{"id":20777,"date":"2024-05-07T07:00:00","date_gmt":"2024-05-07T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/?p=20777"},"modified":"2024-05-06T19:11:13","modified_gmt":"2024-05-06T18:11:13","slug":"unparalleled-two-year-rock-stardom-of-dickey-betts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/2024\/05\/07\/unparalleled-two-year-rock-stardom-of-dickey-betts\/","title":{"rendered":"UNPARALLELED: two-year rock-stardom of Dickey Betts"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

The Allman Brothers Band lead guitarist, songwriter and vocalist passed away this week, but his work on Eat a Peach and Brothers and Sisters will endure, says Matt Mitchell, of Paste On-Line magazine, as one of the coolest creative peaks in rock \u2018n\u2019 roll history.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mitchell recalls that piece of history as being sometime in the mid-2000s and I was gliding across a freeway in my dad\u2019s blue Dodge pickup, listening to 93.3 The Wolf with the windows down. He and I, we were on our way to the Eastwood Mall to grab something for my mom\u2019s birthday\u2014maybe a ring from Kay Jewelers, or a snow globe for her to add to her collection that\u2019s overflowing on our living room shelves. We were a radio family, always having local stations pouring out of any speaker we could get our hands on; The Wolf was my first history lesson into the magic of a rock \u2018n\u2019 roll that existed far before my birth. And there is something particularly magical about the way my brain has chosen to retain core memories surrounded by music, like Dad\u2019s thumb and index finger quickly turning up the volume knob as the riff of a Gibson Les Paul Standard in A-flat major came into the truck cab like a gust of wind. It was such a little thing, but I remember him saying \u201clisten to this,\u201d and I remember not being able to muster up even a lick of language afterwards. I was in awe of the sounds fluttering through my ears, as if I\u2019d been let in on some vibrant, elite secret.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When you\u2019re a kid, you rarely know whose fingers are making a guitar sound cherry as wine. It wasn\u2019t my dad\u2019s first instinct to guide young, single-digit me on some technical endeavor of who, when, where and why. No, him turning his truck stereo up a few decibels was a measure of his love\u2014an affection that, so often in our shared life, has existed within the realms of three or four-minute songs. And, like many of us, it is not human nature to be considering every song we adore at all times. So, when \u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d came on rotation, a gleam of joy hit my father\u2019s face\u2014as if a life he\u2019d lost touch with came back into focus, a life that, just maybe, he ought to share a piece of with his kid. And that he did, and together we soared\u2014maybe even floated<\/em>\u2014across that highway to the sound of Dickey Betts\u2019 rainbow-hued, Southern-dipped picking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

On the April 18th, news broke that Betts (left)<\/em><\/strong> had passed away at the age of 80. He had been living with cancer and COPD, and his death leaves only one founding member of the Allman Brothers Band left: drummer Jaimoe Johnson. Betts had started the group with Gregg and Duane Allman and Berry Oakley in Jacksonville, Florida in 1969, and he became one of their two lauded and beloved axemen. After his brother-in-shred Duane was killed in a motorcycle crash in Macon, Georgia in 1971\u2014just a handful of months before the release of the band\u2019s seminal LP, Eat a Peach<\/em>\u2014Betts became a crucial anchor in the Allman Brothers\u2019 lineage, turning into a de facto frontman in Duane\u2019s absence, putting pen to paper on some of the band\u2019s most-acclaimed tracks\u2014especially \u201cJessica\u201d and \u201cBlue Sky.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I got to college, I met a kid named Tom\u2014a fellow only child whose only compass for culture was rock \u2018n\u2019 roll\u2014on the fourth floor of a dorm building across the street from that of my own. You see, I was housed in the basement of an all-guys dorm, a sub-level filled to the brim with athletes (mostly baseball players) and I was certainly not on the same wavelength as them. Granted, I could very easily recite every member of the 500 home runs club or rattle off the leading scorers in NBA history, but I was no longer an athlete myself and long out-of-practice conversing with those who were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On top of that, my living circumstances were randomized\u2014and I was eventually paired up with an exchange student roommate whose verbal English wasn\u2019t strong, not to mention he was also a few years my senior. It was an isolating life to live, initially, though we would float in and out of school functions together in a combined effort to make some semblance of friends. It didn\u2019t help that he and I were opposites (he was terminally cool, I was far from it). But, after two months of humming around campus and busting my ass in my literary journalism class (which was usually only offered to upperclassmen, but my advisor made an exception because I\u2019d declared my writing major so early), he and I both began to find our people\u2014unwinding our own introversions in the process.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fourth floor of that neighboring dorm was my own private Idaho, in some ways. It was brimming with geeks, queers and hotties\u2014descriptions I had yearned so desperately to fall into, someday, as well. I\u2019d known some of the students who lived up there from my freshman colloquium class, including the woman I would date for nearly five years. By that point, I\u2019d not yet let my high school habits of smoking bounteous amounts of weed trickle into who I presented myself as in college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom seemed like a straight-and-narrow dude, someone who kept to himself and his computer (he and his roommate had a beautiful dual-PC set-up that I knew nothing about but admired the spirit of), and I found out quickly that he was a big Stones guy\u2014and it wouldn\u2019t be long before we\u2019d share a bonding moment over their then-new album, Blue & Lonesome<\/em>. (right)<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But something really clicked when Tom, like my father 10 years earlier, said \u201clisten to this\u201d and played the Allman Brothers Band\u2019s \u201cBlue Sky\u201d on his computer. We\u2014and by we, I mean however many people we could cram into a shoebox dorm room at once\u2014listened to Duane Allman and Dickey Betts trade guitar solos for five minutes, and no one but Tom and I seemed to notice the details that curved and sharpened into a fine blade of country-rock precision, like how, at the 2:29 mark, Betts joins in on the melody of Duane\u2019s solo with such ease that I wouldn\u2019t blame you for believing he was plucking along like that the whole time. But even with all of the uninterested bodies piling on top of each other on two twin-sized beds, I believed (and still do) that Tom was speaking only to me\u2014as if to say \u201cHere, take some of this magic.\u201d And that I did, feeling every bit of Betts singing \u201cEarly morning sunshine tell me all I need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

The band would continue on, eventually wrapping up sessions in December 1971 and tacking on a number of live cuts to pad the project into a hybrid studio\/live tracklist that masqueraded as a double-album clocking in at 68 minutes in length. The completion of Eat a Peach<\/em>\u2014which featured \u201cMelissa,\u201d \u201cLes Brers in A Minor\u201d and \u201cAin\u2019t Wastin\u2019 Time No More\u201d\u2014became a last waltz for Gregg\u2019s leadership, too, as he was suffering mightily in the wake of his older brother\u2019s passing. Enter Betts, the co-lead guitarist who was hardly a second-fiddle in the shadow of Duane\u2019s immortal six-string greatness. The West Palm Beach native had always held his own, and he and Duane\u2019s twin harmony quickly became a talisman for all bands with more than one guitarist in the lineup to behold. The two shredders admonished any idea of lead and rhythm roles, preferring, instead, to churn out parts in equal measure\u2014which is how you get a track as singular as \u201cBlue Sky.\u201d Eat a Peach<\/em> clocked in as high as #4 on the Billboard 200 and the Allman Brothers would do a 90-show tour throughout 1972 and purchase a 400-acre plot of land in Juliette, Georgia that became their \u201cgroup hangout\u201d spot\u2014where Oakley was able to live out his, as the band\u2019s biographer Alan Paul called it, \u201ccommunal dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

But when the Allman Brothers decamped to Capricorn Studios in Macon to record the follow-up to\u00a0Eat a Peach<\/em>\u00a0in 1972, they did so on the verge of unforeseen further tragedy. On November 11th, Oakley (who, in the months leading up to it, was noticeably thinner and drinking and drugging harder than ever before) got into a motorcycle accident of his own\u2014just three blocks from where Duane had crashed a year earlier\u2014and passed away from cerebral swelling due to a fractured skull. It was d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu for the band all over again, as they were tasked with asking the same question two years in a row: \u201cDo we carry on?\u201d And, unanimously, they elected to do just that\u2014bringing bassist Lamar Williams and pianist Chuck Leavell into the fold. And from there, due to his increase in songwriting, Betts became the voice of the Allman Brothers Band.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d was Betts\u2019 swan song, even though he lived for 51 years after it came out. It\u2019s a coming-of-age tale with an idyllic pastoral of the South as its backdrop, the perfect set-dressing for a cross-town drive or a dance around a fire pit. \u201cMy father was a gambler down in Georgia, and he wound up on the wrong end of a gun,\u201d Betts sings. \u201cAnd I was born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus rollin\u2019 down Highway 41.\u201d The guitars from him and Dudek pierce through the verses and chorus like a background vocal, the two-part solos formulating their own side of the story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like all great rock songs of any era, \u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d is multi-dimensional and timeless in scope, execution and passion. It\u2019s summery and hellbent on ringing catchy with every instrumental phrase it brandishes.\u201cThey\u2019re always having a good time down on the Bayou, Lord\u2014and Delta women think the world of me!,\u201d too, remains one of my favorite verse-closers of all time. Betts\u2019 writing often paired sublime articulations of familiar places with verses drunk on romantic lullabies, and he would continue writing most of the band\u2019s music on later albums like Win, Lose or Draw<\/em> and Enlightened Rogues<\/em>\u2014furthering their country-rock legacy through reunions, comebacks and hiatuses someplace in-between like the rock he was willed into becoming by tragedy, necessity and the wants of music\u2019s cosmic, forever-returning divinity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I contend that, between February 1972 and August 1973, there was no greater rocker walking among us than Dickey Betts. While, on early Allman Brothers releases, Duane\u2019s guitar-playing found much of the glory, the technicolor soul of the band\u2019s compositions rises with the embers of Betts\u2019 white-hot arpeggios. And considering how, in the decades that followed, he\u2019d grow into a tattooed outlaw with a million-dollar handlebar mustache\u2014and fuel the fire of the Allman Brothers Band\u2019s continued, intermittent stints on the road and in-studio\u2014there was a tack-sharp gloam radiating beneath the warmth of his Gibson Les Paul Standard, which made him recognizable not by name, but by power and string-bending emotionality. Most musicians would kill to write \u201cBlue Sky,\u201d \u201cJessica\u201d and \u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d over the course of a long career; Betts did it in just 16 months\u2019 time, a creative peak few musicians of his caliber, genre and longevity have ever<\/em> paralleled. And even from a young age, I felt the singing in Betts\u2019 fingers\u2014a holy movement deemed proverb by my own father, who was precious about what soundtracked the cord affixed from his heart into mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On top of that, my living circumstances were randomized\u2014and I was eventually paired up with an exchange student roommate whose verbal English wasn\u2019t strong, not to mention he was also a few years my senior. It was an isolating life to live, initially, though we would float in and out of school functions together in a combined effort to make some semblance of friends. It didn\u2019t help that he and I were opposites (he was terminally cool, I was far from it). But, after two months of humming around campus and busting my ass in my literary journalism class (which was usually only offered to upperclassmen, but my advisor made an exception because I\u2019d declared my writing major so early), he and I both began to find our people\u2014unwinding our own introversions in the process.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fourth floor of that neighboring dorm was my own private Idaho, in some ways. It was brimming with geeks, queers and hotties\u2014descriptions I had yearned so desperately to fall into, someday, as well. I\u2019d known some of the students who lived up there from my freshman colloquium class, including the woman I would date for nearly five years. By that point, I\u2019d not yet let my high school habits of smoking bounteous amounts of weed trickle into who I presented myself as in college. Tom seemed like a straight-and-narrow dude, someone who kept to himself and his computer (he and his roommate had a beautiful dual-PC set-up that I knew nothing about but admired the spirit of), and I found out quickly that he was a big Stones guy\u2014and it wouldn\u2019t be long before we\u2019d share a bonding moment over their then-new album, Blue & Lonesome<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But something really clicked when Tom, like my father 10 years earlier, said \u201clisten to this\u201d and played the Allman Brothers Band\u2019s \u201cBlue Sky\u201d on his computer. We\u2014and by we, I mean however many people we could cram into a shoebox dorm room at once\u2014listened to Duane Allman and Dickey Betts trade guitar solos for five minutes, and no one but Tom and I seemed to notice the details that curved and sharpened into a fine blade of country-rock precision, like how, at the 2:29 mark, Betts joins in on the melody of Duane\u2019s solo with such ease that I wouldn\u2019t blame you for believing he was plucking along like that the whole time. But even with all of the uninterested bodies piling on top of each other on two twin-sized beds, I believed (and still do) that Tom was speaking only to me\u2014as if to say \u201cHere, take some of this magic.\u201d And that I did, feeling every bit of Betts singing \u201cEarly morning sunshine tell me all I need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Early in their career, the Allman Brothers Band started to break through with tracks like the 22-minute rendition of \u201cWhipping Post,\u201d \u201cMidnight Rider\u201d and a cover of Blind Willie McTell\u2019s \u201cStatesboro Blues.\u201d But before Eat a Peach<\/em>, Betts himself had only written a few songs (\u201cRevival,\u201d \u201cIn Memory of Elizabeth Reed\u201d) alone. On At Fillmore East<\/em>, he co-wrote \u201cHot \u2018Lanta\u201d with the whole band, and \u201cOne More Ride\u201d from Idlewild South<\/em> featured a co-write from Greg. But Eat a Peach<\/em> is where Betts found his stride and attempted to rival the songwriting chops of Gregg. While the latter penned the slow-burn ballad \u201cMelissa\u201d\u2014which Duane famously considered his favorite of his brother\u2019s songs and said wasn\u2019t \u201crock and roll that makes me move my ass\u201d\u2014Betts crafted \u201cLes Brers in A Minor\u201d and \u201cBlue Sky\u201d for the record, along with the full-band concerto \u201cMountain Jam.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At Fillmore East<\/em> went Gold and turned the Allman Brothers into rock stars in a flash. Despite that newfound success, the band found itself plagued by drug addiction\u2014and Duane and Oakley, along with roadies Robert Payne and \u201cRed Dog\u201d Campbell, checked themselves into rehab right at the genesis of the recording sessions for Eat a Peach<\/em> that were taking place at Criteria Studios in Miami, after they\u2019d recorded \u201cBlue Sky.\u201d When they all checked out of rehab soon after entering it, Duane is said to have been, according to Linda Oakley, \u201cthe leader, the great soul\u201d who wanted the band to stick together amid all of the noise. \u201cWe all had this thing in us and Duane put it there,\u201d Butch Trucks said. \u201cHe was the teacher and he gave something to us\u2014his disciples\u2014that we had to play out.\u201d But, as At Fillmore East<\/em> was about to hit the Top 15 on the Billboard 200, Duane\u2019s fatal motorcycle accident effectively uprooted the Allman Brothers\u2019 momentum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The band would continue on, eventually wrapping up sessions in December 1971 and tacking on a number of live cuts to pad the project into a hybrid studio\/live tracklist that masqueraded as a double-album clocking in at 68 minutes in length. The completion of Eat a Peach<\/em>\u2014which featured \u201cMelissa,\u201d \u201cLes Brers in A Minor\u201d and \u201cAin\u2019t Wastin\u2019 Time No More\u201d\u2014became a last waltz for Gregg\u2019s leadership, too, as he was suffering mightily in the wake of his older brother\u2019s passing. Enter Betts, the co-lead guitarist who was hardly a second-fiddle in the shadow of Duane\u2019s immortal six-string greatness. The West Palm Beach native had always held his own, and he and Duane\u2019s twin harmony quickly became a talisman for all bands with more than one guitarist in the lineup to behold. The two shredders admonished any idea of lead and rhythm roles, preferring, instead, to churn out parts in equal measure\u2014which is how you get a track as singular as \u201cBlue Sky.\u201d Eat a Peach<\/em> clocked in as high as #4 on the Billboard 200 and the Allman Brothers would do a 90-show tour throughout 1972 and purchase a 400-acre plot of land in Juliette, Georgia that became their \u201cgroup hangout\u201d spot\u2014where Oakley was able to live out his, as the band\u2019s biographer Alan Paul called it, \u201ccommunal dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But when the Allman Brothers decamped to Capricorn Studios in Macon to record the follow-up to Eat a Peach<\/em> in 1972, they did so on the verge of unforeseen further tragedy. On November 11th, Oakley (who, in the months leading up to it, was noticeably thinner and drinking and drugging harder than ever before) got into a motorcycle accident of his own\u2014just three blocks from where Duane had crashed a year earlier\u2014and passed away from cerebral swelling due to a fractured skull. It was d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu for the band all over again, as they were tasked with asking the same question two years in a row: \u201cDo we carry on?\u201d And, unanimously, they elected to do just that\u2014bringing bassist Lamar Williams and pianist Chuck Leavell into the fold. And from there, due to his increase in songwriting, Betts became the voice of the Allman Brothers Band.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brothers and Sisters<\/em> is, to this day, Betts\u2019 greatest living achievement. His country background lent well to the band\u2019s chemistry, though his mates were hesitant to engage with the material initially\u2014fearing, as Butch Trucks put it, that \u201cit didn\u2019t sound like us.\u201d But the seven-song record would feature four original compositions from Betts, including \u201cPony Boy\u201d and \u201cSouthbound\u201d\u2014the show-stoppers being, immediately, \u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d and \u201cJessica.\u201d The former was the album\u2019s lead single and soared to #2 on the Hot 100\u2014and was later labeled \u201cmiraculous\u201d by Robert Christgau\u2014while the latter became the second single, reaching #65 on the charts despite being an instrumental cut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Betts wrote \u201cJessica\u201d as an ode to Django Reinhardt, a Romani-jazz (or, manouche jazz<\/em>) guitarist with origins rooted in France and the Manouche clan of Romanis. Written mostly at the Farm, Betts named the track after his then-infant daughter and, while composing it, he aimed to capture her joy in the melody. To this day, \u201cJessica\u201d remains one of the most beloved Southern rock songs ever released\u2014with the Wall Street Journal<\/em> calling it \u201ca true national heirloom.\u201d And, in terms of guitar-based instrumentals, no one in the mid-1970s could have touched the Allman Brothers on \u201cJessica\u201d\u2014and nobody would, not until Van Halen\u2019s \u201cEruption\u201d five years later\u2014as it was the most important wordless rock composition since Led Zeppelin\u2019s \u201cMoby Dick\u201d in 1969.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All things considered, Betts becoming the Allman Brothers\u2019 honcho in light of Duane\u2019s death extended the band\u2019s immortality a few extra decades. It\u2019s impossible to predict what their legacy would have been had they closed the book after At Fillmore East<\/em> and opted to not finish Eat a Peach<\/em> without their shepherd. But few career-saving songs are as perfect, charming and one-in-a-million as \u201cRamblin\u2019 Man.\u201d Betts conceived the track in Oakley\u2019s kitchen in the middle of the night, as he was taking inspiration from Hank Williams\u2019 track of the same name. When they completed it in the studio, with Les Dudek filling in as co-lead on guitar, Red Dog is said to have claimed that it was \u201cthe best I heard since Duane.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d was Betts\u2019 swan song, even though he lived for 51 years after it came out. It\u2019s a coming-of-age tale with an idyllic pastoral of the South as its backdrop, the perfect set-dressing for a cross-town drive or a dance around a fire pit. \u201cMy father was a gambler down in Georgia, and he wound up on the wrong end of a gun,\u201d Betts sings. \u201cAnd I was born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus rollin\u2019 down Highway 41.\u201d The guitars from him and Dudek pierce through the verses and chorus like a background vocal, the two-part solos formulating their own side of the story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like all great rock songs of any era, \u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d is multi-dimensional and timeless in scope, execution and passion. It\u2019s summery and hellbent on ringing catchy with every instrumental phrase it brandishes.\u201cThey\u2019re always having a good time down on the Bayou, Lord\u2014and Delta women think the world of me!,\u201d too, remains one of my favorite verse-closers of all time. Betts\u2019 writing often paired sublime articulations of familiar places with verses drunk on romantic lullabies, and he would continue writing most of the band\u2019s music on later albums like Win, Lose or Draw<\/em> and Enlightened Rogues<\/em>\u2014furthering their country-rock legacy through reunions, comebacks and hiatuses someplace in-between like the rock he was willed into becoming by tragedy, necessity and the wants of music\u2019s cosmic, forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matt Michell contends that, between February 1972 and August 1973, there was no greater rocker walking among us than Dickey Betts. While, on early Allman Brothers releases, Duane\u2019s guitar-playing found much of the glory, the technicolor soul of the band\u2019s compositions rises with the embers of Betts\u2019 white-hot arpeggios. And considering how, in the decades that followed, he\u2019d grow into a tattooed outlaw with a million-dollar handlebar mustache\u2014and fuel the fire of the Allman Brothers Band\u2019s continued, intermittent stints on the road and in-studio\u2014there was a tack-sharp gloam radiating beneath the warmth of his Gibson Les Paul Standard, which made him recognizable not by name, but by power and string-bending emotionality. Most musicians would kill to write \u201cBlue Sky,\u201d \u201cJessica\u201d and \u201cRamblin\u2019 Man\u201d over the course of a long career; Betts did it in just 16 months\u2019 time, a creative peak few musicians of his caliber, genre and longevity have ever<\/em> paralleled. And even from a young age, I felt the singing in Betts\u2019 fingers\u2014a holy movement deemed proverb by my own father, who was precious about what soundtracked the cord affixed from his heart into mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As Christmas was creeping up on me and my friends during our first semester, Tom\u2019s girlfriend asked me if I would help get her a gift for him: Eat a Peach<\/em> on vinyl. He didn\u2019t own a turntable, but she thought he oughta start a record collection the right way. Together, we found a good copy on eBay and had it shipped to our campus\u2019 mail center and then, some weeks later, at our communal gift exchange, I watched Tom open his present\u2014his eyes widening into a smile of their own, as he held the record close to his chest and gave his girlfriend and a kiss and a thank you. Almost two years later, after he and I found other friends and, slowly, drifted apart, I wound up on the dorm floor he lived on and walked past the always-open door of his room. On his desk was the copy of Eat a Peach<\/em>, still unplayed yet lording over the space like some sacred kind of spiritual token. We locked eyes, gave each other a nod and I carried on my way\u2014humming quietly, likely about a good old Sunday morning. Or maybe I wasn\u2019t humming about anything in particular at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matt Mitchell reports as<\/em> Paste\u2018s music editor from their home in Columbus, Ohio.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Allman Brothers Band lead guitarist, songwriter and vocalist passed away this week, but his work on\u00a0Eat a Peach\u00a0and\u00a0Brothers and Sisters\u00a0will endure, says Matt Mitchell, of Paste On-Line magazine, as one of the coolest creative peaks in rock \u2018n\u2019 roll history.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":20785,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[71,45,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20777","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-culture-and-tradition","category-music","category-performing-arts"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20777","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20777"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20777\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20911,"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20777\/revisions\/20911"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20785"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20777"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20777"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aata.dev\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20777"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}