Many, many people call me a classic rock savant. I’m an “international icon” on TouchTunes. Because I own more CDs than Best Buy ever sold I single-handedly turned the compact disc into a popular music format. I constantly get asked to rank the best rock bands and songs and guitar players and albums of all time, so my opinion and judgment on these matters is, well, kind of a big deal.
I was never into Tom Petty. I didn’t like his songs, I’d change the station when one came on. His voice kinda droned on in my head and I thought all of my peers who liked him were posers. I never saw him in concert and didn’t own any of his albums.
The music of the Allman Brothers Band has always given us a bluesy something to jam to, a level of musicianship and Southern song mastery that can only be a gift from the gods. And in his final days, as his body surrendered to liver cancer, as old age and the road and the bottle took everything but his voice, Gregg Allman – the sensei of the Allman Brothers Band – gave us one final gift, ten songs on an album called Southern Blood.