Psalm 150 and The Allman Brothers
In Defense of Rock and Roll
A friend recently lamented his attachment to rock music: “It’s a sign of my weakness. I just admit that I am a base man.” He said this as we added our favorite nineties anthems to the queue. Must we lament these attachments? The friend and I are both converts to Catholicism. In our musical preferences, are we unable to part with life before we saw the light? Did Paul leave his walkman along the road to Damascus? And must we as well?
I don’t think so, and I turn to Psalm 150 for the defense: “Praise him with sound of trumpet; praise him with psaltrey and harp. Praise him with timbres and choir. Praise him with strings and organs. Praise him on high sounding cymbals. Praise him on cymbals of Joy.” Celebratory music—potentially raucous music, music on “high sounding cymbals,” with “timbrel,” “dance,” and maybe a “joyful noise,” or “shouts,” has a place in our lives (not in our liturgies, mind you). We can lean on Aristotle and Aquinas as well and remember that if something is beautiful, it is good. If it is beautiful and does not abuse that beauty along the way.
This brings us, of course, to the Allman Brothers.
Consider “Jessica.” By the 20 second mark, the magnetic pull of the piano-led groove brings us to the brilliance of the hook, a harmony guitar part that is both demanding and catchy. Virtuosity is on display from the opening moments of this instrumental masterpiece. At the two minute mark, we get one of rock and roll’s finest piano solos. The first thirty seconds of which repeats the groove multiple times, in part establishing the musical canvas on which the solo will unfold, and in part, it seems, revving the pianist’s engine before take-off. At the three minute thirty second mark, we get another repeated rhythm before the build up to the hand-off to the guitar solos. This music is beautiful, adhering to traditions of western music and elevating the craft of the musicians to something higher. This is not to suggest that the Allman brothers believed they were writing “worship” music or even composing music “for the greater glory of God.” But they—to use the parlance of their place (Macon, Georgia) and time (1969) (and to quote another Coen Brothers film)—“could not help but do.” In revealing some of the beauty that can be wrung out of a pair of electric guitars backed by brilliant keys, a solid bass and two (Two!) drum kits, the Allman Brothers created a work that honors God by being what it is—a beautiful piece of music. We cannot be bound to research the life story of every musician who has put pen to paper or bottle-slide to steel strings. Yes, the Allman Brothers were sinners—not least of which for forming a rock and roll band with two (Two!) drummers. But they have left us with “Jessica,” a beautiful composition built on a foundation of western music tradition going back to the Dies Irae.
Next queue up “Little Martha.” Here is only one guitar, and an acoustic one at that. Again we hear an irresistible song with a catchy melody that highlights the craft of the musician at his instrument and the magic of harmony presented with the delicacy and precision of a bird alighting on a wire. Listen for the anchor of the pulse on the low string on each off-beat while the melody is established. You begin to question if there is more than one instrument being played. Thirty seconds in there is a break in that pulse for the first chorus–listen for the second time that chorus comes around when it concludes with a slight variation, two high plucked notes punctuate the end. The song concludes after only two minutes, letting a few final harmonic strums resonate off in a quiet, compelling, resolution.
“Jessica” and “Little Martha” are both instrumentals, steering clear of what can be one of the worst elements of some rock and roll music—the lyrics. Enter the Allman Brother’s blues anthem, “Whipping Post.”
The iconic opening features an aggressive guitar riff in eleven-eight time, a jarring introduction before rolling into an organ backed meditation on suffering in six-eight. In the grand tradition of the blues, the suffering comes at the hands of a woman. The love of his life has gone “off with my money, wrecked my new car,” and is now “she’s off with one of my good-time buddies, they’re drinking in some crosstown bar.” His response is not anger, but resignation. “I have to stand by and take it, babe, all for loving you. I can’t run and hide. I just sit and wonder why. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been down to the whipping post.” The lyric is punctuated with a descending line in imitation of the strikes with a scourge—concluding ultimately with an appeal to God, “Good Lord, I feel like I’m dying.” Relief is not granted, and we return to the eleven eight opening groove, a rhythm that begins again before it is over, like the waves of suffering. The song concludes with a build-up to guitar shrieks that seem to imitate the scourges and screams that follow before the final lament returns.
“Whipping Post” provides a portrait of suffering, a portrait of resignation, a portrait of love, and a musical structure to match, all while demonstrating virtuosity with the key elements of western musical structures, melody, harmony, dynamics, rhythmic variation, and recurring departure and return from a central musical idea. Simply put, the Allman Brothers have written a work of beauty, a piece of music that honors God even as it depicts suffering and calls out for His aid.
Do we need to apologize for being attached to these songs? Not at all. There are many in the rock and roll canon that can withstand this kind of scrutiny. Yes, there are also many that cannot. Our base attachments are always lurking, of course, and music—rock and roll and other genres—can abuse beauty by cultivating them. But beauty is real and good, however, and the Allman Brothers have tapped into that truth many times in their catalog. Psalm 150 even mentions cymbals twice, perhaps having two drummers isn’t that bad after all.