These 5 Songs Defined '70s Southern Rock

No one ever talks about "Northern rock," do they? Southern rock, though, is definitely its own unique thing, no matter that it might seem hard to define. From country livin' to the call of the road, dashes of Confederate flags, and maybe a side of Harleys and Jack Daniels, Southern rock at least comes equipped with plenty of stereotypes. But as an identifiable genre, Southern rock goes back to the '70s and a few bands that collectively forged its identity amidst the era's countercultural movement, right down to specific songs. Have no fear, we're going to get to "Free Bird" and that never-ending solo.

But first, let's define "Southern rock," which boils down to three components: composition, subject matter, and the origin/authenticity of the band. By composition, we mean rock built on blues progressions and borrowing some twang from country, some slide guitars and honky-tonk rhythms, maybe some gospel singing and elements of folk melodies, and yes, that most Southern of all '70s Southern instruments: the Hammond Organ (thanks, Gregg Allman). By subject matter, we mean songs depicting a strong connection to place, an overall longing for freedom, and honest portrayals of difficult relationships. Both points connect to a band's origin and authenticity. Can an artist mimic the sounds of the South? Sure. John Fogerty did it, and he was from California. But is he Southern? Nope.

We also want to avoid stuffing this article full of about 20 collective Lynyrd Skynyrd and Allman Brothers songs. We're going to mix it up a bit to illustrate that other bands played a hand in crafting the sounds of '70s Southern rock, but in very different ways, like Molly Hatchet and The Marshall Tucker Band. 

We might as well start out with the whopper that embodies the heart and soul of Southern rock. And by soul, we mean the nearly trance-like, organ-and-guitar-lick-filled, prolonged jam session that is "Whipping Post" from the Allman Brothers Band's live, 1971 "At Fillmore East" album. Recorded and released that year, "At Fillmore East" played a critical role in making the Allman Brothers a household name because it showcased their immense talent for improv and live performances. The recording is a 22-minute version of the five-minute, final track from their 1969 debut album, "The Allman Brothers Band." 

This live performance of "Whipping Post" and its blues progression, set atop Gregg Allman's intense rasps and belted vocals, is immense, epic, and awesome in every sense of every word, right down to the inclusion of the melody from the French folk song, Alouette, near the end. It laid the foundation not only for what Southern rock was, but could be: a group of absolutely synchronized musicians totally engrossed in the moment and performing from their souls the sounds and sentiments of their home. In this case, though the band hailed from and formed in Jacksonville, Florida, they worked as a band out of Macon, Georgia, from 1969 to 1979. And yes, Gregg's got his Hammond B3 Organ on hand (literally). 

As far as subject matter is concerned, the name "Whipping Post" says it all. "Tied to the whipping post," the chorus says about how a man feels when abused by his woman. "She took all my money / Wrecked my new car / Now she's with one of my good-time buddies / They're drinkin' in some crosstown bar." If those lines aren't either quintessentially Southern rock in subject matter, then we don't know what is.

"Sweet home Alabama / Where the skies are so blue," sing the other guys from Jacksonville, Florida. But no worries, because "Sweet Home Alabama" is so dang catchy, and the guys from Lynyrd Skynyrd so undeniably authentic, that they get a pass for writing what became a love song to the Deep South and the concept of "home," writ large. Besides, Jacksonville isn't near West Palm Beach, but in the northeast near Georgia.

The first song off Lynyrd Skynyrd's second album, 1974's "Second Helping," "Sweet Home Alabama" included a (not too serious) rebuttal to Neil Young's "Southern Man." The chorus in "Southern Man" says, "Southern man better keep your head / Don't forget what your good book said / Southern change gonna come at last / Now your crosses are burning fast." And in case the reader doubts Young's meaning, verse one goes for the throat, saying (amongst other things), "I saw cotton and I saw black / Tall white mansions and little shacks." 

In comparison, "Sweet Home Alabama's" rebuttal opts for praising the pastoral elements of the South and rather mannerly replies, "Well, I hope Neil Young will remember / A Southern man don't need him around, anyhow." As it turns out, Young later expressed remorse about his song, calling it "accusatory and condescending" in his 2012 memoir, "Waging Heavy Peace."

Not only are the lyrics to "Sweet Home Alabama" obviously Southern, so is the music. The syncopated, acoustic, descending riff follows a simple, repeated three-chord structure, incorporates some piano flourishes, gospel touches, and certainly passes our Southern rock composition criterion. More importantly, its 1.6 billion streams on Spotify speak to its continued appeal and relevance generations after its release.

Yes, it's time for 1973's "Free Bird," aka, the nine-minute song that's half guitar solo and sounds like a lightening-in-the-bottle jam session that just kept getting longer and longer (because this was exactly the case). It ticks all of our compositional and subject matter boxes, from the Hammond Organ intro, slide guitars, and country twang to the everyman tale about the moment in a relationship when someone's got to go. And while plenty of other Skynyrd songs also typify Southern rock, like "Gimme Three Steps," "Saturday Night Special," and especially, "Simple Man," it's "Free Bird" that's easily made the biggest impact, right down to folks screaming "Play Free Bird!" at everything from classical concerts to presidential inaugurations. 

But really, the brilliance of "Free Bird" comes from its musical storytelling paired with the simplest, most minimal lyrics. Beginning like a mournful apology accentuated by the decisiveness of dummer Bob Burn's tom and crash hits, the song evolves into a high-tempo, double-time race that sounds like someone cruising down the road, feeling free, heading towards a possibly reckless self-destruction, but accepting this outcome, nonetheless. Remembering the 1977 plane crash that claimed six lives, including singer Ronnie Van Zant and two other band members, "Free Bird" even becomes a bit eerie, like a lament for those who died.  

"Free Bird" also features another staple of Southern rock that we haven't mentioned yet: the guitar duel. The song's extended, rock-out solo is a top-tier example of multiple guitar leads harmonizing with each other, much like Eagles' "Hotel California." This solo is a fitting end to a Southern rock masterclass and acts as a thesis for Skynyrd's entire discography and legacy. 

No matter that Molly Hatchet formed in 1971, their first release, 1978's self-titled "Molly Hatchet," came a little late to the '70s Southern rock scene. Like Lynyrd Skynyrd, they're from Jacksonville, Florida. But very much unlike Skynyrd, the Allman Brothers Band, or any other Southern rock band, Hatchet is perhaps best known as "That band with the album covers that look like Conan the Barbarian illustrations." That's because, yes, those covers were made by Conan's very own artist, Frank Frazetta. The art is unabashedly silly, cocky, and over-the-top, which sums up Molly Hatchet pretty well. So do some of their song names, which read like tongue-in-cheek Southern rock pastiche: "Gator Country," "Cheatin' Woman," and "Whiskey Man." But it's "Flirtin' with Disaster" that gets the vote for helping define Southern rock.

To help understand "Flirtin' with Disaster's" position within the Southern rock landscape, the reader can think of it as the flipside of "Free Bird's" coin. It's a rebellious, brash take on hitting the road because you simply have to live a free-feeling life. While the lyrics frame its subject matter within the context of touring and financial success — "Speeding down the fast lane and honey we're playin' from town to town" — the listener can easily apply it to one's own life, especially youth. Molly Hatchet is basically the fun cousin of the Southern rock family.

On the musical front, "Flirtin' with Disaster" is heavier and meatier than the other songs in our list — much like Molly Hatchet's album covers — with a galloping rhythm and heavily overdriven guitars. The song, and Molly Hatchet on a whole, helped fill the gap following Lynyrd Skynyrd's plane crash.

Even if you don't know The Marshall Tucker Band or "Can't You See" by name, you'd definitely recognize the opening, improbable flute intro from the song's opener. It segues into a bluesy riff over acoustic arpeggios, an easy-going snare, and eventually some magnificent harmony over the chorus: "Can't you see, whoa, can't you see / What that woman, Lord, she been doin' to me." There's talk of mountains, trains, heading to Georgia, and as if things couldn't get more on-the-nose, headed southbound. This pretty much covers it for Southern rock composition and subject matter for a song released in 1973, right at Southern rock's popular zenith.

If Molly Hatchet is the fun cousin of the Southern rock family, then The Marshall Tucker Band is its mature, mellow uncle. Hailing from Spartanburg, South Carolina, and formed in 1972, The Marshall Tucker Band began as a cover band just messing around, without even a clear understanding of the difference between this and that genre, like rock 'n' roll, jazz, blues, and country. So when they decided to write their own original music, with "Can't You See" being the second song off their first album, their own identity came out naturally. Their work was cross-genre, but still distinctly Southern rock at its core.

This is why The Marshall Tucker Band didn't come to immediate success and acclaim, unlike their peers of the time. It was only years later, with the release of Waylon Jennings' 1976 cover of "Can't You See," that The Marshall Tucker Band's position within Southern rock started to cohere. So they stand to this day, with "Can't You See" epitomizing both their work and Southern rock, as a whole.