For many years, I held the mistaken opinion that I knew how to play the guitar. I was under the illusion that I had guitar skills. I wasn’t making a living off of it, so I couldn’t really claim the title of “guitarist,” Still, I believed I knew how to play until I heard professional solos that decorated famous songs like “Hotel California” by the Eagles, or “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix and other. Suddenly, my fingers felt clumsy, and my grip on the guitar felt wrong. I realized that I didn’t even know how to hold a guitar.
I bit the bullet and enrolled in a professional school specializing in guitar lessons only. I chose to specialize in acoustic and electric guitar. I started learning what I had chosen to run away from all my life: theory, scales, and a professional understanding of the instrument — in other words, all the gray and boring information. It was like learning a whole new language, and not the fun kind. There were moments when I wanted to chuck that guitar out the window and call it quits.
But I persevered.
Hours of homework and practice became my new norm before I could learn a song or solo I wanted. I had to earn it through sweat and sore fingers. But you know what? It was worth it. After three years of grinding away at those strings, I started to see some real improvement. During those months of study, I had the privilege of learning all the solo parts from the most famous songs, which all the guitarists in the world learned to play.
I practiced each solo for three consecutive years, many hours a day. It certainly improved my guitar skills, but much additional work was required. A few years later, I was looking to get accepted as a lead guitarist for local bands.
I started as a session guitarist (studio guitarist), playing and creating solo parts for other people’s songs. It was a start. It wasn’t long before I realized I had a long road ahead. Then came the teachers who pushed me. They introduced me to the masters of the craft and showed me what it meant to play. It was humbling. Whenever I thought I was getting somewhere, someone would show me how much further I had to go. They threw me into the deep end with complex pieces that hurt my brain.
One of those pieces was “Jessica” by the Allman Brothers. That song was like climbing Mount Everest with a broken leg. It took me weeks just to wrap my head around it and months of sweat and tears to nail it down, but it changed everything. Suddenly, I wasn’t just playing other people’s songs; I was creating my stuff, getting it out there for the world to hear.
The Allman Brothers Band inspired many bands in the southern United States and defined the Southern rock genre. The band was unique in its legendary live performances that included impressive virtuosic abilities on the part of the players.
And speaking of the Allman Brothers, I have to give a shoutout to Dickey Betts; may he rest in peace. That guy was a legend, a true guitar god. His solos were like poetry, weaving in and out of the music gracefully and precisely.
Betts’ contributions to The Allman Brothers Band forged a sonic landscape that endured through the ages. His electrifying solos serve as a testament to his unparalleled musical genius. His influence extends beyond his instrument, shaping the very fabric of rock’n’roll culture. With each riff and chord progression, Betts carved out a unique niche in the pantheon of guitar gods.
When he passed, it felt like we had lost a piece of rock ’n’ roll history. His music lit a fire in me, driving me to push harder and play better.
Betts passed away at the age of 80 after suffering from cancer and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. He was one of his generation’s most influential rock guitarists. He left behind a legacy of work that includes Jessica — named after his daughter — and the Allman Brothers’ biggest hit, Ramblin’ Man.
But his legacy lives on. I caught his son Duane and Derek Trucks tearing it up on stage not long after Dickey passed in a tribute show that brought tears to my eyes. Watching them play, it was like seeing Dickey himself up there, still shredding away like he always did. His son is carrying on the torch and keeping that spirit alive.
Those guys know how to make those guitars sing like they’re speaking to your soul. It was a tribute to Dickey, sure, but it was also a reminder of why we fell in love with music in the first place.
It reminded me why I picked up the guitar in the first place. It’s not about being the best or the fastest; it’s about pouring your heart and soul into every note. So here’s to Dickey Betts. May his music live on forever.
May we keep shredding in their honor, keeping that rock ’n’ roll flame burning bright.
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