Lynyrd Skynyrd

Between 1973 and 1974, Al Kooper headed a small division of Mca Records called Sounds Of The South: its purpose was to scout artists who could ride the wave of the Allman Brothers Band, who were exploding commercially at the time.

Kooper was twenty-nine when he was given the assignment, but he was already a figure of great experience, with an impressive résumé: a top-tier keyboardist and multi-instrumentalist, session player for names of the caliber of Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones, founder of cult American rock bands of the Sixties such as Blues Project and Blood Sweat & Tears, jamming partner of blues guitarist Mike Bloomfield, and producer for jazz musician Don Ellis. The variety of territories he touched on says a lot about his knack for cultural mélange and the visionary nature of his projects: suffice it to recall that in Blues Project, ostensibly devoted to blues rock as the name suggests, he made use of instruments wholly unusual for the genre, such as flute and the Ondioline (a rudimentary yet highly distinctive electronic keyboard); while the horn-driven rock outfit he put together with Blood Sweat & Tears effectively represented the first fusion of jazz-rock with the traditional song format.

An unconventional mind who also made a fundamental contribution to Lynyrd Skynyrd's debut album. Formed in Jacksonville, a Florida city symbolic of segregationism, the band was made up of hotheads full of energy and impetuousness, undoubtedly skilled instrumentalists, but in need of someone able to channel their creative flow. The meeting with Kooper couldn't have been more fitting.

The members of Lynyrd Skynyrd – for details on the name and the band's prehistory, see the monograph already featured on OndaRock – had been at it for quite a while by then, often changing the lineup and name of their project. By the time they got to recording this debut album, after Kooper discovered them playing in a club, they still hadn't settled into a fixed lineup: there were Ronnie Van Zandt (vocals), Gary Rossington (guitars), Allen Collins (guitars) and Bob Burns (drums), but guitarist/bassist Ed King and pianist Billy Powell were still missing.

King had been a guitarist in the Californian band Strawberry Alarm Clock, a group that enjoyed a hugely successful year during the psychedelic era, but which had split up in 1971, by then forgotten by the record industry. Having met an embryonic version of Lynyrd Skynyrd during a tour of Florida, he had stayed in touch with Van Zandt. He therefore gladly accepted the invitation to join the lineup as bassist, replacing the departing Leon Wilkeson, who at that moment seemed to prefer the security of a paycheck as an ice-cream vendor over an uncertain future as a rock star.

Once the album sessions were over, Van Zandt nevertheless managed to bring the original bassist back into the fold, so as to position King as a third guitarist. By the time the cover photo was taken, Wilkeson was therefore back in the band: for this reason it was decided he could appear in it, despite his effective absence from the album's grooves.

Before going any further, it's important to clear up a fairly widespread misconception: Lynyrd Skynyrd were not, as is often claimed, among the pioneers of southern rock. In fact, looking at the genre's best-known names, revivalists aside, they were actually among the last to arrive: Charlie Daniels, the Marshall Tucker Band, Little Feat, ZZ Top and Black Oak Arkansas all debuted before them. And yet, even arriving four years after the genre's birth – conventionally dated to the Allman Brothers' 1969 debut – Lynyrd Skynyrd still managed to leave their mark on its history. Because in the end, it's not just when you arrive that matters, but how.

The differences with their predecessors were obvious: the Allman Brothers drew on jazz and gospel influences (among other things, but those were what set them apart most from the rest of the pack), Charlie Daniels made room for bluegrass and fiddle, the Marshall Tucker Band had a vaguely poetic streak distantly related to European progressive rock, while ZZ Top played a boogie rock with lean, stripped-down arrangements. A surprisingly varied scene, one that reveals a creative environment far removed from the stereotype of an insular, provincial South.

Within this collage of different takes on the genre, Lynyrd Skynyrd's approach landed like an explosion: none of the aforementioned bands could boast a sound as violent – at least not before Lynyrd Skynyrd pushed the genre's boundaries right up against hard rock.

Their stylistic blend essentially came down to two genres: country rock and blues. While the former they'd picked up on home turf (not only from the Allman Brothers – Van Zandt was in fact an admirer of Neil Young himself, despite the long-distance sparring that would later arise between the two), the latter had reached them filtered through British bands. In that strange game whereby young Americans learn the blues from the British rather than from the old American masters, Lynyrd Skynyrd followed in the footsteps of the Rolling Stones, Yardbirds and Led Zeppelin. As a result, southern rock suddenly became far harder-edged than it had ever been before.

Two factors, however, kept their music from tipping too far toward muscle at the expense of brains: Al Kooper's presence behind the mixing desk, and the last-minute addition of a new member.

Billy Powell was their guitar technician who, inspired by the run-throughs of "Free Bird" – with no idea yet of the anthem it would become – suggested he could play a piano introduction on it. The others liked the idea so much they brought him into the band on the spot. His well-rounded style, capable of both neoclassical elegance and rustic dixieland flourishes, added depth to the band's palette.

As many as four songs on the album have gone on to become rock classics, not just southern rock classics: not bad at all for a debut album.

Two are towering ballads that showcase the band's dual soul: one, "Tuesday's Gone," steeped in country, the other, "Simple Man," an intense slab of blues rock. The instrumental break in "Tuesday's Gone" says a great deal about the level of studio polish at work, with Powell's delicate piano runs framed by King's effects-laden guitar – the one track on which he isn't on bass, that role left to Kooper himself. The producer also plays Mellotron, mimicking the sound of a string section, while on drums is friend Robert Nix of the Atlanta Rhythm Section, whose take was preferred over that of full-time member Bob Burns, who had also recorded one (this remains the only track on the album without his contribution).

"Gimme Three Steps" is red-blooded hard rock, not without its percussive treats: Burns plays cowbell, joined on congas by celebrated session player Bobbye Hall.

The masterpiece, though, is "Free Bird," a song originally conceived to give Van Zandt a breather during live shows: a singer of passionate, romantic intensity, with a bluesy voice that was clean but slightly nasal (just enough to add color without becoming cloying), he was in the habit of generously giving himself over to the fans. And so, out of what seemed like a simple stage device, one of the most beloved songs in rock history was born.

The first half is a ballad, again steeped in country and blues thanks to Gary Rossington's slide guitar, while the second half belongs to Allen Collins, the song's author, who leads a frenzied charge with his repeated solos spliced together in the studio with surgical precision. The bed beneath his cascade of notes is built from Hammond organ (Kooper), electric guitars (this time in a rhythm role, played by Rossington), acoustic guitar (Collins himself) and piano (Powell). Toward the end, the arrangement breaks into a series of memorable stops and restarts, while Burns's drumming rolls out a triplet feel that mimics the chugging of a train.

The other half of the tracklist can't claim the same iconic status as those classics, but that doesn't mean it falls short musically, as shown by the syncopated "I Ain't The One" (anticipating the Black Crowes by twenty years) and "Mississippi Kid", a delta blues number with bottleneck guitar, on which Kooper amuses himself between mandolin and bass drum, while his friend Steve Katz (already alongside him in Blues Project and Blood Sweat & Tears) plays harmonica.

Released in August 1973, "(Pronounced 'Lĕh-'nérd 'Skin-'nérd)" climbed to number 67 on the Billboard chart within a few months, winning over the audience of independent radio stations but struggling to break beyond them. The following year, however, "Second Helping" would throw open the doors of the mainstream thanks to the iconic "Sweet Home Alabama". Riding that wave of success, the label reissued "Free Bird" as a single, helping push the debut album back up to number 27, a peak it reached in February 1975, a year and a half after its release. A demonstration of remarkable staying power, which goes a long way toward explaining how half that tracklist would end up lodged in the American imagination.

It was only the first step in a very long career, dense with tragedy (the notorious plane crash of October 20, 1977), political sparks (the defense of Southern values, the Confederate flag of the Army of Northern Virginia flaunted at concerts), contradictions (admiration for segregationist figures like George Wallace alongside the use of Black session musicians on their albums), and enduring commercial success that continues to this day (at the time this review is published, they boast over eleven million monthly listeners on Spotify alone). All elements of great interest, worthy of a dedicated deep dive of their own, but none of which changes one fact: no other album of theirs, not even "Second Helping", would ever match the expressive richness and innovation of this dazzling debut.

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09/08/2020