Unlike several archival releases from the Allman Brothers Band, Manley Field House, Syracuse University, April 7, 1972 carries more than just superficial attraction(s). The production and packaging are virtually equal to the musicianship.
And that’s no small compliment considering the rarity of this appearance. Originally recorded in its entirety for both audio and video broadcast, it is one of the few performances offered by the surviving five members of the seminal Southern rockers in the wake of founding member/leader Duane Allman’s death the prior autumn.
Surprisingly, then, Manley Field House has only one precedent in terms of exhumations from the ABB vault too. Macon City Auditorium 2/11/72, originally issued in 2004, is a comparably fiery piece of work. On this Syracuse University date, however, the quintet displays a growth in confidence and unity that recalls their collective incremental progression that occurred following the famous recordings At Fillmore East in March of the previous year (see 2016’s exhumation from the vault Live from A&R Studios, recorded on August 26, 1971).
Dickey Betts’ slide guitar work is the most obvious instance, if for no other reason than those distinctive sounds are so prominent on the group’s now well-established opener “Statesboro Blues.” Skydog’s former guitar partner doesn’t flash the braggadocio of the late elder Allman sibling, but he is as fluent as he is precise there and on “Done Somebody Wrong.” Both cuts stand in some contrast to Betts’ more deliberate ornamentation from “Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More.”
The latter selection is the only cull in the setlist from the Eat A Peach album released just two months before this date. Nevertheless, its inclusion points up another notable reason for the surviving Brothers’ close to ninety concerts during the year: they had a new album to promote.
This pragmatic take pales next to the process of grieving their fallen comrade, of course, but it would provide some additional healthy distance for the fivesome to draw upon. And that’s quite apart from feeling buoyed by the immediate commercial success of the double album.
The markedly altered ABB had multiple motivation(s) to draw upon in continuing to play live. These proud musicians wanted to prove themselves viable on their terms, both to the public and themselves. In that regard, bassist Berry Oakley stands as the standard bearer of that attitude with the propulsive playing that comes close to dominating “One Way Out;” in a very real way, he was forging an instrumental partnership with Betts similar to the one between the two original guitarists.
It’s thus more than appropriate Oakley and Betts are pictured almost head to head on the black and white cover of this two CD set. But with their positioning in the photo (courtesy of Griffin and Neil Grasso), part of an understated but carefully detailed package design by Terry Bradley, the graphic also finds them framed by drummers Jaimoe and Butch Trucks; it’s a perspective that not only reaffirms how integral are the percussion duo to this band,it mirrors the overall strengths of the Allman Brothers Band that remained in the wake of Duane’s death.
And it’s little wonder the two partners in rhythm distinguish themselves as fully as they do on the slow blues of “Stormy Monday:” (as well as their truncated break on the emphatic drama of the closer “‘Hot ‘Lanta”). Or that it’s here too that Gregg Allman, in making the former T-Bone Walker song his own, distinguishes himself (yet again) as an extraordinarily soulful vocalist.
With the depth and vigor of his Hammond B3 organ solo on that cut, the younger Allman Brother also reaffirms his skill as a keyboardist. Such is the somewhat unsung breadth of his talent in that respect, he also shines on electric piano elsewhere, maintaining a supportive role in the lineup even without taking extended solos (and foreshadowing the lighter, brighter sound of the group circa 1973’s Brothers and Sisters.
Gregg’s contributions in that regard are all the more noticeable because of the fidelity of this audio mix. Recorded on location by the school’s concert committee chair Jeff Chard–who also contributes a matter-of-fact yet heartfelt essay on the inside sleeve–the sound as mastered by Jason NeSmith does lack some immediacy, but the individual instruments are generally well-defined throughout. And, apart from some very minor sonic fluctuations in the form of a few quick dropouts, the sound matches the intensity of the playing (an occasional booming of bass may be Oakley’s drive as much as the mix).
As a result, the visceral impact of the recording reflects that of the musicianship verity all the more notable as the ten tracks including an impromptu instrumental interval titled “Syracuse Jam” in addition to the familiar likes of “You Don’t Love Me” and “Whipping Post” (in all its foreboding majesty). Stretching out on those aforementioned two numbers approximately fifteen and twenty minutes respectively, the ABB brandishes the uncanny improvisational savvy the ensemble had so assiduously honed in the first two years of their existence.
The range and power of their imagination render fresh an otherwise familiar array of covers and originals such as Betts’ signature instrumental “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed.” In fact, over the near one-hundred minutes that is Manley Field House Syracuse University on April 7, 1972, these five men do justice to the subsequently legendary Allman Brothers Band past, while simultaneously hinting at the resilience that would stand them in good stead through a tumultuous career extending until retirement in 2014.
Along those same lines, the curating team for this release, including co-supervisor Bill Levenson (who’s worked on many similar projects), plus regular mainstays John Lynskey and Kirk West, have also done themselves and this iconic band proud. This two-CD set is on par with (and actually superior to) other select titles credited to different personnel lineups.
Manley Field House Syracuse University April 7, 1972 is thus an essential entry in the ABB discography, and at the same time, an indispensable missing link in the history of the increasingly influential blues-rock ensemble.
