Chicapah No sophomore jinx for these guys. Ten and a half months after the release of their attractive debut The Allman Brothers Band put this gem in the store bins and in many ways I consider it to be their best studio album of all. Obviously they wanted to continue to roll with the ground-swell momentum their initial LP had generated and take advantage of the favorable audience response they’d received while touring it so they went back to the laboratory as soon as they could. Their bolstered confidence and giddy enthusiasm is what really distinguishes this record from their others. The fact that they laid down the tracks for “Idlewild South” in Macon and Miami instead of New York probably contributed greatly to their disposition, too. Gregg Allman and Dickey Betts both showed marked improvement in their writing skills and, in most cases, the group is more cohesive, functioning as a fine-tuned engine that’s been broken in properly by getting some miles on its odometer. The first album turned heads by showing the band’s vast potential and this excellent follow up was the fulfillment of that promise.

On Betts’ “Revival” what starts with rollicking coffee house acoustic guitar strumming quickly morphs into a melodic yet complex instrumental segment containing interesting time signature changes and fascinating dual harmony guitar lines. The 2nd half of the song is a natural-born, hand-clappin’ crowd-pleaser that drew folks in and energized their concerts with its hippie hangover “people can you feel it?/love is everywhere” refrain. Every budding group trying to recruit a following knows the importance of having a catchy tune like this one to reinforce their noble crusade. Gregg’s “Don’t Keep Me Wonderin’” is next and it’s one of my favorite ABB numbers. Its driving funk foundation never lets up, Duane Allman’s searing slide guitar is truly electrifying throughout the track and the band’s sharp kicks are so tight they squeak. Gregg’s raspy voice cuts right through the boisterous music and I admire how they relax and let the unstoppable groove flow freely until it has run its course.

Next to their iconic “Whipping Post,” Gregg’s “Midnight Rider” and the immediate FM radio airplay it garnered did more to put them on the map of the public consciousness than any other song. It has all the ingredients a classic requires in that it owns an infectious melody line and it tells a captivating story with an economy of words. It caught on like a wildfire in dry brush and cemented their place as a group to be reckoned with. If The Band had hailed from the Deep South this is undoubtedly the kind of tune they would’ve produced and that’s a compliment. Side one ends with Dickey’s amazing “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed.” This is jazz music sprouting from wholly different soil in that its blending of a myriad of influences creates a unique species of that genre previously undiscovered. I daresay that if it’d been two saxophones carrying the heavy load instead of a duo of electric guitars there’d be no argument as to whether this was jazz or not but that point is moot. The number’s inventive arrangement travels along various twisting alleyways before emptying out into a wide open jam where everybody shines. Betts’ liquid ride is performed almost solely within the jazzy diatonic scale, Gregg’s subdued Hammond organ lead is more than decent and Duane’s striking solo is captivating. After a short percussion break the original theme is reprised and they close with a perky finale. It’s a fine, fine way to spend seven minutes of your time.

As was their habit at that stage of their career, they take a blues standard like Willie Dixon’s “Hoochie Coochie Man” and turn it on its head with an unorthodox approach that doesn’t demean the original character of the song. Bassist Barry Oakley mans the microphone this time and, while he’s not a bad singer, he poses no threat to Gregg. There are plenty of hot licks from the guitars and the vim and vigor emanating from Butch Trucks and Jai Johanny Johanson on their respective but in-synch drum kits is invigorating but overall it’s a step down from the immaculate four cuts that preceded it. Gregg’s “Please Call Home” is a refreshing change of pace and exactly what’s needed at this juncture. Its bluesy, Ray Charles-ish R&B feel and the younger Allman’s passionate vocal make a tasty combination and they wisely keep the track simple and the groove loose. The closer is another of Gregg’s compositions, this one sporting an adventurous intertwining of Oakley’s restless bass line with a churning rhythm guitar pattern. They try to go deeper into jazz territory here but it’s noisily disjointed and fails to find a smooth road to motor on. Despite a spirited guitar duel going on between Dickey and Duane down the stretch the tune’s messy, herky-jerky atmosphere is a disappointment. They were smart to put this track last but it leaves a less than pleasant taste in one’s mouth nonetheless.

This album confirmed for many of us that this was no flash-in-the-pan outfit but an all-American fraternity of musicians we could be proud of. While “Idlewild South” out-sold their first LP it still didn’t exactly tear up the charts the way that their spectacular “Live at the Fillmore” would the following year. Yet it’s honest and sincere in a very unpretentious way that I’ve always found charming and it’s the disc I reach for when I’m in the mood for some Allman Brothers. They boldly brought a jazz mentality into a region of the country that had been shackled for decades (not to mention unfairly stereotyped to a large extent) by a stubborn allegiance to C&W, bluegrass and rockabilly that stymied musical growth. And for that alone they should be venerated. This album, warts and all, was like a breath of fresh air to cave-dwellers.