Ken’s Pitch:
Let’s get one thing straight, Eric Clapton’s guitar could make a man weep. The man has a long-standing reputation as a blues whisperer whose style and finesse borders on the divine. So while it's not exactly an O. Henry twist, it’s somewhat surprising that on Unplugged, it’s not his fingers that do the heavy lifting, but his voice.
Yes, you read that right. Vocals. Clapton’s larynx and diaphragm, not his fingers, are the real MVP of this multi-Grammy winning, best-selling live album of all time.
From the very first note of “Signe,” you might expect the guitar to be the star of this MTV Unplugged performance. And sure, it opens with a lovely instrumental that sounds like a guitar virtuoso stretching out before a jog. But then “Before You Accuse Me” rolls in, and Clapton opens his mouth, and suddenly, it’s not about fretwork anymore. It’s about that weathered, sandpaper voice that sounds like it’s lived a hundred lives and smoked a thousand joints, but is still as warm, smooth and wonderful as a 20-year old single-malt.
Clapton doesn’t sing these songs so much as he inhabits them, or maybe they inhabit him. Either way, it comes across as more than a man simply singing. His voice in “Tears in Heaven” is fragile but controlled, heartbreaking as its subject. On “Alberta,” he’s charming and coy; on “Old Love,” he channels that old-timey blues ache, as if it’s just another tool in his vocal shed. Even the corny “San Francisco Bay Blues” comes off as fun because Clapton…actually sounds like he’s enjoying himself.
Now, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the incredible piano work by the great Chuck Leavell. Everything the man touches turns to multi platinum. He’s what King Midas intended.
Ultimately, Unplugged shows us that Clapton is more than a guitar god. He’s also a singer who plays a mean guitar. And there has to be room on the shelves of the Newbury St Collection for that.
CJ’s Response:
I’ve never much cared for Eric Clapton’s version of the blues. In fact, I’m on record in these pages as stating that I find his guitar playing cold and soulless, lacking the raw emotion of a grizzled bluesman in a smoky Chicago bar.
That hasn’t changed.
What has changed in Unplugged is the delivery vehicle. And that, as noted blues fan Robert Frost might opine, has made all the difference.
In the two or three summers after I graduated college, I shared an apartment (crashpad) in Newport, RI with several high school friends and other assorted cronies. We all had jobs, a little extra money and no real responsibilities. As a result, every weekend was spent trying to pack seven days of partying into two in the yachting capital of the U.S.
Side Note: None of us had a yacht.
On Sunday mornings, I would drag my swollen head over to the house of a couple I had met through some work buddies. Even though these two were casual acquaintances, they immediately made me feel like we’d been friends forever. He was a bartender and she was a cocktail waitress. They were renting this place on Thames Street and just trying to piece it together, trying to figure things out. I’d bring bagels and they’d brew strong coffee and we’d just sit and laugh and tell stories about the previous evening’s escapades. The soundtrack of those Sunday mornings was the warm, soft blues music they played through their one indulgence, a set of really good JBL speakers.
By unplugging, Clapton took the icy edge off his guitar and turned the focus onto his honey-lacquered voice. That subtle shift took me right back to those foggy Sunday mornings in Newport. Trying to piece it together. Trying to figure things out.
Pitch Successful (I still don’t have a yacht.)
Don’s Response:
As my EONS mates know, I tend to procrastinate with my responses to their pitches. Truth be told, I started writing this days ago but fell asleep about halfway through re-listening to this record and finally woke up just now. Eric Clapton’s Unplugged is that boring.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Ken nominated *this* Clapton project for Exile on Newbury Street’s permanent collection. Let’s review the other options. The Yardbirds or John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers? No. Cream or Blind Faith? Meh. Derek & The Dominos? Nope. Delaney & Bonnie? Shrug. For Heaven’s Sake, The Dirty Mac packed more energy into their one-song performance than this 14-track 1992 snooze-fest.
Ironically, Unplugged is almost universally hailed as one of Slowhand’s most iconic works. I’d argue that’s a lazy assessment. To my ears, the album’s acoustic nature strips away Clapton’s signature: electrifying energy. In this presentation, the normally searing “Layla” is reduced to Muzak, which is defined by Google Search as “a generic term for background music, often described as bland or insubstantial.” You might think I’m simply too bored to come up with my own description, but I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Unfortunately, the album's tracklist is heavily skewed towards slower, melancholic songs. While they showcase Clapton's emotional depth, they also contribute to an overall sense of monotony. Unplugged feels like a one-dimensional representation of Clapton's extraordinary musical range. It feels more like a studio album than a genuine live experience. Not what we’re looking for during this season of EONS.
Pitched Failed (Ersatzzzzzzzzzzzzz Clapton)
Mitch’s Response:
This isn’t about Clapton being a loathsome person. As someone who's already pitched Michael Jackson, Bobby Brown, and a previous Clapton album featuring a drummer who killed his own mother, I’m pretty good at separating the art from the racist, anti-vaxxer artist.
This isn’t about Ken’s pitch. Highlighting Clapton’s excellent vocals over his perfectly cromulent acoustic guitar-playing is a smart angle. It’s probably the best pitch you can make for this album, which, of course, is no guarantee of success.
This isn’t about Clapton’s music. I’ve alway been a Clapton fan. Cream is a little much for me, but I love Blind Faith, Derek & the Dominos, Delaney & Bonnie, and even his solo records (especially when he wheels dear Phil Collins out!) His smooth, melodic style of guitar playing is right in my Velveeta wheelhouse, and us lazy underachievers of the world need to stick together.
This is about this (pretty boring) album. Without any guitar god heroics the basic blues tunes are all skips for me. Throw in the always-mawkish “Tears in Heaven” and a truly terrible “Layla” (that song is all about the piano coda that aforementioned drummer-murdered Jim Gordon stole from his girlfriend Rita Coolidge) and it seems like this album is destined to fail. And yet, the songs from Journeyman are just so damn good, with “Running on Faith” being the clear standout track.
Pitch Successful (you’re lucky the bonus tracks weren’t considered, Slowhand)
Ken’s pitch was successful and Eric Clapton’s Unplugged will be added to the Newbury St. Collection. Hang on, hang on, before you go, why don’t you swing by the comments and let us know your take?
Please join us next week as Don bring the rock and roll circus to town with a pitch for The Rolling Stones’ Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out!
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