Allman Joy or Raisinettes
Phil Walden looked robust, but a little bleary-eyed, when I saw him just before the Sea Level show at Atlanta's Capri Theatre. "Been up 'til five the past two nights," he said. "Been talking with Gregg and Dickey." In the same room? Around us in Sea Level's dressing room, the band was getting ready.
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Allman Joy or Raisinettes
Sea Level
by
Tom Dupree
Phil Walden looked robust, but a little bleary-eyed, when I saw him just before the Sea Level show at Atlanta's Capri Theatre. "Been up 'til five the past two nights," he said. "Been talking with Gregg and Dickey."
In the same room?
Around us in Sea Level's dressing room, the band was getting ready. Chuck Leavell's characteristic energy and enthusiasm was coming out in playful keyboard runs; Randall Bramblett was clutching a soprano sax and guffawing as he discussed the pro wrestling circuit; Davis Causey chorded idly on his guitar; Lamar Williams studied his bass fretboard intently; Jimmy Nalls was back-slapping and yukking with friends; George Weaver lounged in his chair and steeled himself for the show. Phil watched all this for a second and said, "They're talking about getting back together again." What, Allman and Betts? Phil waved his drink hand in a circle. "Everybody."
"Gregg's... looking to get the Brothers back together. Chuck Leavell"
We were looking at what many people perceived to be the real remnants of the point of view called the Allman Brothers Band. Indeed, Sea Level was formed out of experimental road jams on Allman tours. As Chuck Leavell remembered, "Jaimoe actually put it together. Back when the Brothers were happening, he'd call me and Lamar up and say, 'Let's go play, man.' We'd call the hotel desk and ask 'em if they had an extra room. They'd give us a ballroom or something; we'd get the dressing room warmup rig and set it up in there. That's when the sound started developing."
Their first album ran the gamut of serious work by journeyman Southern musicians. It presented complex instrumental flights backed with nonsense songs like "Shake A Leg" (the band says "laig," as in drummer George Weaver's still-developing surefire hit single, "Hey Baby, Gimme Some Laig"). It was good, and it felt good to the players.
"I was frustrated," Leavell said. "I didn't know what to do. Had the Brothers stayed together and continued on the schedule they were on, it would have gotten worse, because we just didn't work very much. We made a lot of money and played big places and did an album a year, but there wasn't that much music involved. It was good when it went down; I'm not putting it down. It was a great band. We had a lot of fun. But it wasn't work for me; I was thinking hard about doing a solo album, but as it happened, Sea Level came along. On the first album, I was able to express myself much more than I had in any other band—at least on that scale."
The ballroom band which blossomed into Sea Level was formed out of the free-form side of the Allmans' consciousness. "In the early days, when it was a trio and we would jam, it was just outrageous," Chuck remembered. "We'd have a note—not even a chord—and we'd say, 'let's go,' and just jam. Just playing anything that came into our minds." Not only was the difference in musical emphasis a release, but the very smallness of the project made it tremendous fun. With the addition of guitarist Jimmy Nalls to the Leavell-Williams-Johanson triumvirate, the band became official when the Allmans split up. Stewart Levine, the guy who produced all those great Crusaders records, was brought in to produce.
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People were gawking at the Allmans connection for a long time, and the band views it philosophically enough to include a wonderful version of "Hot 'Lanta" in their show (which gives way to a piano arrangement of "Little Martha" during Chuck's ethereal solo), and to do something like "Statesboro Blues" if they're feeling good at encore time.
But as the band was shaking off Allmans ghosts slowly but surely, a second phase was developing. Chuck had known Randall Bramblett from the early days of a veneral Capricorn band called Cowboy (newly reincarnated in recent months). They had also played together on the Gregg Allman orchestra tour in '73. The band needed Bramblett, a great lyric sax player who is widely in demand for sessions and a prolific writer whose tendency to produce vocal songs perfectly matched Chuck's propensity for .instrumental epics.
Randall lives in Athens, Georgia, the town which houses the University of Georgia, and has paid his dooz in gonzo bar engagements. During the psychedelic days, he led the house band at an Athens joint called Between The Hedges, a band that played anything scuzzy and changed its name each night (my favorite Bramblett billing is "Mad Dog Milton And The Laughing Disaster"). He is a certified teevee wrestling aficianado ("It's sort of an American ballet") who included a reference to king-dog wrestler Dusty Rhodes, "the American Dream," in a song on the new album. He does the South's greatest impression of Tennessee Williams.
Randall brought another Athenian, Davis Causey, to the band: another survivor of the bar wars. Now, Causey's tradeoffs with Nalls areamong the high theatrical points of the Sea Level show. Soon after, Jaimoe urged the group to audition a new drummer, George Weaver, a man who had drummed behind Isaac Hayes, James Brown, Tyrone Davis, and Otis Reading. This new band made Sea Level's second alburn, Cats On The Coast.
"Now, the band has spread out a lot more," said Lea veil. "The variety of ideas coming in on any tune is sp great, that just practicing with these people is a pleasure"' And this is the band that tours today, occasionally minus. Jaimoe, who "plays' with us when he wants to."
And this is the point at which we find Sea Level when Gregg and Dickey sit down to talk. There are still volatile feelings passing back and forth. For example, Scooter Herring, at whose trial Gregg testified, is Sea Level's extremely congenial road manager. Willie Perkins, another Allmans veteran, is guiding the band's career. And even Chuck Leavell's face turns serious when you ask him what he thinks about what Phil said.
. "Gregg's looking to do other things with his career, and now he's looking to get the Brothers back together. To me, that's something that might happen at some point up the road a piece. I can tell you this: right now, it would be impossible. There's no way. Different people are into it, different people aren't. If it does happen"—and here his eyes harden—"it better be right. If everybody's into it, and their attitude is right, and they have good songs, and their chops are good, someday up the road—yeah, I'll do it. Otherwise, I'm with guys that I look up to and who inspire me, so I ain't worried about it."
The current band is good, and it's happy. The possibility of an Allman revival would mean a radical shift in musical emphasis: back to the big halls. As Willie Perkins says, "This band can be financially successful and not play skating rinks. A lot of times, when I listen to the band and think about Madison Square Garden, it just doesn't compute.it's not that kind of music."
"We did a tour with a couple of bands in that situation," Leavell said. "We were opening for bands that play in big places. And all of a sudden, something strange started to happen. As we tried to please those huge numbers of people, we started sounding like a boogie band all the time. It scared us. It affects you. Now, it's finally to the point where people are coming to hear us. They know stuff like 'Rain In Spain,' 'Midnight Pass,' 'Every Little Thing'— they're songs that people can finally identify with. It feels good, man."
"We want to develop a style," said Randall Bramblett. "That's what we're searching for. It takes a while of playing together for something to congeal, and I feel a little schizoid sometimes, playing the different things we do."
"Not that you'd want to sound the same," Chuck said, "but when people hear the first part of a song, they should be able to tell that's Sea Level playing. While we're developing a group voice, we want to remain open to any kind of music. That's something Jai Johnny Johanson really taught me: don't be afraid to take chances. Don't be afraid to play any kind of music; don't be afraid to fail. To me, that's what Sea Level's all about."
A swig of wine, and a grin. "And that's what'll probably keep me in this band for a good whild."