Warren Haynes was once the new guy. Back in the summer of ‘89, the Allman Brothers Band reunited after seven years for their 20th anniversary. They put out the Dreams box set and went on tour. My father and I went to the show at Jones Beach and couldn’t believe how incredible their new guitarist was. In fact, he seemed to take the entire amphitheatre by surprise.
Back then, you couldn’t preview performances on YouTube. Information was minimal, as social media didn’t exist. Life had more of an air of stealth to it. Plus, the Allmans were not as popular as they are now, so there wasn’t much hype about the tour. Even the Doobie Brothers reunion that year got more press. But by the end of the summer, this guy few had heard of got people excited about the Allman Brothers again.
How excited? In ‘92, my friend and I went to the old Tower Records in Carle Place, Long Island to get some records signed by the band. I brought my parent’s copy of At Fillmore East. Wearing the mushroom t-shirt I got at that Jones Beach show and a goofy grin, I enthused to Haynes, “It’s a true honor to meet the biggest badass on slide guitar!” Gazing up from signing the album, the look on his face was a mixture of appreciation and just the slightest bit of deadpan amusement, like he was thinking to himself, “Is this guy for real?”
Cut to all these years later, I’m at the Beacon Theatre on New Year’s Eve, waiting for the doors to open, standing with a bunch of older, grey-haired men from Upstate with matching white baseball caps. You could immediately tell where they were from by their friendly dispositions and the Inland North accent they share with people from certain parts of the Midwest. After a few minutes, I realized these guys probably weren’t that much older than me, maybe a decade at most. It had been a long time since I was that enthusiastic 19-year-old at Tower. He still exists, albeit somewhat more seasoned.
This last evening of 2015 was a celebration led by Government Mule. They started out as a side project in ’95 by Haynes and late Allmans bassist Allen Woody. Once the ABB called it a night in 2014, the Mule became the main focus. It’s been a tradition for them to play the Beacon on the final few nights of the year.
Of course, the Beacon is probably best known for the annual Allman Brothers residency that occurred each spring for a few decades. Those shows helped attract new fans, cement their legacy, and made them as beloved as the Grateful Dead. So it was appropriate that the Mule would be playing sets devoted to the Dead, The Band and the Allmans with special guests. It was like the July ’73 (the month I was born) Summer Jam at the Watkins Glen Grand Prix Raceway with a Fairway across the street.
A few minutes after 9:00, the Mule came out with bassist Lincoln Schleifer, guitarist Steve Kimock, and back-up singers Machan Taylor and Elaine Caswell. Haynes and Kimock had experience playing in various Dead spin-off bands, so they were familiar with the material. Starting with “Watkins Glen Jam,” it featured glacial Garcia guitar, in particular from Kimock. Haynes contributed watery tones with what sounded like a Rotary speaker pedal, otherwise best known as a “Leslie.” Hendrix, Clapton, Joe Perry and many others have used it over the years. The icy, isolated, atmospheric beauty of the guitars combined with the jazzy rhythm section conjured up astronauts performing floating pirouettes on the moon. The instrumental then went right into “Bird Song.”
“Tennessee Jed” and “Bertha” followed. The latter had Kimock invoking the late Byrds guitarist Clarence White with some bucolic licks that turned the Beacon into one of those stunning ‘70s photographs of the Southwest from Stephen Shore. In the midst of the “Buick riding through Route 66 into the sun” vibe was a 30ish fat guy wearing multi-colored shades, dancing horribly with what resembled a glowing green squid tentacle rotating around his neck. His friend then joined him in the mirth and merriment, with the same slimy, shimmering green item around her collar. They looked like two people rejoicing right after the Swamp Thing had exploded on them.
What made the entire spectacle amusing was the self-satisfied smirk on the guy’s face. He actually thought he looked cool. No human being has ever looked cool doing whatever he was doing, least of all a sweaty, doughy doofus. I felt bad for the people near them, dealing with the potentially seizure-inducing, rapidly flashing lights emanating from the fat man and his friend. There’s a difference between enjoying yourself and being a pain in the ass. Hopefully, they’ll never make an appearance on my lawn.
During “Truckin’,” the crowd predictably and justifiably cheered at the line, “New York’s got the ways and means.” This included an older woman who looked like the late singer Edie Gormé. We’re used to thinking of Deadheads in a certain way, like skinny young women named “Sunshine” with stringy blonde hair and granny classes. But the reality is the Dead have been around in some form or another for five decades. We’re at the point where the audience actually does include grannies.
This portion of the show concluded with “China Cat Sunflower/I Know You Rider.” As he did throughout the set, Haynes (North) Carolinaized the Dead. The tranquil twang in his voice put some Southern hospitality into their lysergic, rural West Coast hymns. That same spirit was evident in the guitar as well, as you could hear his old mentor Dickey Betts C&W-inflected leads.
And that was the end of the Dead set. To quote a song they had performed earlier, there was “nothin’ left to do but smile, smile, smile!!!” That may sound corny, but you’d be happy too witnessing Steve Kimock and Warren Haynes do justice to one of the great American songbooks, inspiring each other to exhilarating heights. The goofy grin from my 19-year-old self was back. It seemed to be asking, “Were these guys for real?”
Matt Leinwohl