226. Derek and the Dominos, "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs"

 

Every time a paunchy, 50-something white man straps on a Guitar Center Fender Strat... every time a Dad gets into his midlife crisis Ford Mustang and inserts a CD and heads out on the open road (or I-580, whichever is closer)... every time a man with a salt and pepper beard and a KQED sticker on a Volvo nods meaningfully at his Harman Kardons and says "Why doesn't anyone make real rock and roll any more?"...

They will be thinking of this album, the Rosetta Stone of Baby Boomers who think they've discovered blues, you know, like the real shit.  

Eric Clapton, as you may know, is a huge piece of shit.  Not only did he pine for his best friend George Harrison's wife (English model Pattie Boyd), descending into heroin addiction when he couldn't pry her away initially, but then, when he finally managed to ensnare her, he promptly started drinking heavily, cheating on her, and abusing her.  He's a famous racist who once said - ON STAGE - "This is England, this is a white country, we don't want any Black w—s and c—s living here. We need to make clear to them they are not welcome."  Lately, he's updated his noxious personality by becoming, of course, a Covid denialist and conspiracy theorist.  And he continues to put out horrifically terrible music.  

As we know, though, even huge pieces of shit can put out good, even great, music.  And there are moments on this album that have rightfully made their way into rock canon, like "Bell Bottom Blues" and "Keep on Growing" and "Layla," a song about Clapton's weird and stalkery obsession with Boyd.  All of these songs are good.  There, I said it.  All of Clapton's famous guitar chops are on display here, and he's a soulful, if technically marginal, singer.  Duane Allman lends some inspired guitar work as well.  

Then there's the downside, which is mostly a lot of white man blues that has made generations go "wow, just listen to that cat burn up that guitar" without considering that it really lacks the soul and fire at the heart of the best blues.  "Key to the Highway," for example, is a fine 12-bar blues jam with terrible singing.  Oh God, here comes another one, you think during "Have You Ever Loved a Woman."  No one needed this overblown, overwrought cover of Jimi Hendrix's "Little Wing."

So yes, I can always try to separate the art from the artist, but this is one of those albums where about a third of it is stone-lock classic rock songs that are etched into the firmament of rock history, a third is serviceable blues rock, and a third is just boring.  (There's also a painful acoustic ballad called "Thorn Tree in the Garden" at the very end, the less said about the better.)

Does this album deserve to be in the Top 500? I guess?  But not this high.