Lynyrd Skynyrd: Skynyrd’s First And…Last (1978)

From Melody Maker September 1978

Rock ‘N’ Roll Requiems usually denigrate rather than enhance the reputation of the deceased, which is as sound a reason as any to approach this album, released on the first anniversary of the Skynyrd tragedy, suspiciously. But here is a rarity: an album that passes the acid test and honours the memory of a great band, provoking once again the thought of what might have been.

It always seems pretentious to laud a band after its death but Skynyrd were probably the hottest unit to emerge from America this decade. They had, in their own unobtrusive way, the touch of class that set them apart.

I say “had.” There are, of course, survivors from the plane crash. Guitarists Allen Collins and Gary Rossington, drummer Artimus Pyle and keyboard player Billy Powell escaped, but the horrifying incident robbed them of their soul, which was embodied in singer and lyricist Ronnie Van Zant and new guitarist Steve Gaines – who, on the band’s final album (the ill-titled Street Survivors), was plotting an exciting new direction and had emerged as an invaluable writer.

Skynyrd’s First And…Last, consists of early recordings made just before the band were coupled with producer Al Kooper to put down their debut album. Apart from revealing so much about the band’s unsophisticated early music, we are given an insight into their strength and unity. The view that only death could halt them prevails.

There are 17 musicians listed in the credits, with the tracks revolving around the axis of Van Zant, Collins, Rossington and the original third guitarist, and erstwhile bassist, Ed King. Sporadically entering stage right and exiting stage left are Leon Wilkinson (who eventually became Skynyrd’s full-time bassist), another bass player, Greg Walker, pianist Billy Powell (surprisingly used on only one track, ‘Comin’ Home’), drummer Bob Burns (who stayed with Skynyrd up to and including Second Helping) and Rickey Medlocke, Skynyrd’s original drummer.

Medlocke remains something of an enigma. Apart from drumming here, he writes and takes the lead vocal on two tracks, ‘White Dove’ and ‘The Seasons’, two sweet ballads that are uncharacteristic of Skynyrd. ‘White Dove’ is anonymous, but ‘The Seasons’ is a much more touching and successful effort. Perhaps Medlocke had to leave because his aspirations leant more towards the soft edges of the Eagles than towards the harshness of the Who and Rolling Stones? Whatever, his name cropped up occasionally on other Skynyrd albums. ‘Made In The Shade’, from Nuthin’ Fancy, was dedicated to him and, on Street Survivors, an old track called ‘One More Time’, on which Medlocke played drums, was dug up.

The music on this album, though neither spectacular nor startingly original, is valuable as a reference point. From here, we can see how the band developed its Southern British-tinged rock sound. There are three tracks that act as definite pointers: ‘Down South Jukin”, ‘Lend A Helpin’ Hand’ and ‘Wino’ touch upon the raunchy style that Skynyrd made their own.

Surprisingly, the distinctive dual guitar sounds of Rossington and Collins, project the band’s identity rather than Van Zant’s vocal, usually the immediate landmark. Whether laying down a beefy barricade of sound or stretching solos across the room, the guitarists show that their roles were defined from the start.

Van Zant, on the other hand, was still searching for a direction when these tapes were recorded. Only on one track, the otherwise undistinguished ‘Was I Right Or Wrong’, is that drawling Southern tone captured in all its crude majesty. Otherwise, Van Zant is content with playing the singer in the band, the straight blues singer on ‘Things Goin’ On’ and with a blatant Neil Young influence on ‘Comin’ Home’. It was Al Kooper, I feel, who helped Van Zant discover himself.

Generally, the band is outrageously loose. They wouldn’t have got away with half of these tracks if Tom Dowd had been producing, but that is also part of the album’s beauty. Skynyrd here are serving an apprenticeship; they didn’t become journeymen until a year later, in 1973.

The compilation is certainly carried out with good taste. The band had apparently been planning to release these tapes before Street Survivors came out, so there can be no claims of “cash-in.” The sleeve doesn’t even mention that Van Zant and Gaines have died, but presumes them to be still alive. As indeed, on this album, they are.