produced by: James Keach, Alexandra Kamisaruk, and Michael Lehman
directed by: James Keach
rated: not rated
runtime: 99 min.
U.S. release date: June 17, 2026

In recent years, actor/producer/director James Keach has developed quite a knack for producing and directing some of the best music documentaries focused on American artists. It started with 2014’s “Glen Campbell: I’ll Be Me”, an emotional look at the musician’s last tour before Alzheimer’s claimed his life, which he produced and directed. Then in 2019, two great documentaries were released: “David Crosby: Remember My Name”, which he served as one of the executive producers, premiered at Sundance, and then he also served as a producer on “Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice,” which premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival months later. His latest documentary, “Gregg Allman: The Music of My Soul”, looks at the life of a passionate musician and founding member of the Allman Brothers Band, one of the great American bands responsible for what would be called Southern Rock.

The documentary obviously touches on the formation of the Allman Brothers Band, but it never loses sight of its title, always revolving around Gregg Allman. The band first consisted of Gregg on lead vocals and organ/piano, and his older brother, Duane, on lead/slide guitar, who would become one of the greatest guitarists of all time, along with Dickey Betts (lead vocals and guitar), Berry Oakley (bass guitar), and two drummers, Jai Johanny “Jaimoe” Johnson and Butch Trucks. In 1969, they formed the band in Jacksonville, Florida (the same place where Lynyrd Skynyrd formed in 1964), but once they settled in Macon, Georgia, they became synonymous with the town. Their musical style was different for its time, incorporating elements of blues, jazz, and country, and their live shows featured jam-band-style improvisation and instrumentals.

We learn how the band signed with Capricorn Records, a label out of Macon, founded by Phil Walden and Frank Fenter. Their early days were spent making music all day, with the entire band living in their friend Twiggs Lyndon’s apartment at 309 College Street, which became known as the band’s and crew’s communal home, nicknamed the Hippie Crash Pad. The documentary touches on Gregg’s meager living during this time, and how he and the band befriended “Mama Louise” Hudson, cook and proprietor of the H&H Soul Food Restaurant, who ran a tab when they were short of funds. She’s included among a handful of talking heads in the film, sharing how radical the band’s diverse image was early on and how they were received in the very early days of Macon’s integrated atmosphere.

Their first paid gig in 1969 was on May 2nd, a day after the band arrived in Macon, at the College Discotheque in Macon (now known as the Library Ballroom), and there was definitely something in the air. Walden, who would also manage Otis Redding, drove the band hard, immediately getting them out on a relentless national tour, performing over 300 dates, traveling in a Ford Econoline van. This led to the band becoming Capricorn’s flagship artist, and their self-titled debut album (recorded in New York City) was released later that year, though it was poorly received commercially but critically acclaimed. However, the two albums that followed were 1970’s “Idlewind South,” and the live album, 1971’s “At the Fillmore”, the latter going on to be considered one of the greatest live rock albums ever.

In the wake of the sensational success of “At the Fillmore,” many of the band members found themselves struggling with heroin addiction. While this may be the traditional point in the music documentary where “sex and drugs” are inevitably tied to rock and roll, it’s actually when life took a tragic turn for Gregg that forever impacted his life. On October 29th, 1971, Duane was riding his Harley-Davidson in Macon when he was struck by a flatbed truck carrying a lumber crane. As he swerved to avoid the truck, Duane was thrown from his motorcycle and received severe internal injuries. He was alive when he arrived at the hospital, but sadly died hours later at age 24.

The documentary reveals how both brothers could’ve died that night. Gregg’s friend, Chank Middleton, recalls that he and Gregg had been waiting at the hospital when a doctor assured them Duane would survive. Believing the worst was over, they left. Hours later, Allman Brothers Band roadie Joseph “Red Dog” Campbell arrived at Gregg’s home with devastating news. “When I opened the door, I could look at Red Dog’s face and tell that Duane had died,” Middleton says in the film. “And I just told Red Dog, ‘Man, don’t tell him now.’ When I said that, I could hear Gregg’s voice coming from the bedroom behind me. I could hear his voice saying, ‘Don’t tell me what?’”

According to Devon Allman (one of Gregg’s sons), Gregg and Middleton had bought heroin after leaving the hospital. “They copped some heroin. They got high. And my dad OD’d,” Devon says. “And Chank was like… He literally thought for a second; he thought he lost them both. And they revived my dad, but there for a minute he thought, ‘They just both died tonight.’”

That’s just unbelievable, when you think about how things could’ve played out. Later on in the documentary, an archival video interview finds Gregg recalling his brother’s death. Initially, he was understandably mad at God and the world, but “The Music of My Soul” captures how Gregg’s perspective on the loss had changed over the years. “For a long time, I’d get drunk and rave and rant about how ‘He was short-changed,’” Gregg says. “Then I grew up. He didn’t get short-changed; he had a blast. He had a good ol’ time.” It takes time and some living to arrive at that poignant conclusion on the subject of loss and grief.

After Duane’s death, the band had to decide whether or not to go on, and they concluded that Duane would’ve wanted them to continue. So, they continued working on what would become their third studio album, “Eat a Peach”, the recording of which lifted their spirits. Released in February 1972, the album was a huge hit, and the band hit the road again, performing almost 90 shows with their five-piece band. However, they were still feeling the loss of their brother, Duane, and bassist Berry Oakley was showing visible signs such as excessive drinking, drug consumption, and weight loss. Another tragedy occurred on November 11, 1972, when a slightly inebriated Oakley crashed his motorcycle into the side of a bus in Macon, just three blocks from where Duane had been killed. He declined hospital treatment and went home, but gradually grew delirious. He was taken to the hospital shortly thereafter and died of cerebral swelling caused by a fractured skull. Who knows if he would’ve survived if he had immediately received medical treatment, but it nevertheless added another unexpected tragedy to the band.

It seems impossible that the band would continue after both of these devastating losses, but the alternative would’ve been dangerous for everyone. Playing music, especially playing live, brought a specific unity and catharsis they clearly needed, and eventually bassist Lamar Williams and keyboardist Chuck Leavell (who worked on Gregg’s solo album, 1973’s “Laid Back”) joined, with Dickey Betts becoming the band’s de facto leader during this time. Their next album, “Brothers and Sisters,” was released in August 1973 and became the band’s biggest success yet. That additional success brought more money and internal strife, such as fractured friendships, miscommunications, and spiraling drug issues. They were far removed from the days when everyone traveled in one van. Now they were arriving at each gig in their own vehicles.

From the mid to late 70s, the band’s brotherhood was dwindling for various reasons, and Gregg began experiencing the repercussions of being married to a celebrity. In June 1975, Gregg married Cher (four days after her divorce to Sonny Bono was finalized), after they had been dating since January, and the highly publicized union brought with it an even greater loss of anonymity, which became quite uncomfortable for Gregg, as his struggles with addiction increased. This marriage ended in 1979, and would be Gregg’s third of his seven marriages, from 1972 up until his death from liver cancer in 2017 at age 69. At that time, he was married to Shannon Williams, who is also featured in the documentary. Reflecting on his marriages, Gregg candidly stated in an interview, “Every woman I’ve ever had a relationship with has loved me for who they thought I was.”

At the core of “The Music of My Soul” is a revealing 2014 interview with Gregg, recently unearthed in its entirety, and Keach organically sprinkles clips throughout to give viewers a better sense of who he was. He’s forthright and honest as he reflects on his life in this interview, as someone who has survived several tragedies and made amends for the toll his past drug and alcohol addiction took over two decades of his life. Keach integrates this interview with several of Allman’s past interviews in a way that makes the late artist come alive in unexpected ways, almost making me verify his death.

What sets Keach apart from other directors helming music documentaries is his ability to get to the core of his subjects without falling into hagiography or conventional trappings. Rather than just a sequence of beats from the past, these moments are reflected on with fondness and wonder, while also giving viewers a sense of what was happening at the time. Working with editor and fellow producer, Alexandra Kamisaruk (who also worked on Keach’s “Linda and the Mockingbirds” from 2020), the pair display an incredible knack for combining these various interview clips to reveal Allman as a whole and relatable person. That’s no easy task, considering the amount of footage they had to sift through, but the end result brings viewers to a better understanding of who Allman was, not just as an influential, award-winning musician.

Some viewers, like myself, may have been aware of the Allman Brothers Band music and maybe even “I’m No Angel,” a 1987 hit from one of Gregg’s solo albums. If moviegoers only knew him as “the bad guy” in the 1991 crime drama “Rush,” well, they’d definitely recall Allman as an unapproachably cool and intimidating figure, often leather-clad and intense. Yet within the cohesive, organic flow of “The Music of My Soul”, Allman comes across as a sensitive, gentle Southern soul. Die-hard fans probably already know that, but if this documentary winds up sharing that with even more people, than its even more of a success. It definitely left me with a greater understanding and appreciation of the man and his music.

RATING: ***1/2