Ted Burke LIKE IT OR NOT

(An early review of a Dixie Dregs concert at San Diego State University, 1979, originally published in the UCSD Daily Guardian).

Everyone knows that progressive rock—a pop permutation that tries to cram in every musical idea under the sun in a desperate bid for respectability—is a genre as dead as a rip-mined hillside. Thanks to the lowbrow output of bands like Kansas and Styx, it's fallen from the graces of critics and now subsists almost entirely on self-parody. Right? Am I right? 

Hardly.

While it's true that what we’ve come to call progressive or “art rock” is often glutted with unbearable dandyism and intermittent schlock, there are still bands out there maintaining a high level of craftsmanship and inspiration. The best of the lot? America’s own Dixie Dregs, whose May 2 concert at SDSU’s Montezuma Hall was nothing short of a revelation. The revelation—less than heavenly, but impressive nonetheless—was that a band of five musicians could breathe life into a form many of us had written off as exhausted, and still manage to dazzle, wow, and restore one's faith in rock as instrumentally inclined music. The Dregs proved that art rock, when done right, can do more than survive—it can entertain.Their secret? It’s not just that guitarist Steve Morse, bassist Andy West, drummer Rod Morgenstein, keyboardist T. Lavitz, and violinist Allen Sloan are peerless technicians who could reduce their competition to rubble with a single riff (though they could). It's that their songwriting and arrangements are rooted in structure and intention. Where other progressive and fusion acts dress up bone-thin ideas in showy, extraneous displays of ensemble virtuosity—with little musical substance to justify it—the Dregs, guided by Morse’s compositional vision, have mastered the elusive art of continuity. 

Pulling from a daunting range of styles—classical, jazz fusion, low-slung funk, hard rock, and bluegrass—the Dregs refuse to settle for surface-level mashups. Instead, they create a cross-referential intricacy that avoids the pitfalls of erratic jump-cuts and mercifully spares us any sophomoric lyrics. Their material flows with rare coherence, giving their considerable solo talents a remarkably accessible context.

Steve Morse, in particular, proved himself one of the few true standard-bearers for modern rock guitar. His playing was a surreal blend of Julian Bream, Roy Clark, John McLaughlin, and Truth-era Jeff Beck—his solos full of surprises, deftly moving among classical chord progressions, wrenching hard-rock dynamics, quicksilver flurries, and country-style chicken-picking. It was all delivered with a level of clean, precise speed that only a handful of guitarists could hope to match. Only Allen Holdsworth (of Tony Williams, Bruford, and Soft Machine fame) rivals him in sheer technical ability. 

Yet Morse is no spotlight hog. Despite having every reason to dominate the stage, he chooses to share it, giving ample room for his bandmates to shine. It’s a smart and gracious move.

In the rhythm section, West and Morgenstein were fluid and adaptive, navigating the band’s sudden turns and complex shifts with deceptive ease while anchoring the group's multifaceted sound. Lavitz and Sloan, meanwhile, were perfect complements to Morse’s galvanic energy. In their solo features and in Mahavishnu-like exchanges with Morse, they revealed a constant inventiveness. Their interplay built a joyous frenzy—lightning-fast riffs stacked high in a glorious frenzy of technique and musical wit.The Dixie Dregs aren’t dinosaurs digging a deeper grave for a dead genre. They’re breathing life into progressive rock with intelligence, skill, and a sixth sense for what truly sounds good. Want proof? Spin _Night of the Living Dregs_ (Capricorn) or their latest, _Dregs of the Earth_ (Arista).