Rich Men's Blues

I love Eric Clapton's guitar playing. He is likely to be the greatest guitarist ever to pass through here... But tickets have just gone on sale for his Albert Hall concerts in May 2017. And the cheapest are £100 each, with a £12 booking fee per ticket.

The £12 booking fee per ticket actually seems more out of order than the £100 for a cheap seat.

So to echo my comments about Buddy Guy recently, I'm sorry but I'm not prepared to pay that much. And how many young blues fans who should see Eric before he goes are going to be able to pay that amount?

I confess I paid over £300 a ticket (from criminal touts) to see Cream's reunion at the Albert Hall (although a lot less to see their first farewell there in 1968). But that was to see Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker as well as Eric.

With Bruce dead and Baker in a bad way, Clapton raking in yet more money seems to stick in the craw – even though he richly deserves to be rich.

Let's not forget that Cream (i.e. Bruce and Baker) made him much bigger than John Mayall's Bluesbreakers ever did. A benefit night for Mr Baker might haver persuaded me to part with £112.

But as it is, I hope all those rich old men enjoy their outing to the Albert Hall.

Disharmony Row

Which was more unlikely? That Ginger Baker would agree to headline a tribute concert to the late Jack Bruce? Or that someone would screw things up to the point that Ginger walked off stage?

Both of these things happened last night at London's Roundhouse, a year on from Bruce's death.

The legendary drummer and the legendary bassist had enjoyed a legendary love-hate relationship for decades.

So the fact that Ginger was apparently prepared to bury the hatchet was remarkable.

The all-star line-up for the gig turned out to be less than starry... guitarists Bernie Marsden and Clem Clempson at least had some stature and relevance, but what were Hugh Cornwell and Joss Stone doing on the bill?

The only moments of real passion came from Ayanna Witter-Johnson (who, solo, played cello and sang a beautiful rendition of Rope Ladder To The Moon) and Jack's daughter Aruba Red (who sang a tear-stained version of Folk Song).

Aruba Red also successfully tackled We're Going Wrong, which introduced Mr Baker to the stage with the loudest applause of the evening.

But things started to turn sour immediately, as someone apparently had forgotten to amplify Ginger's hi-hat, which he uses jazz-style as a timekeeper. This was sorted and he continued to play thunderously beautiful tom-tom runs throughout the song.

But then came Sunshine Of Your Love, which Ginger kicked off, but then seemed to find himself being drowned out by the return of the house band's drummer to an over-amplified kit and more guitarists than it was sensible to put on one stage at the same time. He appealed several times for the sound of his kit to be brought up – without success. So he walked off mid-song.

Jack Bruce deserved better than this. And so did Ginger Baker. The organisers sold tickets on the basis that Ginger was going to play – and then appeared to ensure that he didn't.

But you could almost see Jack's ghost laughing as Ginger stormed off stage. Perhaps their partnership was always destined to end like this.

Mr Baker

The real drummer seldom plays the minimum. He seeks to find how far he can go - not for himself but for the sake of the music. 

I got into this game because of Ginger Baker. October 1967. Ginger Baker. At the Saville Theatre, London. In front of the hippest crowd on the planet. With me there too. Ginger Baker. With Cream. Opening with Tales Of Brave Ulysses. Jack Bruce with a voice borrowed from heavy metal angels. Ginger Baker. And Eric Clapton in Hendrix fuzz and granny shades and playing guitar that was not of this earth. Ginger Baker. 

Ginger would tell me to fuck off if I were ever to get close to him. But he changed my life. Fucking Ginger Baker.

On Ginger’s website there’s a video of him playing We’re Going Wrong. When Cream played that song live, Jack Bruce’s vocals went to the limit. And sometimes Clapton’s guitar did the same. But Ginger Baker. Watch that video and you will see how far a drummer can go - for the song. Because he has to. That is real drumming.

Jack And John

It's always great to see Jack Bruce. But to see him playing a pub gig? That's beyond the wildest of rock dreams... Except that it happened this week at The Half Moon, Putney, when the pre-eminent bassist guested with the awkwardly named Staxs soul big band to raise money for the charity Medicinema.

Bruce's voice and bass were on absolute top form for joyous versions of Born Under A Bad Sign, White Room and Sunshine Of Your Love.

But what made the night for me was that also there in the audience was the legendary John Marshall (drummer with the post-Cream Jack Bruce Band who played on part of Songs For A Tailor, and all of the tracks on Harmony Row, both among the greatest of rock albums).

Try as he did to keep a low profile, John was soon identified by Jack fans and spent a good deal of the evening chatting to gig-goers who couldn't believe their doubly good luck.

Wrong Is Right

Thoughts of Sleepy John Estes and making a change led on to We're Going Wrong. It has to be a contender for the most perfect song. Okay, there's Like A Rolling Stone and A Day In The Life and Layla... and everyone can add their own contenders.

But We're Going Wrong, which first appeared on Cream's Disraeli Gears album in 1967, is perfect for its simplicity, for its emotion and, of course, for the musicianship.

Ginger Baker's wonderful tom-tom patterns on a 6/8 rhythm could probably hold the song together on their own. Jack Bruce's bass is largely restrained, but his pure voice is increasingly unrestrained as the song unfolds. And then we get Eric Clapton, at the height of his fuzzy-haired, woman-tone period, with sublime notes played in just the right places.

On stage in the Sixties, the song became a tour de force, and still possessed its power when Cream revived it — and themselves — in 2005.

Many listeners, particularly in 1967, took We're Going Wrong to be a political/philosophical/protest kind of a song. Look at the lyrics and you'll see why. But it is documented that Jack Bruce wrote it after a row with his wife, and that it is simply about a fractured relationship.

Whether it's about the failed relationship between two particular people or about all the failed relationships that make up the world we live in, the song works. And if the microcosm and the macrocosm are all one, then it's not even worth differentiating.

Either way Jack Bruce wrote a masterpiece. For him, it might have been personal. For us, it's a perfect and universal call for change.

Anything He Can Do...

In my recent post on rhythm sections, I mentioned the love-hate relationship between Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce. Bruce has been quoted as saying that he and Baker were now living on different continents, but he wasn't sure whether that was far enough way; while Baker has publicly blamed Bruce for his misfortunes, including impaired hearing and financial difficulties.

Can the fact that Baker has now announced he will appear at Ronnie Scott's, London, with his latest band have anything to do with the fact that Bruce recently appeared triumphantly at Ronnie's and is due to return there soon with his new band?

Neither of these truly legendary musicians has anything left to prove... do they?

Rhythm Twins

Why do some rhythm sections endure? And which is the longest-serving rhythm section in the business? My first thought was of Robbie Shakespeare and Sly Dunbar (above), but they've been together a mere 37 years.

That's nowhere near as long as Mez and I (then-and-now pictures, below), rhythm section with Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists, who have been playing for 44 years — although we have had a few years off here and there.

Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker first played together in 1963 and for the last time in 2008, so that adds up to 45 years. But they've probably had more time apart than Mez and I have — and certainly more fights. I can't even find a picture of just the two of them together.

So I think the rhythm section outstanding achievement award has to go to John McVie and Mick Fleetwood (below) who have clocked up 45 years (and spent most of that time playing together amicably). Unless someone out there knows better...

Thanks To Monk...

I love jazz. There, I've said it. It's taken a long time, but now I know it's the real thing. One of the turning points for me came when I was stuck for five hours at Miami airport on the way back from a writing job in the Canary Islands. The bookshop was filled with books I preferred not to read... but I was drawn to the one pictured above, because I'd recently finished reading Composing Himself, the Jack Bruce biography, and Bruce had mentioned the inspirational qualities of Thelonious Monk.

Robin Kelley's book is one of the best I've ever read. And this brilliant telling of Monk's all-too-human story led me to the man's music, which now never ceases to lift my spirits. I won't attempt to convey the tragedies and triumphs of Monk's personal, musical and mental life... go get the book and listen to the music. I just wanted to express gratitude to Thelonious and his genius. I was late getting there, but thanks to Jack Bruce, Robin Kelley and Miami airport, I made it in the end...