So I’m on the 8:06 train, which left at 8:09 because of ‘police activity’ at the Aurora train station. Not that said police activity had an impact on the train schedule – the conductors held up the train in an attempt to see something exciting.
How do I know this?
Because I watched them watching the train station, waiting for cops to emerge with a suspect or perp or skell or whatever the TV crime shows are calling them these days.
~~~~~~~~
Where ya been, Hed?
Pouting, mostly. Although I did have the flu on Monday and Tuesday which only made matters worse.
Pouting? Yes, pouting.
That’s the best way to describe it. Although today is better.
You mean, pouting, as in ‘I’m a lazy spoiled brat’ pouting?
Sorta.
~~~~~~~~
Eric Clapton. Eric Clapton is why I’m pouting.
A good friend recommended his autobiography and I read it over the weekend.
It’s not a great book.
How do I know this?
Because I watched them watching the train station, waiting for cops to emerge with a suspect or perp or skell or whatever the TV crime shows are calling them these days.
~~~~~~~~
Where ya been, Hed?
Pouting, mostly. Although I did have the flu on Monday and Tuesday which only made matters worse.
Pouting? Yes, pouting.
That’s the best way to describe it. Although today is better.
You mean, pouting, as in ‘I’m a lazy spoiled brat’ pouting?
Sorta.
~~~~~~~~
Eric Clapton. Eric Clapton is why I’m pouting.
A good friend recommended his autobiography and I read it over the weekend.
It’s not a great book.
Mostly because Eric Clapton is not a writer. He’s a musician.
An average musician who wrote a below average book about his way below average life.
Seriously, his autobiography reads like the longest liner note in the history of modern music.
~~~~~~~~
Here’s the Mad Libs version of Clapton’s book:
Then I met [famous musician] and we did [drug] and got piss-drunk while playing [cool concert venue] to [huge number] adoring yet eternally disappointed fans and then did [another drug] and then I broke up the band again because [egomaniacal bullshit reason].
Oh, and I stalked and stole George Harrison’s wife and then he died. Oh, and I had a son with a woman I barely knew and then he died.
The end.
~~~~~~~~
I threw the book down after losing count on how many accidents he had driving one of his many Ferraris (and endangering who knows how many lives) and all he had to say on it was: “I keep thinking about how I could’ve seriously hurt myself.”
No word or concern for anyone else, just really glad he didn’t hurt himself.
~~~~~~~~
So I’ve obviously never been much of a Clapton fan.
After reading the book, though, I diligently downloaded the best of his stuff from iTunes: Bell Bottom Blues (Derek & The Dominos), Layla (both versions), After Midnight, Cocaine, Lay Down Sally, oh, and his two weepy forgettable hits (You Look Wonderful in Heaven).
Layla and She’s Waiting are songs from my childhood. I remember liking She’s Waiting a bit but being extremely irritated at Detroit's 98.7 WLLZ for playing Layla over and over and over again. There’s only so much screamin’ Layla you can take. Although the unplugged version is seriously better.
Clapton's biggest problem - and it's evident throughout the book - is that he thought way too highly of himself. He wanted to be a blues musician but he always ended up just a pop star.
And pretty much all of his hits are pop songs – not classics.
Okay, maybe…wait...nope. Not one classically good song.
~~~~~~~~
But Hedy!
Eric is Derek! Slowhand! Clapton is God! He’s done some great things. He’s been sober for 20 years. And that Crossroads clinic in Antigua. What about that?
Let’s just say it’s a good start. Eric Clapton is gonna have to live another 200 years to undo all the seriously bad karma he racked up in his early years.
Maybe if he didn’t congratulate himself for doing all that stuff in his book. Maybe if he had apologized for leaving so many hurt, damaged and dead people in his wake.
Maybe if his book didn’t read like so much ego-stroking crap, then Slowhand would deserve a little slack.
~~~~~~~~
So why all the pouting, Hed?
Because if an average pop star can write a below average book about his way below average life, what the fuck am I, the veritable Queen of Average, waiting for?
~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Eric Clapton – She’s Waiting
I am reading: West of Kabul, East of New York by Tamim Ansary
And I am: Ya know, waiting
Seriously, his autobiography reads like the longest liner note in the history of modern music.
~~~~~~~~
Here’s the Mad Libs version of Clapton’s book:
Then I met [famous musician] and we did [drug] and got piss-drunk while playing [cool concert venue] to [huge number] adoring yet eternally disappointed fans and then did [another drug] and then I broke up the band again because [egomaniacal bullshit reason].
Oh, and I stalked and stole George Harrison’s wife and then he died. Oh, and I had a son with a woman I barely knew and then he died.
The end.
~~~~~~~~
I threw the book down after losing count on how many accidents he had driving one of his many Ferraris (and endangering who knows how many lives) and all he had to say on it was: “I keep thinking about how I could’ve seriously hurt myself.”
No word or concern for anyone else, just really glad he didn’t hurt himself.
~~~~~~~~
So I’ve obviously never been much of a Clapton fan.
After reading the book, though, I diligently downloaded the best of his stuff from iTunes: Bell Bottom Blues (Derek & The Dominos), Layla (both versions), After Midnight, Cocaine, Lay Down Sally, oh, and his two weepy forgettable hits (You Look Wonderful in Heaven).
Layla and She’s Waiting are songs from my childhood. I remember liking She’s Waiting a bit but being extremely irritated at Detroit's 98.7 WLLZ for playing Layla over and over and over again. There’s only so much screamin’ Layla you can take. Although the unplugged version is seriously better.
Clapton's biggest problem - and it's evident throughout the book - is that he thought way too highly of himself. He wanted to be a blues musician but he always ended up just a pop star.
And pretty much all of his hits are pop songs – not classics.
Okay, maybe…wait...nope. Not one classically good song.
~~~~~~~~
But Hedy!
Eric is Derek! Slowhand! Clapton is God! He’s done some great things. He’s been sober for 20 years. And that Crossroads clinic in Antigua. What about that?
Let’s just say it’s a good start. Eric Clapton is gonna have to live another 200 years to undo all the seriously bad karma he racked up in his early years.
Maybe if he didn’t congratulate himself for doing all that stuff in his book. Maybe if he had apologized for leaving so many hurt, damaged and dead people in his wake.
Maybe if his book didn’t read like so much ego-stroking crap, then Slowhand would deserve a little slack.
~~~~~~~~
So why all the pouting, Hed?
Because if an average pop star can write a below average book about his way below average life, what the fuck am I, the veritable Queen of Average, waiting for?
~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Eric Clapton – She’s Waiting
I am reading: West of Kabul, East of New York by Tamim Ansary
And I am: Ya know, waiting
6 comments:
BLASPHEMER!
Welcome back to the healthier side of life. I like EC as a musician. He rocks balls. I'm not sure there are many rockers that we can hold the moral compass to and find it pointing to the moral north. And try "If I Had Possession Over Judgement Day" as done on the Crossroads DVD - not sure how an iTunes variation would sound. Good riffs... mmmmmmmmmm.
I'm going to forgive you for considering Clapton just a "pop star."
This blog reminds me of when I went to see "The Doors" movie. I couldn't wait to see it cuz I just loved Jim Morrisson. Then I saw the movie and realized what a loser he was. It crushed me. I have never thought of that band the same ever since.
"Do you want to talk about Eric Clapton before I've been drinking or after?"
"Both," I say to one of my closest friends at our new neighborhood watering hole.
I am happy to say that *perhaps* I have been a bit narrow-minded about the whole Eric Clapton thing. :)
What we seem to forget often is that celebrities are people who just happen to be very well known for something. People are flawed. So are celebrities. And fame amplifies flaws, especially in this day and age.
If I wore an honest tell all book, I guarantee that several readers would wonder on occasion what I was thinking. Regretting it doesn't undo it. In fact to be perfectly hedonistic about it, it was one of the stones on the path to this moment. And in this moment I am okay, better than I was last moment or when I did that really dopey undisclosed act.
The iPhone is great - except for one stupid ass annoying feature -- it autocorrects as I type ANYTHING. And my typing is terribly sloppy on it, due to the fact that my thumbs are half the width of the thing and therefore not as precise a typing instrument as I need. So, when I said "If I wore a tell all book...", what I was trying to say was "If I wrote a tell all book...".
If I hadn't come back I never would have noticed and the world would have thought I was a complete dumbass instead of the partial dumbass I actually am.
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