ALLMAN BROTHERS BAND Blue Sky REACTION

Two counselors, teachers, life coaches, stay-at-home parents & music lovers from India give a, open, honest, single-take, unscripted and impromptu reaction to "ALLMAN BROTHERS BAND Blue Sky".
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[@danrieke9988]

So happy you experienced this! The greatest guitar duos of all time!

[@ericanderson8886]

Two lovely solos, the first by Duane Allman and the second by Dickey Betts. Just a wonderful song. Thanks Enoma.

[@jameshannagan4256]

And they are both incredible.

[@da324]

Two of the greatest guitar solos ever put to tape.

[@gregorylumpkin2128]

And don't forget that awesome two-guitar harmony part by Duane and Dickey leading up to the second verse. One of my all time favourite songs here.

[@everettkalafatis1005]

One of the world's perfect songs.

[@karlp712]

Awesome twin harmony guitar along with some great solos.

[@centuryrox]

My favorite song by the Allman Brothers, and in my Top 10 songs of all time! I could listen to that guitar solo over and over!

[@douglascollman7341]

Over and over -Masterpiece!!

[@LoveBandit1000]

Dickie Betts weaves his lead guitar licks straight into your soul....

[@custardflan]

My favorite Allmans song. Thanks for doing the original studio version. A roll your windows down and go for a drive on a sunny day song. I never want it to stop.

[@mrnobody9104]

Dickey Betts and Duane Allman trading kicks throughout this wonderful tune that is etched in my minds eye for eternity. Written about Betts then wife a woman by the name of Blue Sky.

[@FTG2Voge]

One of my absolute favorites.

[@MLewis6270]

A song to lift one's day and put a smile on your face. Written by Dickie Betts. The guitar solos are actually first by Duane Allman and then by Betts joining in. One of the last recordings made by the band with Duane Allman before his death in a motorcycle accident. The album Eat a Peach was issued after Allman's death. One of the greatest albums of the Southern Rock genre (which I was lucky enough to be raised on being a Southern boy).

[@AnthonyCiulla]

A beautiful piece of music and I always imagined the guitar solos were painting a picture to accompany the lyrics. You should try their song "Jessica" - its equally beautiful

[@88wildcat]

Favorite guitar solo (okay duet) ever. Second favorite song ever.

[@douglascollman7341]

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!!!

[@skydogfan4671]

I agree with you. The guitar solos in this song are arguably the best ever. Duane Allman and Dickey Betts were amazing together. Unfortunately they were together for just a few years.

[@gleffersjr6855]

The other song that they did that always reminds me of 'Blue Sky' is 'Seven Turns'. It also has Dicky Betts singing lead vocals and great harmonies as well. Thanks for the reaction!

[@mukomerobicheaux6883]

guitar duet, i love the part where it goes from one to the other.

[@edprzydatek8398]

I believe there were really 2 guitar solos playing in synchronization. Dwayne Allman and Dicky Betts. I love this song, too. Great reaction.

[@mr.goodenough3796]

Love this beautiful song. Thanks for the reaction guys and peace be with you. ✌

[@bobschenkel7921]

Allman Brothers Band, one of America's greatest exports, this song is a stellar example. Dickie and Duane one last time.

[@r0b0gam3r9]

A masterpiece

[@noelleparris9451]

Used to be one of my favorite songs. I played the album a lot in college. Terrific band 👏🏾

[@JimDorman]

The guitar solo is actually two solos. The first is by Duane Allman and the second is by Dickey Betts who wrote the song for his then wife Sandy Blue Sky. Both guitarists play in unison during the transition and at the end of the song.

[@livingangel4926]

Great song! Awesome reaction. I enjoyed it as much as you did.

[@jonthomson8392]

👍👍👍👍👍

[@richardgrassi2659]

Lovely song and reaction. Thanks, and keep up the good work!

[@coeburnett]

Dickie Betts sings this one. 1st solo is Duane Allman. super smooth!

[@samfulford5811]

Hey now. Dickie! Beautiful choice.

[@chipurBillWhite]

Huge song.

[@tomcabrera8223]

Bet you werent expecting all that great guitar soloing by dwayne and dickie.

[@elaine1413]

Allman Bothers yay. I don't know this one , but I love their mainstream tunes! Maybe more to come? Midnight Rider Whipping post... 🎶 🎵 🎸 Happy New Year 💘

[@robertbrown3064]

This is a special song for me, because it reminds me of the greatest man I ever had the privilege of knowing, my grandfather. If you have a few minutes and want to read about a much loved dead man who did a lot of good in the world, read on, because I want to tell you a story, the story of a grandpa from the eyes of his grandson. I might get a little long winded with it, so I apologize in advance for the wall of text. He was a good man, grandpa. A kind man. That's how I would describe him if I had to narrow it down to one word. After serving in the Navy, he married my grandma and settled down in the green rolling country in a big farmhouse with a wraparound porch. My little brother and I were lucky enough to spend a lot of time there growing up, I’d say almost half the weekends we were in school, and as often as we could over the summer and winter breaks. It was a bit over a 30 minute drive outside of town, out where life was slower. At a bend in the road, a long-abandoned farm implement covered with wild roses marked the driveway, the first half of which they shared with their next door neighbors. Honeysuckle, blackberries, and ivy had overgrown the fence all the way up the long drive, and sitting at the end of it was almost always grandpa’s 1972 red and white Chevy pickup. The house itself was surrounded by green grass and sprawling, stately hardwoods, with a winding creek cutting through the back yard. There was a gnarled grapevine that grew along a wire between a couple of posts out back that grandpa waged a constant war with every "critter" within 10 miles over, and deep, earthy smelling beds framed with railroad ties up front, full of colorful shrubs and flowers like gardenias and daffodils. One of the neighbors kept honeybees, so the flowers were constantly buzzing with them. Azalea bushes dotted the yard, along with a couple of dogwood and magnolia trees. The front porch was a perfect spot for a cold glass of lemonade after you’d mowed the lawn or weeded the beds, and grandma had windchimes and hummingbird feeders set up out there by the hanging bench. The oak front door was solid and heavy, with a painted sailing ship carved into the outside. Walking inside, it felt like a home, like you were welcome and loved. Everything in it had a story, from the intricate little brass steam engine displayed on the mantle to the black and white picture hanging in the hallway of grandpa and his friends when they were young, smiling and waving next to the Eiffel Tower. Their chairs were set up next to each other in the living room, his a brown leather recliner, hers a smaller red fabric one. So many things in that house he made himself, like the railings on the stairs or the kitchen cabinets. He had a little man cave off to the side with a round window, and a sign on the door that said, “Pirates ONLY!” and he used to watch old movies or The Andy Griffith Show in there and "practice" on his banjo, which even as kids we could tell he couldn't play worth a damn. (But that didn't stop him from trying!) There was an antique cash register on a side table in there, the kind that went “DING!” and he would always make a huge show of paying us quarters out of it for doing chores. The house as I remember it was always busy. They knew the mailman's name. That's just alien to my mind today. Who knows their mailman's name these days? There were family and friends coming and going all the time, especially in the summertime when he hosted the neighborhood fish fry out back. Something was always cooking in the kitchen, either for us or for the next door neighbors who were basically like family to them. It was a rare day when you couldn’t find either some homemade cookies in the jar, or a pecan or buttermilk pie on the counter. Grandma hosted bible studies and bridge games in the living room for her church friends, and grandpa liked to get his friends together for poker in the evenings, where, with reruns of “Gunsmoke” playing softly in the background, they'd crack inappropriate jokes and let us kids sneak sips of their drinks, if grandma hadn't already sent us up to bed, tut-tutting at everyone involved. And not just people, but animals. They kept a few chickens out back next to the vegetable garden, so of course when we came over we got saddled with egg duty. I vaguely remember a goat who died when I was very young, and even after that he was a foster father for dogs for many years, so there were always dogs of all kinds coming and going, despite grandma's constant insistence that they stay outside the house. (Although she loved them too!) He cared for them all, and was always sad when he had to let them go. Eventually a collie/retriever puppy named Pepper stole his heart, and he decided that he was too old for more fostering, so Pepper got to stay. She had a spot on the corner of the front porch where the sun would shine in the mornings, and grandpa liked to sit out there with her when he drank his coffee. His hands were rough, and he had a deep scar on his left index finger from when he almost lost it to a band saw. He had a patchy brown and grey beard, and was fond of scratchy flannel shirts and white pocket handkerchiefs. He wore brown shoes that smelled like old polish, a brown leather belt with a shiny brass buckle cast in the shape of an oak leaf, and he always smelled like cedar trees and tobacco. He carried a whittling knife and a lucky buckeye in his pocket, and it felt like everytime he wasn’t doing something with his hands, he was fiddling with one of them. He had this look that he'd give people, as though they were both partners in crime and planning some big heist. His bushy old-man eyebrows would wiggle and you'd see a twinkle in his eye, then he'd wink and give you a sly grin. Whenever he laughed, it was genuine. He'd cock his head to one side like he was really thinking over what was funny, then he'd throw it back and let loose this booming laugh that made everyone nearby want to laugh, too. There aren't many hearts in this world as genuinely kind and compassionate as my grandpa’s was, although he might have disagreed with me. If you did something good, he'd be the first person to point it out and appreciate it. If you did something bad, he was right there reminding you that you were better than that, because he saw the good in you. I don't have a single memory of him getting angry with me when I misbehaved, and I assure you, I did sometimes. He was one of those rare people who could ignore the tough or angry or grumpy face you tried to put on and look right down into your soul to see everything that was beautiful in it. He was madly in love with my grandma, and even near the end they used to put on a very old record and slow dance in their living room, and grandpa would ask me for pointers on his footwork as grandma laughed and told him not to make an ass of himself. "You didn't need any pointers the last time we danced, are you losing your memory, dear?" "No, darling, but sometimes I wish I was so I could fall in love with you all over again." At the dinner table, it wasn't uncommon for them to try to throw little pieces of food into each other's mouths with us sitting there watching, then giggle like school kids when they (usually) missed. Not very grandparenty at all, that last bit. Grandma is never without her Boston Baked Beans, they're her favorite candy. She had a small jar of them on the kitchen counter that she'd nibble from, and grandpa was always hiding it around the house with little hand written love letters taped to it. One time he handed me the jar with his note on it and said, "Here son, go hide this where your grandma will find it." So, being 6 years old, I immediately ran out to the shed and climbed up onto the cluttered workbench so I could reach the highest shelf, and stuffed it as far back behind all the tools and dusty boxes and jars of tacks as I could get it. Feeling rather proud of myself, I turned around to see grandpa standing in the doorway, smiling and wagging his finger at me. He loved malted milkshakes, and had a much-used drinkmaster that he made them in. It was a tradition that when we came over, grandpa would have three milkshakes ready to go. Mom or dad would drop us off and we'd charge up the front steps, hug grandma at the door and drop off our backpacks, then, usually forgetting to take our shoes off, we'd fly through the living room and around the corner into the kitchen where grandpa would throw his arms out and yell something like, "HEY, YOU HOOLIGANS! WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING IN MY HOUSE!" Then we'd all get milkshakes to kick off the visit. We were close, the three of us. He was always wanting to do things, especially going fishing. If there was nothing to do, we’d walk over to a nearby pond and cast some lines, or we’d get up early to drive out to the lake and spend the day on a small pier with a picnic basket grandma always packed full for us. He was friends with a crusty, cantankerous old charter boat captain who for some reason went by the name “Cornbread,” and we drove down to the coast a few times to charter his boat and go deep sea fishing on the gulf stream. If it wasn’t fishing, he took us camping and showed us how to make a fire, out for a day of target practice at the range, or down to the local bar with its perennial bunch of friendly regulars so he could teach us to play pool. He even took us up to the mountains to go skiing one time, although by then he was too old to do any skiing himself. -continued in comments

[@robertbrown3064]

I honestly thought grandma was going to have a heart attack one time. I had been upstairs trying to do my homework for the weekend, when I heard grandpa yelling outside. I ran downstairs and my little brother was standing in the back yard looking sheepish, covered head to toe in mud from the creek. You could see his teeth and the whites of his eyes, and the rest was mud. Grandpa was almost crying he was laughing so hard as he got the hose out. Then he stopped, and that familiar twinkle came into his eye. "Actually, boys, I have a better idea." Half an hour later, all three of us were covered in mud, laughing our butts off and throwing clumps of it at each other. When grandma got home, she was, to put it mildly, not happy. But it was worth it. Like anyone, of course, he wasn't perfect. His relationship with my dad was never the best, although there was love there. Apparently he was dismissive of my dad when he was younger and tried to pigeonhole him into the sort of man grandpa thought he should be. He was hard on him to the point of meanness, and wasn't supportive of my dad's ideas, so this caused a lot of resentment and bitterness, but never open hostility, at least not in front of us kids. My dad was always a little standoffish about anything to do with grandpa, and for the most part just let us kids do things with him. I'm told grandpa mellowed significantly in the years leading up to my birth, and that he regretted how he raised his son. Dad was into the Allman Brothers Band in the 70's, and so grandpa had a lot of his old records that he didn't take with him. Unlike a lot of dads, he actually listened to his son's music and tried to appreciate it even though he was a bit before its time, I now suspect out of a desire to reconcile or atone. One that he really liked was the "Eat a Peach" album, and it wasn't uncommon to hear it playing out in his work shed as he was puttering away at some project, with Pepper hovering underfoot and wagging her tail. This song, Blue Sky was his favorite. To this day I can't hear it without thinking of him. It makes me think of the smell of sawdust, and that happy-go-lucky dog. He used to take us both to the barbershop in town and we'd go get ice cream afterwards, and he always paid the lady behind the counter for an extra cone, for the next customer. You remember stuff like that when you're a kid. You watch it and learn from it, which is, I think, maybe why he did it. He always got peach ice cream. Every time. He’d take one lick then say, “Boys, I do believe I’d walk 20 miles in no shoes for peach ice cream,” to which we usually groaned and went, “We know, grandpa!” I remember one time we were on our way to the hardware store for who knows what, and he stopped to help a random family with their broken down car. He couldn’t get it to start, and it turned out they were on their way to a wedding, so he insisted on giving them a ride to the church, and my brother and I had to ride in the bed of the truck! He got their phone number and a few days later he made a point to call them and see if everything worked out. He was like that. On Sunday mornings, Grandma would make sure we were presentable, then the four of us would go to church. Sometimes there’d be a potluck afterwards, sometimes we’d go to this hole in the wall bbq restaurant with an older couple who my grandparents were friends with, and sometimes we’d just go home and relax. I remember one weekend, we had wanted to go to the lake on Saturday, but we got rained out. So before sunup on Sunday, grandpa crept into our room, already wearing his smelly, tattered fishing vest covered with lures and doodads, and quietly got us kids ready. The three of us had made it down the stairs and were almost to the door when we heard, “And just where do you boys think you’re off to?” Grandpa winced like he’d stubbed his toe and turned around real slow, to find grandma standing at the top of the stairs in her nightgown, with her arms crossed and tapping her foot. Needless to say, we ended up going to church, and the lake had to wait until next week. He had a beat-up walnut rocking chair on his back porch, and his tradition was to sit in it every Sunday evening to “give the week a ponder.” When I was born, he made me my own toddler-sized chair. Every few years he'd make me a slightly bigger one, and my brother would get the hand-me-down, until finally he made us both chairs the same size as his. We used to sit out there on his back porch in the evenings together, as the sun sank down over the horizon. He'd crack open two root beers and one regular beer, plunk down a big burlap bag full of in-shell peanuts and sit there slowly puffing on his pipe, (he was a Sir Walter Raleigh man, for those who want to know) looking out over the world and happy as a clam. Pepper would pester us for a while, wanting to play fetch or just see what we were doing, but eventually she'd settle down next to grandpa, and he'd smile at her and call her a good dog. Sometimes we'd listen to bluegrass, sometimes we'd listen to the Allman Brothers, and sometimes we'd listen to nothing but the wind through the leaves and the frogs and crickets chirruping away down by the creek. The fireflies would start to twinkle out in the trees, and once the stars came out, if we were very lucky, he’d be in the mood to tell a story or two. On our weekend visits, Monday mornings were always the worst. Grandpa would wake us up at the crack of dawn by sitting in the chair in our room and trying to play his banjo. Grandma would feed us something filling like biscuits or grits, then give us our lunch bags and a peck on the cheek, and grandpa would drive us back into town and drop us off at school. Every time, just before he drove away, he'd say, "Don't you kids take any wooden nickels, you hear?" He'd say that every time with a big goofy grin, even when we were both older and just rolled our eyes. After that it was back to life as usual, like time had sped back up. Then one day he was just… gone. His heart gave out on him as he was getting up after breakfast. I’m told that he was dead within minutes, and that as heart attacks go it was a relatively peaceful death. Grandma was inconsolable, and dad had to be the rock for all of us. At the graveside service, the sun was up and the sky was blue. The birds were chirping, and I remember immaturely and sadly thinking that it wasn't fair for the world to keep on having beautiful days like that when he was dead. When the men in white uniforms folded his flag and handed it to my father, “on behalf of the President of the United States,” the man completely broke down. Suddenly, he wasn't my father anymore, he wasn't a grown man still bitter over the way he’d been raised. He took it with shaking hands, looked down at it, then crumpled in on himself and sobbed like a little boy who’d just lost his daddy. I have never before or since seen him like that, and I dread the day it will be me in that chair. The casket went down into the ground, and now all I have of Grandpa are memories. Now that he's gone, the world feels like a smaller place. There aren't many people like that anymore. Boys need father figures to guide them into men, and I am proud and grateful that one of my role models was a man like my grandfather. I wish I could have known him longer. Those calm evenings in that back yard with my grandpa, those are some of the happiest memories I have. I hope that one day I'll be lucky enough to make more with my own grandkids.

[@denystull355]

This is a great song to sit out on the porch or patio and just enjoy your favorite beverage...

[@kennethbrown5164]

Dickie Betts wrote this song about his girlfriend... great guitar.

[@zebjohnson5118]

Ya just can't go wrong with the Allman Brothers ✌️🙏♥️

[@Dusty999]

Since you thoroughly enjoyed this, check out two others by them, "Ramblin' Man" and "Jessica".

[@surinaam1186]

Great song! Such a shame what happened to Duane and Berry.

[@kyleharry6758]

id love to know yalls favorite songs that youve heard here