Okay okay so I read
Another rock-star
Autobio, this one
By old slowhand
Himself. Yeah I know
He did great work
With Cream, Sunshine
of Your Love and all
That, but truth be told,
Any halfway decent
Blues-rock guitarist
Would have sounded
Great playing with
Ginger Baker and
Jack Bruce, the J.S.
Bach of the bass.
And those stunning
Lyrics were penned
By unknown poets,
Of course.
And really, everything
Original Eric did since
Was pretty lame stuff.
The first line of his
Book nearly put me
Off from reading it:
“Early in my childhood,
When I was about six or
Seven, I began to get the
Feeling that there was
Something different
About me.” Well Eric,
Most of us get that
Felling, so don’t wax
Too special.” But after
That the book got
Pretty good, and I was
Surprised to find that
Clapton was a fan of
Kenneth Patchen. But
As Bukowski wrote, it’s
Possible to like someone
If you don’t know them
Too well. Something like
That. So I wasn’t too shocked
To read that, after earning
Millions, buying cars, and
A barely-legal wife, old
Eric ruined my mostly
Positive view of him. As
He wrote: “…it was pigeons
Roosting in the eaves of our
House (mega mansion), cooing
In the evenings and waking up
The kids at five in the morning,
That tipped the balance. I went
Out and bought a shotgun…
Ethically it was never a problem
For me…” How lovely. Now I’m
A guy who loves peace and sleep,
But the sound of birdsongs never
Bugged me a bit. And even if it
Was an annoyance for his kids,
There had to be a better solution.”
So screw
Eric Clapton. Another “hero”
Bites the dust. But the crowds
Still scream his name in
A stadium near you, while
Robert Johnson died in
Agony as a very young man.
And as for me, who would
Cry for joy to hear the cooing
Of birds instead of blasting
Stereos everywhere, well, I’ll
Be lucky if one Blogger likes
This.
— FB
Musings, Mutterings, and Condemnations 