If there has been anyone who carried the Olympic Flame of Guitar Heroes, Eric Clapton would have to be considered. He has matured as a musician who truly brings smiles to everyone onstage with him. Thank you, old friend, for these fireworks displays.)
Derek & the Dominos
In Concert (Polydor)
Live at the Fillmore (Polydor)
These packages are really fraternal twins of the same concert: two performances a night on October 23rd and 24th, 1970, at Bill Graham’s Fillmore East. If you love Eric Clapton (and not liking this phase of his career is like finding fault with a sunrise), then it’s a treat to own both CD’s, even though they carry the bulk of the same material on each set. However, the subtle nuances and slight alterations of Eric’s serpentine lead guitar and the athletic backup show of the Dominos (Bobby Whitlock on organ and piano; Jim Gordon on drums; Carl Radle on bass) make this a musical “would you prefer blondes, brunettes or redheads” type of opportunity! Just dig in and enjoy.
It always takes just one tune to make me reach for the In Concert disc, and that’s “Why Does Love Got to be So Sad?” Beginning with a loose exchange between Clapton’s wah-wah musings and Gordon’s ride cymbal/percussion prodding, the song shakes itself awake like a rearing stallion as Whitlock takes his cue on Hammond B-3 and starts to breathe fire. The band catches the momentum and everyone is cooking, and it’s especially interesting to catch Carl Radle’s fluidity if you use headphones. Underestimated as a bass player, he keeps himself nimble enough to make his partners give that little extra bit.
Okay, I’m a sucker for rock ‘n roll, so just juice it up with a “Bottle of Red Wine.” Eric and Bobby just have the time of their lives, and Clapton’s vocals and playing are pure enthusiasm, keeping tandem with Whitlock’s exhilarating background vocals and laser-beam organ lines. The guitar solo is crisp and punchy, and if your feet aren’t nailed to the floor, then you’ve probably moved the furniture and grabbed your favorite dancing partner. I’d leave things as they are: next up is a raunch ‘n roll, and someone needs to “Roll It Over.”—you can figure out that some groupie somewhere is patting herself on the back (literally) for the memories from this complement. The lyrics are bawdy and earthy, and Eric’s guitar reaches straight for the heavens like a beacon looking for an airplane at night.
There’s still room for a party, and Eric shows the way: he’s got “Blues Power.” Whitlock plays piano like a true percussion instrument, raining down chords to keep pace with Clapton’s voracious attack, and the ever-steady Gordon runs on nuclear fuel. One tune that appears as a before-and-after is a favorite of many from the Layla album: “Tell The Truth.” Stripped bare of the slide work of Duane Allman, this song has two incarnations, and each shows why this was a mandatory part of the set: the anguished, grievous singing of Clapton and Whitlock work like barbed wire to keep a sharp boundary marker that lets Clapton kick up his heels on Stratocaster like a scared rabbit trying to double back on its tracks, urged on by anvil choruses of piano and cymbal smashes. However, on Fillmore, Eric throws a nod to Skydog’s influence as he slips a bottleneck on his finger and whines and buzzes like an industrial saw on the jobsite.
A special serving of Layla tunes makes Fillmore a welcomed addition to your collection: “Key to the Highway, Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out,” and “Little Wing.” Clapton kicks off “Key” with a clarion blast of notes, then swings down on his chariot as Whitlock rocks him slowly. The lyrics are textured with a barroom smoky feeling, and Eric dreamily loses himself for a few brief moments, only to crack the whip again on his strings. Everyone successfully repeats this format for “Nobody Knows You…”, and Eric’s vocals stand as testimony to the original author’s shame and self-pity, and he puts out his best Freddie King tribute. With a touch of controlled lead mixed with wah-wah and steamy organ, Jimi Hendrix is saluted with the fireworks display of “Little Wing” as Eric pours out notes of 24-karat gold.
If there’s such a thing as British gospel, “Presence of the Lord” fits the bill. Eric’s voice is strained and fragile, but the melody is initially supported on the strong shoulders of Whitlock’s piano and backup vocals. Clapton gets his sea legs under himself—then he fills the sails with a mighty flurry, mixing string-bending with wah-wah effects. With optimism and recovery of sorts in mind, maybe it’s time to check out “Got to Get Better in a Little While.” Ominously direct and to-the-point with comments about Clapton’s battle with heroin (“Sniffing things that ain’t good for me”), Whitlock helps build a wall of driving piano with his mates to lay a foundation under Eric’s panoramic phrases. In songs like this, the rhythmic coordination of Radle and Gordon as counter-weights really shows why this team was so stabilizing in allowing Clapton his freedom to soar.
As a human dynamo, Jim Gordon kept a relentless pace on drums in a live set (ala Butch and Jaimoe), and he is turned loose halfway through “Let it Rain” to unleash a barrage of percussive fundamentals in his solo. Using a simple but effective kit, he pulls every inch of available space from his tom-toms, using their deep resonance to pull some bottom against the snare’s pistol crack and cymbal hiss and splashes. Whitlock’s Hammond shudders with fury, and Clapton again leaps for the upper atmosphere. When the others finally rejoin Gordon’s frantic pace (I have personal testimony that the boys were indulging right behind Jim, ignoring his warranted annoyance and “get up here and let’s play!” prodding), guitar and B-3 sprint home against him for the checkered flag, and Radle keeps them honest. On the Fillmore version, Clapton’s outburst at this point leaves the solar system at the speed of light.
So, maybe it’s time to slow things down—a whole lot. “Have You Ever Loved A Woman” lets everyone move like it’s 95 degrees in the shade…and the heat makes all the difference. His vocals rip apart his torment and Eric’s searing fingers perform open-heart surgery with a razor-sharp cutting edge. This is why they call it the blues—but this is really indigo-deep and to the core. With that in mind, turn back to Fillmore and let Robert Johnson’s “Crossroads” remind you of who caught Eric’s ear and soul with his own legendary bargain. Deliberate and crisp, everyone runs their routine like a gym boxing workout. For those of you who own the Crossroads compilation, this is the same version.
It really comes down to paying dues, and Derek & the Dominos put enough credit in their account to break the bank. As much as can be said about the excesses and emotional upheavals that were the detonating device and/or destroyer of their efforts, we can be thankful that they were so willing to live in this musical lake of fire. Clapton had the best team of commandos that ever strapped on, picked up, or plugged in during this timeframe, and for those who were lucky enough to have been there, seeing was believing. Hearing it again just validates what once was…magic…of the highest order from a man and his friends.
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