in that Nashville hospital, but there is an old parable that states, “Be careful what you wish for. You may get it.” The date of the accidental overdose in Nashville was October 29, 1970. Exactly one year later, and to the exact day, Duane Howard Allman was killed in the motorcycle accident in Macon, Georgia.3
Duane Allman’s funeral was held a few days after his death in a proper goodbye to a talented musician. His band performed at the service, playing a final tribute to a fallen brother. The ceremony ended with a powerful rendition of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” with the crowd of mourners joining in. But it would not be the last tragedy for the surviving brothers. One year and two weeks later, November 11, 1972, Berry Oakley was preparing for a jam session that night at a club he had booked in downtown Macon. He drove his 1967 blue Triumph motorcycle along Bartlett Avenue and crashed into the side of a city bus. The accident occurred at the intersection of Inverness Avenue as the bus driver tried to avoid the approaching motorcycle. After the impact Oakley was thrown from his bike and the heavy Triumph fell across him. The skid marks stretched fifty-eight feet from the scene of the accident. At first Berry Oakley walked around and surveyed the crash sight, giving everyone hope that the band had narrowly avoided a second tragedy. Oakley refused medical attention and went back to the Big House, the band’s Macon head-quarters. Onlookers noticed a thin trail of blood trickling from Berry’s nostril and feared that he might have suffered a severe head injury. Unfortunately, this proved to be the case, and a few hours later Berry Oakley was rushed unconscious to the medical center where he died at 3:40 in the afternoon. The cause
of death was listed as complications arising from hemorrhaging associated with a fractured skull.
Thirteen days after the death of Berry Oakley, ABC television broadcast an In Concert special featuring the Allman Brothers Band. It was Berry’s last performance, recorded just a matter of weeks before his death. The show was dedicated to him, but the timing was eerie. The same uncanny timing was shown with the release of Duane Allman’s final performances with the Allman Brothers Band. The album was called Eat a Peach, and the rumor circulated that the band had chosen the name of the LP in reference to Duane Allman’s death by hitting a peach truck. Of course this wasn’t true, but as we all know rumors can become undying folklore. The actual title reference was given by Duane when he was asked what he was doing to promote “the revolution.” He replied that when he was home he played a lick and “we eat a peach for peace.”
There are a number of other chilling coincidences in the deaths of Duane Allman and Berry Oakley. Both men were killed at the same crossroads. Allman had crossed Inverness Avenue and was killed at Bartlett, while Berry, traveling from the opposite direction, had just crossed Bartlett and was killed at Inverness; both men’s accidents occurred within a thousand feet of each other. Inverness Avenue summons forth memories of the legendary castle of Macbeth, the Scottish king who had met with supernatural powers to claim the throne of Scotland. Shakespeare tells us that it was at Inverness that Macbeth murdered his king and cousin, Duncan, and fulfilled his bargain with the witches, thereby sealing his pact with hell. While the similarities of Inverness being a crossroads is in itself a form of dramatic irony, it becomes twofold as we remember the legendary pact made by a young Robert Johnson who, like Duane Allman, was without peer as a blues guitarist. One of Duane Allman’s favorite songs was “Melissa,” a beautiful ballad written and sung by his brother Gregg. The haunting lyric asks two questions: “Crossroads, will you ever let him go?” and “Who will hide the dead man’s soul?” Of course this now provides a chilling irony in retrospect.
Take a Walk on the Dark Side Page 5
