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Sunday, May 28, 2017

The Writer's Life 5/28 - One Way Out

RIP Gregg Allman, one of music's great voices, who succumbed to liver cancer after decades of substance abuse. He had received a transplant in 2010. He was the brains and heart behind the Allman Brothers Band, a group with a long history that featured bitter feuds and tragic deaths, including that of Duane Allman in a motorcycle wreck in 1971 at 24. Fortunately, all the bad will pass and the good, the music, will remain. What a soulful singer Gregg Allman was, and gifted keyboardist, and good writer. The band released eleven studio albums, 16 live discs, and 18 compilations. Allman also had nine solo albums, two of them live. The band broke big in 1971 upon the release of At Fillmore East. For the longest time, it seemed the only live recording of a rock band worth listening to repeatedly. To my ear, producers failed to get the sound of live rock performances right until at least the late '80's. But that disc soared, testament to the talent of the players. The band was elected to the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame in 1995. Imagine how many amateur male guitarists have played Melissa to females of that name. How many parents have given that name to a daughter because of that beautiful song? How many garage bands have played the band's songs? How many times has Ramblin' Man been spun by radio stations? How many folks have cued Whippin' Post when feeling down in the dumps? How many have sung along to Statesboro Blues, Midnight Rider and One Way Out, trying to imitate that wonderful voice? Those who labeled the music "Southern Rock" were completely wrong. The best of the Allman Brothers Band transcends category. It is simply great music. Thank you, sir.  Here's a clip from a 1972 concert at Hofstra University. It runs 5:39: 

More proof that the NHL's 82-game regular season is largely like a pre-season: The Nashville Predators, who had the least points of the 16 teams that qualified for the playoffs, is four wins from the coveted Stanley Cup. Contrast that with the NBA, where, as expected, the Cavs and Warriors easily cruised to the finals. Remember all the complaints about the Cavs resting their stars, holding them out of games completely? That strategy seems to have worked perfectly. Still, if I paid to attend a game where uninjured stars were sidelined, I'd be pissed. In this age of 24/7, 365 litigation, I'm surprised a class action suit hasn't been filed against the league demanding partial reimbursement of ticket prices.

The floating book shop had only two patrons today, a pair of old-timers who bought in bulk. The first purchased The Dickson Baseball Dictionary by Paul Dickson and Skip McAfee, a mammoth tome, plus John LeCarre's Little Drummer Girl in hardcover, and a paperback bio of JFK published in 1964. There was only a single paragraph at the end on the assassination. The second gentleman had previously went on a buying spree and did so again, purchasing The Wheel of Fortune by Susan Howatch, three true crime pictorials, two paperback thrillers by Heather Graham, Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, and The King of Torts by John Grisham. The stuff was so heavy I was compelled to furnish each with a cloth shopping bag. Thank you, gentlemen.
Vic's Sixth novel: 
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