Hello readers,
This week's column veers off the usual track for "From the Publisher's Desk." Truth be told, this is more in line with what you’d typically find in “Chris' Corner” on a Wednesday, but I felt a pressing urge to share these thoughts sooner rather than later.
Thursday, the music world dimmed a little with the news of Dickey Betts’ passing. Dickey was a founding member of The Allman Brothers Band, one of the groups that quite literally forms the bedrock of my personal musical landscape.
It’s curious, isn’t it, how the departure of someone we’ve never personally met can tug at our heartstrings? Maybe it's because, through his music, Dickey Betts and the band reached deep into our lives, laying down tracks that have played on in the background of our biggest moments and quietest reflections. My music tastes, to put it mildly, are “eclectic,” ranging from the poetic charm of Cole Porter to the modern-day storytelling of Taylor Swift, and from the Delta blues of Robert Johnson to the bluegrass twangs of Ricky Skaggs. But at the core of it all? There's always been bands like The Allman Brothers.
Thinking about artists like J.J. Cale (who happens to be my favorite songwriter), The Band, Derek and the Dominos, Marshall Tucker Band, Delaney and Bonnie, and others who resonate with a similar vibe — there's a nostalgia that’s both comforting and poignant. These artists, whose prime was long before my time, have always provided a soundtrack that feels timeless. Even though the vinyls were well-worn by the time they spun under my needle, the music felt alive, as if each note played was a pulse from the past speaking directly to me.
Yet, as these musical icons gradually shuffle off this mortal coil, we're left clinging to their legacies and their records, which now must do the heavy lifting of keeping their spirits alive in our world. And it’s a strange kind of comfort to know that while they may no longer walk among us, their music always will.
The passing of Dickey Betts is a stark reminder of this. As one of the pillars of The Allman Brothers Band, his guitar riffs and songwriting not only shaped the sound of Southern rock but also became a defining part of music history. To think that the same tunes that have given so much life to our own experiences are the creations of people who, like all of us, had their own struggles and stories, makes their music all the more powerful.
Reflecting on this, I’m reminded that each note in their songs, each line in their lyrics, was a piece of their legacy, left behind for us to find solace in, to celebrate, to live alongside. And so, in honoring Dickey, we're not just remembering a musician; we’re keeping the very essence of his spirit alive every time we play their tracks.
Rest in peace, Dickey, and thank you for the music, the memories, and the magic. As we continue to listen, to reflect, and to revel in the sound you helped create, we take comfort in the words that perhaps best capture this moment of parting:
“Lord, I was born a ramblin' man, trying to make a living and doing the best I can.”
And isn't that just a little bit of all of us in those lyrics? Here’s to the music that plays on, long after its creators have left the stage.
