On Thursday, October 20, 1977, just three days after the release of Street Survivors, and five shows into their most successful headlining tour to date, Lynyrd Skynyrd's chartered Convair 240 ran out of fuel near the end of their flight from Greenville, South Carolina, where they had just performed at the Greenville Memorial Auditorium, to LSU in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Though the pilots attempted an emergency landing on a small airstrip, the plane crashed in a forest in Gillsburg, Mississippi. Ronnie Van Zant, Steve Gaines, Cassie Gaines, assistant road manager Dean Kilpatrick, pilot Walter McCreary and co-pilot William Gray were all killed on impact. Although Don Mclean might have a different opinion on this one, I put it to you that October 20, 1977, was in fact the day the music died.
My quest for some sort of roll and roll relief has been ever-lasting since I first listened to 'Born To Run' when I was 16. The lawless musical fairytale that the likes of the Bad Company, Creedence and The Stones embarked on painted a fantasy world of drugs, women and a reckless lifestyle that seems savagely beautiful to me.
It was a community in which prejudices were left at the door. Just chill the fuck out and enjoy the ride. There were no labels, no image conscious preconceptions and judgemental style obsessed individuals. I didn't matter if you were cooler than the next person or knew some gutter-electro Dalston outfit whose supposedly revolutionary audio-trash was a break through. It was simple.
While Gram Parsons was wandering around snorting everything in sight and Joni Mitchell was fucking either Crosby, Stills or Nash something was brewing in Jacksonville, Florida.
It was in the summer of 1964 that teenage friends Ronnie Van Zant, Allen Collins, and Gary Rossington, formed the band "The Noble Five", which then changed in 1965 to "My Backyard", when Larry Junstrom and Bob Burns joined in Jacksonville, Florida. In 1970, roadie Billy Powell became the keyboardist for the band, and Van Zant sought a new name. "One Percent" and "The Noble Five" were each considered before the group settled on Leonard Skinnerd, a mocking tribute to a physical-education teacher at Robert E. Lee High School, Leonard Skinner who was notorious for strictly enforcing the school's policy against boys having long hair. The more distinctive spelling was adopted before they released their first album.
After performing in the South throughout the opening years of the 70s the patriotic, country bred, outlaws began to make a name for themselves. In 1972 the band was discovered by musician, songwriter, and producer Al Kooper of Blood, Sweat, and Tears, who had attended one of their shows at a club in Atlanta. They changed the spelling of their name to "Lynyrd Skynyrd", and Kooper signed them to MCA Records, producing their first album the following year "Pronounced Leh-nerd Skin-nerd".
The plane crash was a tragedy, that much is true. A mournful day that will forever be in the hearts of Synyrd fans, but other than the loss of one of America's greatest bands, the world lost a soulful, charismatic and undeniably talented young song writer - Mr Ronnie Van Zant.
Sadly I feel that Van Zant's capabilities have been sodomised by the over-playing of 'Sweet Home Alabama'. Don't get me wrong, it's a fantastic statement of Southern political ideologies that's far from the racist Confederate anthem people think. It demonstrates Van Zant's acceptance and understanding of people's opinions but it also exudes a considerable level of whit and intelligence at the state of corruption and deceit in a nation at war with its enemies and itself - with Van Zant remaining calm and comfortable in his whiskey world of brawling, boozing and playing music.
But for such a talented and straight talking fella there are other songs of pure brilliance that we need to pay recognition to. And these are the types of songs that define everything that is totally fucking awesome about what you might call 'old' or 'classic' rock'n'roll. They’re songs of pride from an experienced mind. A man whose been beaten and to hell and back, drunk more uncle Jack in a week than you will in your entire life and punched anyone who needed a good ol’ whack.
Ronnie Van Zant lived rock and roll, he breathed the very essence that thousands spend their entire life trying to harness, but this was different, it was natural. His band didn't know boundaries or behaviour, they did what they want, when they wanted.
'Simple Man' is an astute and tender country-rock picking that deserves some sort of fucking award! Van Zant's voice is at its peak of growly Southerness as it resinates sencerity whilst scaling the various Les Paul's that poetically brawl on the songs chours. Despite being this god-like frontman, this is Van Zant’s carving of being grounded - a man who's happiest without the frills and flirtations of glamour and money. (The video below is the most face-melting performance you will see for a long time. Not just for Ronnie, the whole band prove to be an untouchable force of nature)
Continuing the country theme with a little less rock this time is 'Made In The Shade'. A waltz-y ditty complete with harmonica, its two-step dust bowl characteristics bop and weave like a chase from a black and white movie while 'Am I loosin'' sees Van Zant's soft-spoken modesty reach new moral peaks as he ponders success and hometown friendships. 'It's so strange, when you get just a little money, your so called friends want to act a little funny', he sings whilst confirming he's the same rough'n'ready country baller he's always been.
Home town pride continues in 'The Ballad Of Curtis Loew' which sees Van Zant pay homage to his Southern natives whose blue-grass, knee-slapping musical legacy will never be forgotten. Banjos in the shade and impromptu porch jams are the mystical breeding grounds of these dungaree clad veterans, and 'All I Can Do Is Write About It' aluminates the darkest corners of depression in which Van Zant's writing scales new summits of outstanding ability.
Humble rock stars are a certain rarity. Being grounded during times of excess is no easy task, the temptations that flutter carelessly in your face can be yours for a small price, but Skynyrd didn’t conform to this. Sure they enjoyed their narcotics, but when in Rome…
To say that Van Zant is on a par with Springsteen is a dangerous statement. But as with all great art in the world, you sometimes have to look deeper than the obvious. If everything was as easy as a greatest hits record there would be no surprises, and I think in the case of genius, it’s the elusive search that makes this journey worth while.
So dig deep into the dirty, debauched past of Skynyrd and you’ll find something untouched and unblemished. It might take time, it might not, but it’s a worthwhile expedition of dreamy fucked up rock’n’roll desire. Michael who? Rest In Peace Ronnie.
No comments:
Post a Comment