CLAPTON: Wanted? Dead? or Alive
Maybe by now Eric Clapton is a figment of the hip imagination, a character filling a spot somewhere between death and glory, but here at the Garden, stooped, scared, and looking stoned to someplace you don’t want to think about, he’s only too real.
Maybe by now Eric Clapton is a figment of the hip imagination, a character filling a spot somewhere between death and glory, but here at the Garden, stooped, scared, and looking stoned to someplace you don’t want to think about, he’s only too real. So far, after the long way back we’ve all read about and three numbers into the show, he is weakest member of the band. Can’t hear his vocals, he’s playing acoustic rhythm guitar, wearing sunglasses. It’s Big; Apple third generation doper’s Hallejah blues time here tonight (in more ways than one), and a slow horror is benning to fall upon the people who actually do care about How Eric Clapton May Or May Not Rise From The Dead For Us. What a story.
Wait a minute. Is this a plot or a routine? Does he — even do They — now know precisely what takes to get us off in this most Context? Lubricate them legends, let them rumors rampage, turn them ‘stiles? The old death row to hoe?
