POP MUSIC REVIEWS : Dazzling Allmans Recapture Glory Days

In 1991, the state of the art guitar band is . . . the same as it was in 1971.

Well, not exactly the same.

Over the past 20 years, the Allman Brothers Band has been depleted by death, torn by internal discord and tested by struggles with drugs and alcohol. But the four surviving founders were still standing together Friday night at the Pacific Amphitheatre, and along with three relative newcomers, they put on one of the finest concerts of the year.

For the first 90 minutes of their 2 1/2-hour show, the Allman Brothers were good, very good. Mixing longtime staples of their repertoire with solid material from their new album, “Shades of Two Worlds,” they proved that they were once more in command of the style that made them a great band around the time of their 1971 masterpiece, “The Allman Brothers Band at Fillmore East.”

It was a varied, accomplished sequence. There were straight blues numbers, featuring Gregg Allman’s distinctive husk, lilting tunes like Dickey Betts’ “Blue Sky,” a jazzy Charlie Parker tribute, “Kind of Bird,” as well as a couple of stormy pieces from the new album, “End of the Line” and “Nobody Knows.”

A 20-minute sit-down folk-blues set was a highlight, with Betts and his guitar sidekick, Warren Haynes, showing that the deft, interactive work they’d been doing with their highly amped Les Pauls could translate into an acoustic setting. Robert Johnson’s “Come On in My Kitchen” received an unusual reworking, with a bit of a ragtime-blues bounce. “Midnight Rider” featured some of Allman’s best singing, while the segment-ending “Going Down the Road Feelin’ Bad” showcased excellent ensemble vocals from Allman, Betts and Haynes. Ensemble singing isn’t something one normally thinks of as an Allman Brothers forte, but thanks to Haynes’ clear, high harmonies, they were able to muster a good vocal blend.

All fine stuff--but then came that last hour, when the Allman Brothers turned the concert into a breathtaking ride across the undulating landscape of several of their classic instrumental pieces. Helping to color the mood during the excursions was a well-wrought ‘60s-style liquid light display that played on a screen behind the band through most of the concert.

Earlier in the show, the ’91 edition of the Allman Brothers Band had proven itself a worthy successor to that lofty, 1971 incarnation. But in the last hour, it seemed to have recaptured that past completely. Or, more accurately, it had tapped into the inspiration of the band’s finest era (when guitarist Duane Allman and bassist Berry Oakley were still alive), and brought it hurtling into the present with music that was no mere replica, but a living, spontaneous revelation.

A 23-minute “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” was a journey in itself, an array of changing vistas that never grew dull--not even the nine-minute percussion break, which featured a kinetic solo by Butch Trucks, followed by a long, Zen-like solo by Jaimoe (he of the Mr. T coiffure and musculature). Jaimoe’s workout risked tedium with its finely calibrated dynamic variations but instead proved satisfyingly hypnotic.

The encore offered more of the same--only better. “Jessica” and “Mountain Jam” were bound together in a 17-minute piece in which Betts and Haynes reached a wondrous state of mutual attunement. The two were a locked-in pair, trading solos with probing intensity and adventurous reach, or riding in tandem through harmony passages of alternating power and sweetness. Betts, one of the most underrated guitar players in rock, was astounding in the song’s concluding passage, first playing wispy, spiritually charged strains that floated toward the ether, then pounding out a powerful, regal finale.

That should have proved unmatchable, but Betts and Haynes did it again during the concluding “Whipping Post,” moving in sync through tension-and-release variations that always circled back to the song’s driving core riff.

When Gregg Allman ended by singing the familiar “Whipping Post” refrain, “sometimes I feel like I’m dying,” it almost felt like a mistake. After spending an hour in a special, perfect zone with his band and 5,000 or so lucky onlookers, he should have changed it to “sometimes I feel like I’m flying.”

Little Feat must have left its sailing shoes at home.

Like their contemporaries in the Allman Brothers, Little Feat band members were ‘70s rock innovators who regrouped a few years ago after a long layoff. But this edition of Little Feat only occasionally cooked up the spicy, chunky, Southern-funk simmer that is the band’s signature sound. The performances were reasonably tasty on a few of the newer songs, “That’s Her, She’s Mine” and “Spider’s Blues,” and the quicker-paced “Texas Twister.”

Paul Barrere, Craig Fuller and Bill Payne took turns on lead vocals, but each failed to establish a commanding presence. Most of Little Feat’s older songs received perfunctory treatment during the hourlong set, especially the eloquent trucker’s ballad, “Willin.”’ Fuller kissed it off jokingly with some operatic warbling and a yuk-it-up imitation of Johnny Cash’s grimmest man-in-black intonations. Though still able, Little Feat on this occasion wasn’t nearly willin’ enough.