Cream of the Crop

There’s something deeply satisfying about watching some of the ‘older’ blokes of music on centre stage. I was thinking this very thought when I was watching a performance by Cream Live at the Royal Albert Hall. The thing you notice about Eric Clapton is that he’s a very cool guy.

Clapton is tall and cool, refreshing like a Vodka Lime Twist. There’s something entirely joyful and soul-lifting about watching a guy enjoy sharing his music the way he does. There’s something to be said for a life lived. It’s fascinating to watch.

You can hear it in Clapton’s guitar, it sings, I mean really sings. And you always have the sense his own voice somehow plays second fiddle to the acoustic genius in his fingers that comes out through the vocal cords of his guitar. It’s a blast!

Last year he also released an album, ‘The Road to Escondido” with JJ Cale. I haven’t heard it yet but I’ve promised myself that treat shortly. You haven’t got that about me? I’m a late bloomer, always traipsing up the rear.

The thing about traipsing up the rear of a thing, particularly music, is that you can enjoy listening so much more. There’s no elbowing at the counter, no twenty-deep lines of rabid fans or ‘run-off- their-feet’ cranky shop assistants who’ve dispensed with the niceties of customer service long before sales to the first one hundred people are safely in the till. Traipsing is good, less stressful if you ask me.

I can feel weekend mode kicking in. Accurate sound and a living legend to listen to, you’d be hard pushed to enjoy anything as wonderful at the near end of a working week. Well, almost!