In Memory of Gregg Allman

A voice that told the stories of billions of ghosts, all with broken hearts.

A voice that sounded like it was incredibly present and yet one hundred years old.

A voice that commanded your attention and never ever let you have it back.

A voice that could soothe your soul and break your heart to smithereens.

A voice that warned that no one would catch the Midnight Rider, and there was never a question as to who that rider was, and that in fact, he would continue to elude any in his path.

A voice that made you fall in love, drink with shame, behave recklessly, ask for forgiveness and knew, it would come in its own time.

A voice that merged Duane’s slide work into a tapestry never to be woven again.

A voice that always weathered the storm, and gave a middle digit salute to the lightning.

A voice that clung to the air like syrup to Georgia Peaches.

A voice that NEVER forgot he was a Southern Man, and never let YOU forget it either.

A voice that begged for redemption and was granted it, despite dancing effortlessly with the devil.

A voice so intensely addictive, it might as well have been a fully cooked shot of brown.

A voice that ALWAYS sounded better live than on any recording.

A voice so sublime, you almost forgot, he was equally as badass a keyboardist and a damn fine acoustic guitarist.

A voice so intense, you almost forgot he was also the writer of the songs he’d break your heart singing again and again.

A voice that has inspired everyone since.

RIP Gregg Allman. You said it yourself, that you were no angel, but to the stars you will fly.