For sure, the South is on the rise again—and has obviously changed the sound of American music. In 1954 a white truck driver from Mississippi named Elvis fooled around with an old blues number, and the resultant blend of C&W and blues became one of the dominant sounds of rock and roll. Elvis was just the tip of the iceberg though—Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash all had blues influences in their early hit singles as well. The "rockabilly" sound became watered down and all but disappeared from the scene when psychedelia moved in, and bands pushed their heads and equipment to their most outer reaches.

Very close to 15 years after Elvis broke the barriers, some other down-home boys began reshaping music; a jam session took place in Jacksonville and the Allman Brothers Band was born. Their early material was basically blues-rock (mush-room-laced, of course), but they'd all grown up on C&W as well; Gregg Allman recalled learning a lot from songwriter John D. Loudermilk. The band was just spacey enough in style and material to satisfy the heads, the double drums kept a beat going that could penetrate any Quaalude haze—and the double-lead-guitar harmony lines of Duane Allman and Richard Betts were innovative and exciting.

Duane and Richard balanced each other perfectly; their unison lines sounded as if four hands were connected to one brain. When they traded choruses on the long jams like "Elizabeth Reed" and "Mountain Jam," their two different styles and sounds gave the band a wide musical and emotional range to work in. Duane's choruses were usually the more intense, his sound darting and searing, his slide work going into unearthly realms—he played like a man possessed. Richard's choruses were usually a bit more mellow and reflective—he sweetened Duane's sting. Where Duane burned, Richard glowed. Which makes sense if you dig their influences: Duane listed Robert Johnson and early Miles Davis; Richard liked Jimmie ("the Singing Brakeman") Rodgers and blues songster Blind Willie McTell. Duane came from a recent background of studio sessionwork with many soul artists; Richard had grown up more with C&W than blues. Within one band, the two musical strains were again interacting. Although the Allmans didn't gain their widest popularity until after Duane's death, the early dual-guitar band tours and albums influenced a lot of people; it's not hard to think of several popular groups today who owe a hell of a debt to the Allmans. While the band, as it now exists, is still one of the best in the land, it's not quite the same; peaks were reached in past performances that people talk about today the way older dudes recall Charlie Parker or Lester Young gigs.

Both albums are good examples of roots and developments of these two extraordinary guitar men. The second Duane Allman anthology is, like the first, a mixture of sessionwork, unreleased masters and a few tracks with the Brothers.

Sessionwork includes Aretha Franklin—for whom Duane adds some achingly tasty fills on "It Ain't Fair," one of the purest blues numbers she recorded. Duane's slide is strong on King Curtis's "The Weight" but a bit less evident on the nonetheless superb "You Reap What You Sow," by Chicago bluesman Otis Rush. Wilson Pickett's "Born To Be Wild" uses Duane's fiery guitar as a response to Pickett's shouted vocals; the old call-and-response pattern puts the song heavily into the soul bag. On Arthur Conley's "Stuff You Gotta Watch;" Duane alternates a popping rhythmic riff with longer lines—and his soaring run on the fadeout shows why Pickett nicknamed him "Skydog." Lulu's "Dirty Old Man" is of interest mainly for Duane's almost sarcastic slide lines. Personally I wish she'd shut up so we could've heard more of him. "Push Push," by flutist Herbie Mann, is another standout track. Although Mann is backed by fine sessionmen, the cut seems just average until Duane cuts loose—and suddenly everybody is playing for keeps.

Duane's acoustic dobro playing is well represented: on Johnny Jenkins's "Walk on Gilded Splinters," Boz Scaggs's version of Jimmie Rodgers's "Waiting for a Train" and Ronnie Hawkins's fine "Don't Tell Me Your Troubles." He plays acoustic slide guitar on Delaney and Bonnie's "Come on in My Kitchen" (from a radio show gig that also included King Curtis, done not long before his death). Although Duane drew from the blues, he knew the country side as well—as the above tracks prove—and his tone is sweet and pure as a country creek.

The unreleased tracks include a couple more with vocals by Duane, from the same session that produced "Goin' Down Slow" on the previous anthology, with Berry Oakley on bass. "Happily Married Man" is a bouncy rocker — "Ain't seen my wife in two or three years/I'm a happily married man," Duane gloats. And even though the middle guitar break was never over-dubbed, it's still a killer track—and would make a nice single for somebody. Duane's humor comes through on the Chuck Berry classic, "No Money Down," as well—where Chuck was content with a powerful motor, Duane demands a color TV, nuclear reactor and psychedelic strobe. True, Duane wasn't exactly a standout singer, but both cuts are thoroughly enjoyable on communicated energy levels alone. Also included is another unheard track by Hourglass (the pre-Allmans band that Duane and Gregg worked in). It's a ballad number with soulful tinges—reminiscent in some ways of Gregg's later "Multi-Colored Lady."

The four tracks by the Allman Brothers include live versions of "Midnight Rider" and "Done Somebody Wrong" from the Fillmore sessions; the previously released but overlooked "Leave My Blues at Home" with its strangely cyclic and opposing bass and guitar lines; and another featuring Duane on vocal, "Dimples."

The latter was recorded at a gig in Ohio in 1970 and is a good example of the old band. After a false finish, Duane takes a couple of smoking and screaming choruses, then Richard steps in, and although equally intense, adds just the right dose of mellowness — when the two come together for a final harmony line they take it all back home.

This welcome set is definitely not a scrape-the-barrel effort—it can only add more to Duane's legacy. Not only is his proficiency in several styles of playing showcased, but so is his intensity and creativity. Mourn for our loss, but dig where he flew.

After Duane's death, Richard expanded his own sound immensely; there was never a question of replacing Duane ("How could we?" they asked). A fine blues picker and good slideman as well, Betts had country tastes too — as "Blue Sky" and "Ramblin' Man" both showed. On Highway Call, his first solo effort, Betts goes even deeper into that facet of his style.

Backed by fine musicians, including John Hughey on pedal steel, Vassar Clements on fiddle and Brother Chuck Leavell on piano, Richard has turned out a mellow and mainly peaceful album (not in the sense of "too-far-laid-back"; rather it's the music of a man at ease with himself, doing what he loves best).

"Long Time Gone" is another highway song with fine steel work and nice trademark Betts guitar lopes. "Rain" is lyrically mournful, but still more of an up than down; Betts's guitar dances like summer raindrops in the dust. "Highway Call" is a slow nostalgic look at days and places left behind. Fine moody piano by Leavell here, and a fade that floats as melancholy as that last glimpse in a rear-view mirror. "Let Nature Sing" is just that—aided by the Poindexters string band and gospel singers, the Rambos, Betts puts together another appreciation of country surroundings—and even includes some Georgia birds on the track.

The second side is totally instrumental. In the Bob Wills-Texas Playboys tradition, "Hand Picked" is countryjazz. On the 14-minute track Betts defers strongly to Hughey and Clements—he's in the role of host here, not superstar in control. The opening theme has nice guitar/fiddle harmony. Then everybody gets a few choruses—Hughey pops some staccato runs that dazzle, Leavell ripples and Clements twists and surprises. Eventually it gets down to short-bar trade-offs — and there comes an amazing Betts/Clements exchange where Vassar is on Richard like an ESP shadow. The theme again to close, and one of the tastiest jams heard in some time ends.

"Kissimmee Kid" is the only non-Betts track on the album; it's a riff of Clements which gets a nice workout by all—again strong guitar/fiddle harmonies.

Not really a spectacular album but one full of fine music that grows on, rather than off, you. A lot of people seem to be jumping on the country bandwagon, but Betts isn't one of them—he's just gone back to where he came from and produced a set that's not only honest and sincere but highly enjoyable. It's good for both head and feet.

The Allman Brothers Band still exists and continues to play their mix of blues-country, jazz and ballads. The breeze that began with them down South is a wind growing stronger. Duane and Richard together and separately have not only expanded the dimensions of what people call rock but produced a lot of enjoyment too—as both these albums testify. (RS 171)

TONY GLOVER