Main, to me, conjures up the Stones' Exile on Main Street, but let's that leave that aside this time around.
I very early on had a copy of Cream's Disraeli Gears. As well as a copy of Fresh Cream. And then I was extremely lucky to catch Blind Faith in Seattle at the tender age of 14. Lucky, because I didn't even live in the USofA. A year later, when I did move to the US for boarding school, out comes the eponymous Eric Clapton solo album of 1970. And then after Derek and the Dominoes, there's nothing for 3 years until 461 Ocean Boulevard.
I'm no historian, but I think I can hear 461 Ocean Boulevard as a turning point in the man's music style. You can hear/sense a major change in guitar style but particularly his vocals. The more melidious harmonies that had been percolating with Winwood and then Allman during the Dominoes period seem to have matured. Granted, Rolling Stone critic Ken Emeson was not impressed with Clapton's guitar on the album: hiding behind less capable musicians. Myself, I think the symbiosis with Yvonne Elliman on vocals is one of the strengths of the album.
Mainline Florida is credited to George Terry, who joined Clapton on guitar for the album and in later collaborations, including Lay Down Sally. I get the impression that it perfectly suits what must have been the atmosphere at the address near Miami in 1974.
Because <In Memoriam> is kind of a coda to the year past, we might call this the first theme of the new. If you are of the type who makes resolutions at this time of year, it's like Starting Over. Unless, that is, you prefer to look back and claim the past is over. Either way, over it is.
And yes, I know we had a similar theme 5 years back, but time's has changed and so have half of your bloggers here.
And maybe I shouldn't go too far down this path, but .. hey .. if it's over, then judgment day is next.
This song is genrally credited to the legendary Robert Johnson, and Mr Eric Clapton plays a pretty decent rendition of the song. The real story of the song may be more complicated - a song that has been re-made over and over again from what appears to be the original - from a song called <Roll and Tumble Blues> by Hambone Willie Newburn (who?), which was maybe based on a piece called Minglewood Blues (what?).
You're probably familiar with the story of how Robert Johnson is said to have sold his soul to the devil in return for super-natural guitar skills. And while more recent renditions of this song (Clapton) reference Johnson (and we learn that he may not have been the original source), hereis some rather detailed research into the background of the era - most of which totally de-bunks the common Robert Johnson myth. For what it's worth. Myself, I prefer to live with the myth.
None of which really needs to influence our enjoyment of the selected output here. Over to you....
When I was 10, in the summer of 1971, my parents sent me to sleep away camp for the first time, and it was not a good experience. It was not a good camp (although based on some stuff I saw on Facebook, it might have been at one time), and I was homesick. But it wasn’t only me—it was common for campers to try to sneak out of camp, despite the fact that there was really nothing within walking distance (and I know, because we tried…but that’s another story that includes being locked in a hot van with nothing but Rice Krispies….). Also, the water tasted of sulfur. Other than that, it wasn’t too bad.
My complaints about that summer resonated with my parents, who then spent more time researching summer camps, before choosing to send me and my sister to Timber Lake Camp, which was an excellent camp that no one tried to escape, and had delicious drinking water. I absolutely loved my two summers there (and my couple of weeks as a counselor, years later, right before I went to college). Our experience at TLC led to a big influx of campers from my extended family and hometown over the years, and my sister and brother are still in touch with friends that they made there. (A few years after I stopped going, the camp was purchased by Jay Jacobs, now the NY State Democratic Chairman, and made even fancier and better than when I was there, and it was pretty good back then).
As I have previously mentioned, my first experience with radio, which in many ways was an onramp to my love of radio and music and without which I probably would not be a music blogger, was at WTLC, the camp radio station. But this isn’t about that.
I think that most camps wake up their campers with some sort of “Reveille,” because there is something vaguely military about people sleeping in bunks. But at Timber Lake, in the summer of 1972, the counselors were, for the most part, young men and women in their late teens and early twenties, and during that era, in that place, I have to assume that the military wasn’t particularly popular. Instead, we were usually awakened by some loud rock music playing on the loudspeaker.
And if you asked me what songs they played, the only one that I remember was Billy Preston’s “Outa-Space,” a funky, spacy instrumental. It made waking up relatively fun, and I’m pretty sure that I played the song on the radio, learning that it was by Billy Preston, about whom I basically knew nothing.
What I know now, is that “Outa-Space” was a big success for Preston, despite the fact that his record company refused his request to release it as a single—instead, it was a b-side that DJ’s flipped. It sold more than a million copies and hit number one on the Billboard R&B chart and number two on the Billboard Hot 100 during that summer, and won a Grammy. And I also learned that its distinctive sound came from Preston experimenting with a clavinet run through a wah wah pedal.
Preston, a self-taught child prodigy, backed Mahalia Jackson when he was 10, joined Little Richard’s band in his teens, and while with Richard in Hamburg, met The Beatles, with whom he played a few years later, and who signed him to their Apple label. He is one of the candidates for the mythical “Fifth Beatle” title, but it wasn’t until he left Apple, and joined A&M Records, that he had solo success. His first release for that label, I Wrote A Simple Song, included “Outa-Space.” Over the next two years, Preston followed up a bunch of hit singles, "Will It Go Round in Circles,” "Nothing from Nothing", and the also theme appropriate "Space Race."
In addition to playing with The Beatles, Preston opened for and played with The Rolling Stones, wrote “You Are So Beautiful” for Joe Cocker, was the first musical guest on what was then called NBC's Saturday Night, did session work with Luther Vandross, Whitney Houston, and Patti Labelle, and toured with Eric Clapton and The Band. However, cocaine addiction and a sexual assault charge derailed his career in the early ‘90s, before he made a handful of live and recorded guest appearances in the 2000s. Preston died in 2006.
One of the great things about writing for this blog is that it often forces you to revisit music that you haven’t really paid attention to for years, and I have to say that “Outa-Space” sounds just as good today as it did to my 11 year old self back in 1972.
IMHO, Clapton's first solo album stands above most of his other solo work. It was a break-out production - away from Cream and a first step towards his "god" status. Clapton supported himself with friends new [to us] (Bonnie and Delaney ) and old (Steven Stills, Leon Russell ). His sound was considerably more mellow and more mature than is earlier raw/raucous Cream and equally raw John Mayall fare. In addition to being primarily self-composed.
The <Eric Clapton>/solo album includes more than one piece that I would place in my pantheon of top rock songs: -the no-vocals <Slunky> -the cover of <After Midnight>, bringing (not for the only time) J. J. Cale to a larger audience -<Bottle of Red Wine> [see this] but more generally, this was a different kind of rock guitar for that day and age. Along with- but on a different planet from Jimi - the style "bent" our perceptions of electric guitar rock.
But, for the purpose of the <Power> theme, there's only one from that album that seems to fit: Blues Power. Co-written by Leon Russell.
I wonder if the song is really blues. Clapton hints at my doubts in the lyrics: "Bet you didn't think I knew how to rock and roll...." But the lyrics also include: "...no matter if it's fast or slow"
I've scoured the Internet in search of an answer: "Must a blues song be slow"? I always assumed as much. There's also the question of the sound/environment: even if the tempo is right, if the guitar is too raucous, can the song still fit the "blues" bill? Doesn't it have to "cry"? I don't have the answer. But this song has the power.
Something a little different with the same name: (Albert King)
I suppose that this could almost have fallen under the <slide> theme. Slide guitar is one area where George Harrison made a name. (See "My Sweet Lord").
It's been pointed out that of all the Beatles, the term "dark horse" probably best applies to George Harrison: someone who keeps their abilities and interests a secret, a surprise. Certainly, in terms of the heydays of the Beatles, Harrison fit the term. Known by name, but not as mediatic. Yes, he penned some of the Beatles' best (myself, I vote for Harrison's Taxman, below).
Then, following on the breakup of the band, Harrison's first two solo albums positioned him as the band's dark horse: <All Things Must Pass>, <Living In the Material World> and even the subsequent <Concert for Bangladesh> proved his dark horse status - all well received and charting well. A hit-generating contender beside McCartney and Lennon.
It was after this that Harrison headed into some real dark days - and not the kind defined by the term "dark horse" unless you twist the dictionary definition by comparing the life of a man to that of a horse. Stuff that's more like Darkest Days of Our Lives material. He tried to start his own recording label. Named Dark Horse no less. And the album of the same name (for which this was to be the hit song) didn't do so well. Perhaps not a surprise, considering the content focus, with songs titled "So Sad" and the classic "Bye Bye Love". As reviewer Nick Deriso said, the album is a "downer". Rolling Stone called it a "shrivelled career", 'awkward", "insufferable" and "hoarse"- pun probably intended. Ouch!
That said: this IS the one and only George Harrison. RIP.
Andrew Jackson and John Milton are both credited with some version of "the mind has a life of its own". In choosing "Eric" names for my post, I figure I must have been at least subliminally influenced by local advertising for this week's <Istanbul> concert from Eric Burdon - maybe not "a mind of my own"? There are banners and posters all over the city announcing the event.
I had decided to go down the path of looking into the prevalence of the name "Eric" over time (and comparing it to the prevalence of my own name) and realized that it may have been influenced by the posters:
I only once ever came face to face with an "Eric" (as opposed to variations such as Erik) - and that was the headmaster of my private boarding school back in the '70s - his name even shows up in a Google search.(hereby putting an end to the question I posed last post).
The popularity of names waxes and wanes over the years: my own did not even rank in the US Social Security list of popular names the year I was born, but more recently has ascended to somewhere in the top 200. Eric, appears in the top 20s for most of the latter half of the 20th century, dropping to the low 100s in the 21st. You can ponder for yourself why names come and go: is it fame-association or something else?
So ... Eric <somebody?> wherein Mr Clapton most probably figures at the top of the list, but is not the only major musical Eric to figure in that list of "Greats". Naturally, limiting ourselves to a first-name of Eric is going to come up with a variety of genres:
Sweet Home Chicago is so old and such a classic that it almost rates as kind of trite to post it.
And then again, there are renditions of the song that stand out, even after 80 plus years [Robert Johnson, 1936 or before], sometimes because of the interpretation, sometimes because of the line-up of musicians (each with their own interpretation).
More credit to you if you can name these guys in order of appearance (some are pretty easy, others need a little expertise).
But, whatever, the clip is a pretty good example of unique interpretations of a riff.
The list ( if I ain't confused):
Buddy Guy starts us off.
Johnny Winter appears to solo, but it isn't clear that he's playing.
Hubert Sumlin does a solo. (1931-2011, and a member of Howlin' Wolf's band)
Clapton and Buddy Guy sing a verse.
John Meyer - love the way he swings his guitar and the unusual notes he hits in his solo.
Johnny Winter's actual solo,
followed by Jimmie Vaughan's solo
And a Clapton/Buddy Guy wrap
The history of the song is particularly entertaining, because, while credited to Robert Johnson, there are a fair number of preceding progenitors and a plethora of interpretations of the lyrics. I'll simply provide you with a link to the informative Wiki article (and, because Turkey continues to ban access to Wikipedia, it's a link to the alternative Wikipedia that those of us over here have to use, unless we're on a VPN)
For
me, Fresh Cream was seminal and gound-breaking music, but mostly in
hind sight. I came across Disraeli Gears before I heard Fresh Cream. By
that time, Cream had already made its name, so my purchase was
essentially filling in the blanks of the Cream repertoire.
Fresh
Cream was Eric Clapton moving on from his roots in the Yardbirds and
John Mayall. But the album established Cream as a band to be reckoned
with. We're talking mid-to-late 60s and their style of music was
pushing the limits of what most people listened to (Soon to come: Jimi
Hendrix, who blew it all open, way beyond run of the mill Top of the
Pops, which generally would not include Hendrix and Cream until a few
years later, under popular pressure) I was there, listening, and I can
attest that it was nothing like you had ever heard, Fresh Cream
included. Cream (and Hendrix) took rock to a new level.
Cream
(see my last post) was one of the bands that moved popular music from
its "more or less acceptable if dubious" status position to money-making
and hence acceptable endeavors. Fresh Cream - in retrospect- had what
it takes too move the rock genre forward, but it was both a bit early
and not as well marketed as it might have been.
This
video is from nigh on 50 years after the real Cream, but it includes the
essence of the original - with modernization of Clapton's evolution.
I confess that I am a die-hard Clapton fan: one of the first albums I bought was Disraeli Gears. Not too long after, I had the chance to see Blind Faith live in Seattle. But probably one of my favorite/top albums is the eponymous Eric Clapton first solo album from 1970. To me, it seems to embody/include the best vibes of the John Mayall/Yardbirds era with the harmonic vibrancy that has infused Clapton's later music.
The album - to my recollection - came out at about the same time as McCartney was starting on his solo career: Wings and such, and they both had a transformative effect on me - band-based musicians that had broken free and could produce substantially better music than they were capable of under the constraints of working together with other band members.
Eric Clapton first solo album shows-cases a style that blends Clapton's transition from the harder/rougher (Slwabyr? is what?) to the more melodic tones we hear when he picks up the Steve Winwood influence of Blind Faith, Delaney and Bonnie and beyond.
There's a certain amount of John Mayall influence in this album, a certain amount of Cream - but more of what later turns out to be really inside the man: more melodic tunes.
I can't say that Bottle Of Red Wine is my favorite track from the album: my choice would be a toss-up between Slunky, Easy Now, Let It Rain and After Midnight (and that comprises most of the album).
I do wonder why Clapton might focus on wine when there was so much else of the mind-bending substances going on around him at that time (see my last post about West Bruce & Laing). You could take a minute to consider the lyrics:
I went to an all-night get together
And everyone I knew was there.
Had the love that would last forever.
Everywhere I looked, I saw you standing there.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
I can't get up out of bed
With this crazy feeling in my head.
I said get up right now, oh oh.
I said get up right now.
In digging around for copies of songs for Eric Clapton's Bottle of Red Wine, I came across a series of clips that I wanted to share from a guy who does a very decent cover of most of the album. He's doing what I myself have also started in on: guitar on top of backing tracks (it's a great way to perfect your chops)
I thought I knew a lot about Eric Clapton, so it surprised me to come upon one of his songs I don't recall having heard before.
That's one of the benefits of blogging here - digging around for gems.
Maybe if I more closely followed public media (I watch almost no TV), I would have known about the Cheryl Crowe/Clapton fling back around 1999. I guess it is public knowledge. But their relationship has little or no import on this theme or post. Except that it may have been a gem for either that neither you nor I know about, and it appears to have maybe been the spark for the song I've chosen.
A Google search for <Clapton Gems> brings up a 2017 Miami GEMS festival (with another scheduled for the Fall of 2018) - it appears to be a mix of film and music.
And considering Clapton's heavy touring schedule, it is no surprise that there seems to be no YouTube link to a 2017 GEMS festival/Miami event.
But .. Gems, Stones & Diamonds ... Stones that make you rich. Stones that you can pick up as you walk around are rarely those that turn you into a millionaire. It happens. But rarely, even if you live in Angola or Botswana.
Me, I have a collection of agates (some of them pretty decent) that I have found on the beach. But they aren't worth more than a $ or two - at most (kind of "dime a dozen" stones. But they are beautiful. And they have a different kind of value - they don't just show up without effort.
So .. the value of gems.
Agates are gems, but they aren't worth much.
But then again, diamonds are artificially over-priced stones (gems)
Good music is a gem that only you can place a value on: your wedding song, a song that brings tears to your eyes or a song you want to hear on your death-bed,
You define the value of a musical gem.
So ... here, we've got <Diamonds Made from Rain>
Clapton sings:
every stone that I have turned! wash over me like diamonds made of rain we can make diamonds from the rain
But the song appears to belong to Cheryl Crowe and not Clapton - apparently written about his infidelity?
purchase [Right Time, Wrong Place] The Nite Tripper indeed. Malcolm John "Mac" Rebennack, better known as Dr. John has been making music since the late 50s- from time to time finding himself in the right place. The list of musicians he has worked with is so long that it is almost shorter to list those he hasn't played with at one time or another. In '72, a year before he made a name for himself beyond being known as a great session player, he came out with Iko Iko. And then followed it up in '73 with "Right Time". The lyrics for his classic <Right Place, Wrong Time> point out how close you can get and still miss the mark. Kind of like "close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades". I appreciate the "brain salad surgery" reference to the Doctor's state of mind - which Emerson Lake & Palmer picked up on. And this phrase leads to my more favorite and related line: "refried confusion" . I also note the multiple references to missed opportunities such as "right vein... wrong arm" and "right road ... wrong car". And yes, Dr John has been clean since the 80s, before when he was definitely on the wrong path.
The song is such a classic that you'll find a number of friends performing it with the man himself.
There's a pleasantly informative interview done by SongFacts that will give you some additional perspective. with Johnny Winter:
Hey ho, at least I have the theme right this time, but what's an 'n' between friends? Martial/martian, I mean aren't they the same? (Editor now declares martian law on my future posts.) I confess this one too took me on the hop for a second, and I nearly filed a post of the chimp loving one time governor of California/President of the USA, sending me scuttling for the Woodstock soundtrack, but I digress.
Stev(i)e Winwood has always been one of my heroes. Old enough to remember the Spencer Davis Group on Top of the Pops, he was the impossibly young singer and, usually, hammond player who has notched up an incredible 54 years of musicianship since he joined that group. Still at school initially, aged 14, it took 3 years for his distinctive vocals to be number 1 on the UK singles chart with 'Keep on Running'. Playing guitar on that song, the success allowed him to buy his first Hammond B3 organ. Staying with the band a further 2 years, he co-wrote a number of their further hits, 'I'm a Man' and 'Gimme Some Lovin.' During this time, in 1966, he made his first collaborative contact with another musician to feature frequently in his musical life. This was a one-off project called the Powerhouse, who had 3 tracks on an Elektra compilation album about the emergent white boy electric blues scene. With 3 tracks featured, here is one of them, the collaborator being Eric Clapton.
Traffic were the band perhaps most widely associated with Winwood, coming together in 1967 following a chance jam in a Birmingham (UK) pub. Setting the archetype for 'getting together in the country', the original line-up shared a cottage in the sticks, coming up with the psychedelic whimsy of 'Hole in my Shoe', written, like most of their earlier hits, by Dave Mason. Personally, at least on these shores, this seemed somewhat of a shibboleth, detracting from their serious credibility, and Winwood's desire to pursue a more folk-blues direction, possibly contributing to the first fracture of the group. This had been accelerated by the return of Eric Clapton, who, following the break up of his own band, Cream, teamed up with Winwood in short-lived supergroup Blind Faith. Cream had not been to my then taste, so I didn't then take much to this, only later appreciating the simple beauty of the sole record released.
Blind Faith's (mis)fortune was ultimately the making of Traffic, who promptly re-formed, minus Mason, as the core line up of Chris Wood, Jim Capaldi and Winwood. The time was right for their folk-blues amalgam, their version of traditional folk song 'John Barleycorn Must Die' making this teenage folkie delight. Over several albums they expanded their line up and widened their repertoire, always innovative and always interesting, Winwood's expertise on guitar now getting as much acclaim as his keyboards. Sadly, with physical health issues playing havoc with his stamina, Winwood walked off-stage in 1974, the band then calling it a day.
A solo career was always going to beckon, but it was a few years before he produced his 1st solo album, 'Arc of a Diver', with this and its follow-up each featuring Winwood on all vocals and all-instrumentation. My favourite period of his career, the songs 'While You See a Chance' and 'Valerie', remaining firm favourites. It is thus strange that the song that this piece name-checks is only now one I enjoy, with Winwood having been roped into producing a top-notch session-men New York record. I recall being distinctly upset by this polished and commercial product, the follow-up single, 'Higher Love', with Winwood gamefully mugging his way through an awkward video, seeming bereft without the prop of an instrument other than his voice. It was certainly the High Life of his career though, the videos still a staple on oldies music channels.
After this peak he has continued to produce intermittent albums, even reviving the Traffic name once more for the now duo of himself and Capaldi, but keeping a generally lower profile. I was lucky enough to see him play live, maybe a decade ago, in Birmingham, on home turf. Playing mainly hammond and occasional guitar, a tight band modelled on the Traffic template of himself on keyboard, percussion heavy backing plus reeds, he played songs from all stages of his career. He did not play 'Hole in my Shoe', perhaps a blessing, but all the others were there. And he still looked impossibly young.
Since then intermittent output, but, inevitably, yes, a further and possibly final collaboration with Eric Clapton, recorded for posterity with a sort of joint greatest hits. It has to be a Traffic song I include.
So, apart from the title, what's this got to do with 'again'? Probably only this, one of the several covers of the song out there, this being Warren Zevon, slowing the song and maximising any irony available, his 'High Life" being the terminal cancer he was facing. And duly succumbed to. I think that trumps any irony Steve Winwood may have felt about the song as he sang it.
I suppose this should really be a learned discourse on the origins of this oft-covered stalwart of the idiom, but, hell, no, let's cut to the chase and forget the earnest original and celebrate Duane, Gregg and the boys. Is this live track not the most uplifting downbeat song ever? Tacked on with Statesboro' Blues on 'Live at the Fillmore' (1971!), this was my introduction to the Allman Brothers and it remains their pinnacle, something I can listen to for time eternal.
Of course, in their decades long history, 1969 - 2014, give or take the odd recess, they have produced a zillion live albums and a trillion live versions of this old warhorse, but it is this outing I always see as the template, even comparing other artists to it, as if it were truly the original. So, then, what of the song? Penned by T-Bone Walker, it was a hit as far back as 1948, although maybe a decade or so elapsed before Bobby 'Blue' Bland cut the version many see as definitive. Indeed, as I much later learnt, much of the phrasing and a lot of the licks were lifted wholesale by the Allmans.
The lyric is the age old simple lament of the working man, the grind of the week, trajecting through to payday and the celebration of the weekend, grounded with some sunday religion, before it all starts again. Whilst Bland seems more celebratory of the contrast between the highs and lows, poor old Gregg Allman sounds completely dragged down by the repetition of the cycle, his vocal as downbeat a lament as any sharecropper half a century his (then) senior. So the then contrast as his hammond kicks into an unexpected jaunty and jazzevocative statement is all the more pronounced. Has he ever produced a more inspired burst of soloing? (In truth I find it hard to recall any other piece of soloing by him at all, making it all the more remarkable.)
Anyone else come close? Well, any blues legend worth his salt, such as Kings, Freddie, B.B. and Albert, most of the white boys, like Clapton and Beck, as well as wild cards like Eva Cassidy and ? and the Mysterians have all given it space. But I guess my other favourite is the one by Jimmy Smith, maybe no surprise if it is the organ that so appeals to me in the Allmans, Smith being the jazz-blues maestro of the same. Here it is in all its instrumental glory:
Now is Tuesday really just the same after any of these? Hell, I hope not.
A quickie to get the theme rolling... one thought behind this theme is upcoming April Fool's Day: a celebration of untruths that are mostly just kidding. Somewhat lighter than the cheating and lying that seems to accompany themes of love thoughout popular music.
Probably best known as the author of "Cocaine", for the most part, JJ Cale prefered to stay out of the limelight. It is a reasonable guess that partly through a feeling of debt, "Clapton & Friends" put together a tribute album called "The Breeze" a year after Cale's death in 2013. More than one of the songs that have helped earn Clapton his fame are JJ Cale's tunes - "After Midnight" among them.
Underwhelming may be an apt desciptor for how Cale comes across. If not underwhelming, then certainly laidback. There are references to how he was one of the main forces in the Tulsa Sound style of music. He himself said that the style came about as a result of not really being able to play the Blues. Be that as it may, few would seriously argue that he wasnt influential nor that he didn't have a style very easily identifiable as his own. And that's no lie.
I'll freely confess that I first came across ol' JJ through the works of one Clapton, E, Cocaine and After Midnight. I imagine the same would be true of most, but I was lucky enough to have schoolfriends with the pockets to pursue further to source, opening up dusty and windblown originals, exuding faded workwear and a consummate lack of fashion, meaning he was never quite in style. Or out, ploughing a timeless unchanging farrow of bluesy folky choogle over 4 decades, one I was happy to dip in and out of right up until his last release, 2009's Roll With It.
There seems some uncertainty as to even his real name, various stories existing, but it was probably John, initialised to avoid confusion with a certain welsh viola whizz.
Born in 1938, single-handedly he gifted his home town, Tulsa, with it's own identifiable style of music, the Tulsa Sound, most likely played in Tulsa Time, a laid back minimalist shuffle. Having failed to make any name for himself, he was on the verge of quitting when Clapton lifted his songs (and, arguably, one aspect of his own style) from him, on his 1970 recording of After Midnight. Compare it with the original . (Inevitably, there would come times when they would play it together , with this particular clip giving a snippet of each of their thoughts around it.)
Another artist who undoubtedly channels much of the same feel is Mark Knopfler, whom some accuse of basing his entire career on similar mumbled vocals with a singing finger and thumbpicked guitar over a railroad rhythm track. (Sorry, some of you are no doubt ahead of me here, so, for you, here's his version, again with Eric Clapton)
He died, aged 74, of heart failure. R.I. P. JJ, long may your legacy live. After midnight and into every day henceforward..
(P.S. I noticed in my youtube forays that frequent questions are raised as to who the omnipresent female guitarist in his live shows could be? Well, she is Christine Lakeland, his widow, who co-wrote many of his songs. I couldn't find a version of After Midnight by her alone, but the song highlighted in unmistakeably from the same lode.Go search, there are a couple of albums out there.)
Believe me. Fame isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially if you're a rock star. So let me make a suggestion: while you're busy strumming your tennis racket and practicing your guitar god faces in the mirror, take a moment to consider what you will need when super stardom really strikes: condoms, a personal pharmacist and ...a hideaway.
Here are three hideways to get you in the right frame of mind.
Hideaway #1
Eric Clapton of John Mayall's Bluesbreakers grabs the spotlight in this masterful Freddie King cover (with a bit of Jimmy McCracklin's "The Walk" slipped in for fun). It's so good Mayall decides to go with the album title Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton instead of the original title Come On Feel My Goatee. Hideaway #2
How's this for a catchy name : Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mich and Tich. It worked wonders for this UK pop sensation who, between 1965 and 1969, spent more weeks in the UK singles chart than The Beatles if you believe everything Wikipedia tells you."Hideaway" was a Top 10 hit in 1966.
Hideaway #3
.
Rock doesn't get much more theatrical than it did on 1973's Cockney Rebel debut The Human Menagerie. It's an absolute delight! And it sold... absolutely nothing. But no worries for the band. As Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel, they hit #1 in the UK two years later with "Come Up and See Me (Make Me Smile)"
There are some pretty obscure pieces of trivia in the Guinness Book of World Records, but “Artist associated with the most And Bands” is probably not one of them. My guess would be that the record is held by Eric Clapton.
Eric Clapton’s first recorded work was with the Yardbirds, but the style that he became famous for first began to take shape during his brief tenure with John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers. Clapton only made one album with them, in 1966, but that was enough to start his legend as a blues-rock guitar god. The album was simply called John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers With Eric Clapton. Mayall had a deep love of the blues, a great talent for finding sidemen who would go on to greater glory, and a horrible singing voice. He was also generous to his bandmates. Steppin’ Out is one of several instrumentals from the album that prominently featured Clapton’s guitar, and the album also included Clapton’s first recorded vocal, on Ramblin’ on My Mind.
Of course, Clapton cemented his early fame in Cream, starting later in 1966, but I have excluded them from this post for obvious reasons. Cream was followed by Blind Faith, another band that does not fit our theme. But the opening act for Blind Faith was Delaney and Bonnie and Friends. Clapton quickly became one of those friends, and his association with Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett would last longer than Blind Faith did. The Bramletts made important contributions to Clapton’s first solo album. Bonnie even co-wrote one of Clapton’s early solo hits, Let it Rain.
Finally, this post would not be complete without Derek and the Dominos. The band consisted of Clapton, plus Delaney and Bonnie’s rhythm section, joined on their best known album by Duane Allman. They are seen here on Johnny Cash’s old TV show. Cash knew well the connections between country music and the blues, and it’s great to see that the in studio audience appreciated this as well. I’m not that the audiences for what passes for country music these days would respond this way, although I would like to think so.
I may not be of the "Clapton is God" school - but I am not far off. I have gone out of my way/paid big bucks to see him in concert on 3 continents (not because I traveled for the purpose, but because we were in the same place at the same time) - most recently in Istanbul, Turkey, 2011 but also as far back as Blind Faith @ Seattle in '69.
This collection of videos of "Let It Rain" prove that even on his worst day, he is a guitarst "par excellence".
Let it Rain dates back to Clapton's immediate post-Cream days: from the first solo/eponymous album (1970)- more or less the Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett era (just after the Blind Faith days).
Of the set of YouTube videos I am linking to, the Hartford/Youtube version(above) strikes me as the best of the live video Youtube video versions available today, if not the best recording overall. It takes him a few seconds of the solo to get going, but when he hits the higher notes, it's pretty good stuff.
The piano (see minute ~ 1:05 and again ~ 2:09) is the "tinkling sound" of rain itself - in wonderful contrast to the sharper/cutting guitar. The video image may be on the dark side, but the sound is bright.
As for the lyrical value (and I am going back to our recent themes), "The Bard" it's not: (interestingly, credited to Al Jarreau - remember him?):
Let it rain, let it rain
Let it rain, rain, rain...
Musically, however, would that all rain was this sweet.
Eric Clapton established himself as a, perhaps the, guitar god with his work in Cream, Derek and the Dominos, and Blind Faith. So when he went solo, expectations were high. That’s why his version of I Shot the Sherriff was greeted with such derision and contempt by long-time fans. But was the song really such a departure? Consider: Clapton made his name with covers of classic blues songs, and part of his mission was always to encourage his fans to seek out the original versions and artists. With Sherriff, Clapton was asking his fans to do the same thing with Bob Marley and reggae. I would argue that reggae is a musical spiritual cousin to the blues. Both take a people’s grievances and provide a forum where they become a shared experience. Blues is more personal, while reggae is more political, but the communal experience is essential to both.
As for Clapton’s fans, there is no guitar solo in Sherriff. In fact, the only solo in either version is a brief organ solo at the end of the Marley. But, having said that, Clapton’s Sherriff sounds pretty good to me now. And, to the extent that it helped the world discover Bob Marley and reggae, I am grateful.
I’ve been posting here for more than two years now, and this is the first time I have run into this situation. Here are two covers of Before You Accuse Me, which obviously fits our theme. However, Bo Diddley’s original version does not, because he added in parentheses (Take a Look at Your Self). So I could have posted the original two weeks ago, but not now. No matter. Neither Eric Clapton nor Magic Slim recreate the original, but both honor its spirit and deliver versions that ring true.
Magic Slim was part of the original Chicago blues scene of the 1950s, when big names like Muddy Waters, Little Walter, and yes, Bo Diddley were defining the sound of a city. Magic Slim was barely into his twenties at the time, and he could not compete. Like so many of the blues stars of the day, Slim had come up from the south, but unlike his more successful peers, Slim gave up on making it in the Chicago scene, and returned home to Mississippi to improve his skills.
By the mid 60s, British musicians had embraced the blues. They were inspired by the Chicago sound of ten years earlier, but their music also had a rock n roll bite to it. Many of these British blues musicians finished honing their skills in John Mayall’s band the Bluesbreakers, and the most famous of these was Eric Clapton. Also in the mid 60s, Magic Slim returned to Chicago. His skills had improved, he had put together the best band he had ever had, and the Chicago of the mid 60s was less competitive. This time, Slim was a success.
Another 25 years went by. Magic Slim kept doing his thing, and became a fixture on the Chicago blues scene. Clapton, like so many of his peers, strayed far from the blues. He sought and found pop success, both as a singer and a songwriter. Clapton even stopped playing lead guitar during this period. But then, Clapton’s pop fortunes began to wane. He could adapt to the pop tastes of the 70s, but the 80s were another matter. Finally, the blues called Eric Clapton back.
In November of 1989, Eric Clapton released the album Journeyman. It was his return to the blues, and Clapton still had it. His version of Before You Accuse Me comes from that album, and Clapton attacks the song as he might have done in his youth. He returns to playing lead guitar, and he shows why he was regarded as a guitar god. But it’s not just show; as it always did, Clapton’s solo is built on the feel and emotion of the song.
Three weeks later, Magic Slim & The Teardrops released Gravel Road. Slim takes a very different approach to Before You Accuse Me. Where Clapton emphasizes the emotion of the song by hitting the beat hard, Slim sings around the beat, tugging at it, and achieving the emotional tension that way. There are solos here, but the emphasis is on the group sound. The feel is more relaxed, but no less emotionally true. Personally, I’m glad to have the song done both ways.
Since 1989, Clapton has gone back to making pop music, but he stops back and still makes a blues album from time to time as well. I get the feeling that the blues will never entirely leave him again. Slim just kept on doing what he was doing. In recent years, age has caught up to him, and he is no longer so active. But, whatever happens, has created a great body of work to inspire another generation of blues artists yet to come.
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