After the Clapton/Winwood show at Madison Square Garden last night, my mind was immediately whirring with prose and rants with which to fill my blog. So, I'll write what I had originally planned, and then follow it up with what I've come to learn in the 12 hours since I plotted my initial post.
Oh, and in case you were wondering (because who wouldn't?) here is last night's setlist:
Had To Cry Today / Low Down / Forever Man / Them Changes / Sleeping In The Ground / Presence Of The Lord / Glad>Well Alright / Double Trouble / Pearly Queen / Tell The Truth / No Face / After Midnight / Split Decision / Ramblin On My Mind (Clapton solo acoustic) / Georgia On My Mind (Winwood solo Hammond B3) / Little Wing / Voodoo Chile / Can't Find My Way Home / Cocaine / Encore: Mr. Fantasy
It's hard for me to have seen Eric Clapton at MSG twice now, and not constantly compare the two performances. Yes, it was lovely to see Steve Winwood on stage with him and, yes, Clapton tears up some NASTY guitar solos. And by some, I mean for about ten minutes during each song. And I loved every minute of that. It's true, too, that Winwood hasn't lost a step vocally or keyboardally, and that his rendition of 'Georgia On My Mind' was breathtakingly sincere.
Oh, and yes, it was probably one of the highlights of my life to have seen Clapton play the Derek and the Dominoes cover of Jimi Hendrix's 'Little Wing' (see post from December)...and 'Voodoo Chile' was 15 minutes of pure bliss.
Given all of these positives, you'll be shocked to learn that the post I was planning at 11:00pm last night was one railing Clapton and Winwood for several reasons. They are as follows:
Song Choice - Aside from the obvious standouts (Cocaine, aforementioned Hendrix covers, After Midnight), I was very disappointed with the amount of standard 12-bar blues that was going on. I love to play it, I love to hear it, but in an arena with 20,000 people the energy just wasn't there until Clapton was ripping a solo (frequently). I could've definitely gone for some 'Sunshine Of Your Love' or 'Crossroads' (which he played the night before). Maybe Layla? I know it's selfish and he's probably played those tunes at least sixteen hundred times, but those old rockin' tunes really bring the house down! All I'm saying is, in 2004 when I saw Clapton with Robert Randolph (more on this later) my face was blown off by the entire show. Hard blues, slow blues...all types of blues. But in 2008, we had a bunch of midtempo tunes (including the lackluster encore, 'Mr. Fantasy') that kept the energy at a steady 7+ instead of the 9-10 that is expected of a Clapton show.
Musician Choice - I have been spoiled. I've seen some of the best guitarists play with some of the best drummers in the best venues. Having seen Clapton play with Randolph at MSG four years ago, I can safely say that Clapton is capable of using his smooth and make-it-look-easy hand to keep a capacity crowd up and moving for close to three hours. He is stoic, and his facial contortions don't come close to matching those of some other guitarists. He sways in place, his hand flying up and down the fretboard, his chinless face tilted with eyes closed toward the rafters and banners of the great Knicks and Rangers, and while his guitar wails and wails some of the most impressive notes ever uttered, he seems unphased by it all, as though his status as one of the greatest guitarists ever, and the roar of tens-of-thousan
But Winwood and Clapton made for a sleepy pair. Winwood does not have the guitar chops to play next to Clapton, and was simply dwarfed by the prodigious and entertaining solos that he laid down. He does, of course, have the organ/piano/vocal chops to play with him, but during those moments they could have really used another guitarist.
The bassist and keyboardist, Willie Weeks and Chris Stainton, respectively, were outstanding. Stainton was given only one solo during the two-plus hour set, and he used it impressively to bring 'Cocaine' to a climax that only seemed possible if flowing from Clapton's guitar. Weeks spent the majority of the night in the shadow of drummer Ian Thomas (much, much more on him in a minute), but really held the rhythm section together.
My biggest complaint about the musician choice is not so much the fact that Ian Thomas got the call, because he was more than sufficient, but more about the fact that Steve Gadd, Clapton's drummer for more than 30 years, was passed over. For those of you who don't know, which I assume is most of you, Gadd is a legendary contemporary drummer who revolutionized the way rock drummers play. The chance to see him play, which I've had on several previous occasions, is one that I was looking forward to having again last night. I'm sure Gadd wasn't snubbed by Clapton like Johnny Greenwood was by The Academy, but if I'm Eric Clapton planning a three-night MSG stint, I will make sure that Steve Gadd is behind that kit.
This ends the intended post from the hours of 11:00pm 2/26/2008 to 11:00am 2/27/2008.
Thus begins my retraction:
Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood were in a band together in the late 1960s called Blind Faith (with Ginger Baker and Ric Grech). As foolish as this is going to sound, I didn't have sight of this last night. I did no preparation for the show by listening to the one and only Blind Faith album, aptly titled Blind Faith. At one point before the show, my dad even turned to me and said, "You know, I think I still have that Blind Faith album," and I still wasn't able to put it all together and realize that Clapton and Winwood were not just randomly taking the stage together. Instead, they were reuniting after almost 40 years apart.
How could I have been so blind? I'm sure that I knew that Blind Faith existed, but I am ashamed to say that I didn't even consider it last night. This makes completely illegitimate my complaints about both song choice and, at least in part, musician choice. If I had been familiar with my material, I'm sure I would have been positively ecstatic to be party to the four-decades-in-the-making Blind Faith revival.
My problem last night was all about expectations. I expected Gadd, but got Ian Thomas. I was looking for a Robert Randolph, but was dealt a Steve Winwood. I even thought I'd be hearing some Cream and maybe even some Reptile, but I should have been listening for Blind Faith. It's amazing how some background can change your perceptions, and I experienced that twice in the last 12 hours. After learning that Ian Thomas isn't a noname at all, but a very up-and-coming British drummer, and that Winwood and Clapton have almost a half-century of history together, I am much more accepting of those aspects of last night's concert to which I was initially vehemently opposed. Having acquired this new information and gained this new perspective, I am happy to set aside my harsh judgments in favor of appreciation for the fact that last night, I witnessed music history.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
I am so Blind (Faith).
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
iPurgatory
Lately I have been utterly overwhelmed by the vastness that has become my music collection. And, thanks to a certain roommate who has music o' plenty as well, it is ever-growing. To add to that, Pitchfork Media reviews thousands of new albums and I read one every day. When I'm interested, I (illegally) download it and give it a shot. I'd say, on average, I acquire two new albums every week.
This is the biggest problem with our generation and the digital music era for me: over-access (similar to and also resulting in over-excess). We all suffer from this deep-seated boredom that results from overstimulation which has, in turn, resulted from our infinite and immediate access to information and entertainment and virtually (and digitally) anything else we could want to get our hands on. My iTunes has over 16 days of music in it. SIXTEEN DAYS. I could let my music play continuously in my room for 2 weeks and I still wouldn't have gotten through my entire library of music. So, simply from a time perspective, there is no way that I have listened to or will ever listen to all of the music that I own at this point (or next week when I get two more albums).
The task of handling my music becomes even more daunting when one considers that out of approximately 30 gigabytes of music, I can only fit a measly 18+ on my iPod. That means that every time I get one of these new and mysterious Pitchfork-recommended albums, I have to remove one from my iPod in order to give it listening time. And, with my current rate of turnover, I am removing two albums from my iPod every week! How am I supposed to get a solid rotation of music into my life when my library is constantly shifting and my choices are being ceaselessly upended?
The answer is a simple one: Get a smaller iPod. Or...Get a bigger iPod. Or...carry "Compact Discs" around with a "Walkman" in order to limit my listening capacity to one album at a time. But that isn't the point...the point is this:
Like never before, I find myself unable to answer the question "What type of music do you listen to?" At one point I had developed the witty response of, "Anything that I can hear more than once and still feel like I'm listening for the first time." That's a great answer. The problem is, nowadays, with my 4,000 or so songs, oftentimes I am listening to songs for the first time. So now, my answer is something like "Oh, you know...everything." Or, even better, just a simple "Radiohead." Is that what I've become? A one-band man? I mean, we all know I love Radiohead an uncomfortable amount, but I wouldn't dream of saying that it's the only thing I listen to or the way I define my musical tastes. One time, I even had the audacity to say "John Mayer," as if that would either a) make me look cool b) encompass the types of music that I like or c) make me feel good about the fact that I answered "John Mayer" to the question "What type of music do you like?". And I guess that's the problem...I listen to a ton of music -- hours every day -- but I don't listen to a whole lot of anything in particular anymore. What used to make me such an educated listener, namely my eclectic taste and my open mind, are exactly the same aspects of my music-listening-self that have led me to the music purgatory in which I currently reside and suffer.
I used to go through "phases" of listening. You know the type...from sophomore year of high school until sophomore year of college I had my Dave Matthew Band phase. From the earliest age possible until now I have been in both my Billy Joel and Beatles phases. When I first started downloading music and expanding my ever-eclectic collection, phases were still an option. Bright Eyes was one of the first and last phases to start in the digital age (for me, at least), and it's one that I'm not entirely out of yet. But I haven't had a new phase since Bright Eyes, and that was just after the DMB phase ended three years ago.
Over the past few days I've resolved to at least stop shuffling the 3,500 songs that can fit onto my iPod. After all, we know how unreliable the "shuffle" feature can actually be. I only have 10 Madonna songs out of over THREE THOUSAND and somehow, miraculously by chance, the iPod manages to play three in a row on shuffle?! Yeah, that's fair. Now, you might ask, "Why keep Madonna on your iPod or even in your iTunes if you have such disdain for her existence?" And to that I have no good answer, but one that perfectly explains why I got into this predicament in the first place. It is simply a compulsion of mine to collect music and not get rid of it under most conceivable circumstances given the fact that I have over 120 Gigs of available space on my computer.
So, in an effort to rectify my iPod's secret agenda to play only the songs that it somehow knows I am not willing to listen to that I keep on my iPod for no reason anyway, I have ceased shuffling and taken up the task of choosing my own music. I am only on Day 2 of this experiment, but so far I seem to be doing well(ish). Yesterday on the way to work I tried (upon a Pitchfork recommendation) "Heretic Pride" by The Mountain Goats (2008). I enjoyed every song, though it was boring at times. After work I went with the lighthearted 2004 album "Twentysomething" by Jamie Cullum, and today I tried a new one (from Pitchfork, of course): "Boxer" by The National. So far so good.
It's still a struggle, though, every time I go to that vast and intimidating "Artists" list and scroll through the masses. And each trip through Artistsland means a subsequent trip through Albumsland, and inevitably leaves me trapped in the musical wasteland that is my own, personal, iPurgatory.
