I couldn't really say no to these tickets, because I think if I had, my dad might have disowned me. See, I know my dad loves his wife, but I'm pretty sure that if Eric Clapton asked my dad to run away with him forever, my dad would say yes. He REALLY loves Eric Clapton. He thinks Eric Clapton is wonderful. Tonight. (God, that was atrocious.) And I honestly thought that I would like the show. I figured that like the CSNY show, even if I didn't know the songs, I'd be okay. Boy, was I fucking wrong.
I hated this show. I hated this show for so many reasons, but mostly I hated this show because I hate guitar. I hate that whining "waaah waaaaaaaaah waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" sound guitars make, and I hate when guitar players make their guitars make that sound over and over and over again for 20 minutes. And then again for the next 20 minutes. And so on. That guitar sound makes me seriously consider jamming something HARD into my eardrums, to dull the sound. That sound is auditory torture for me. If I was captured for some reason, my captors wouldn't need to torture me; they could just put on some guitar jamming and I'd break instantly, and tell them everything I knew. At various points in this evening's entertainment, I considered jumping off of the second level to escape, crying in pain, and at one point, I even begun counting architectural elements, my old stand-by from those dreaded My Morning Jacket shows. Friends, I do not like guitars, and I especially do not like guitars when Mr. Eric Clapton holds them and plays his bluesy solos.
Also, I do not condone back-up singers. I have never liked them, and I probably never will. Worst thing ever at a Dave Matthews show? (Besides all the pre-pubescent drunks, that is.) The stupid singers they used to bring out for "Stay (Wasting Time)". At one point during this show, S turned to me and asked, "Do you think the singers ever get tired of doing this?" at which point he imitated the lame arm shuffle the two women were doing. I thought, look, I don't know about if they're sick of it, but I sure am. S and I share similar opinions about lame back-up singers with big hair and stretchy black clothing. We hate them. The best part of the show was when they left the stage.
Well, that, and Layla. "Layla" is pretty good live, but by the time EC played it, I was so mind-numbingly exhausted from the extensive hatred that had taken over my body and mind that I could barely enjoy it. And I had gone into this whole thing thinking that seeing "Layla" was like seeing "Hey Jude" as performed by McCartney or even "Ohio" as done by CSNY. I was wrong. Nowhere near as good. Not even close. Then again, that might just be the hatred talking. See, the hatred even made me dislike "Cocaine" and "Crossroads", two songs I will happily listen to on any other occasion. That's how bad this was for me.
And I'm not saying that Eric Clapton is bad, per se. I'm more saying that he's not for me. It's like....I worship at the church of Paul McCartney, and my dad worships at the church of Eric Clapton, and I can attend his church's services, but I just don't get it. This kind of religion just doesn't work for me. It's like the head clergyman is talking mumbo-jumbo. He just ain't making any sense. Something's getting lost in the translation.
And lastly, and this is a piddling little thing, but Clapton's whole presentation was pretty lame. He's not cheesy, like my man Macca, so of course he doesn't utilize pyrotechnics and sappy videos about himself, but I LIKE those things. I can't help it. I want some cheese. I want to look at interesting things, especially if I have to sit through blaring guitar music. Clapton's shredded curtains and ten basic light displays just didn't do it for me. And, I was very alarmed by the swinging motion the left-side video screen was making. I mean, this screen was swaying, back and forth, the whole show. And it didn't look gentle, either. I couldn't help thinking that any minute (every minute) it would come crashing down on top of people that I knew and kill them. Killed at an EC show. Could anything be worse? Seriously, if I was having a particularly bad moment, I stared at the screen, and let it transfix me into complacence.
Yes. That bad. Give me Pete Yorn at Schuba's any day of the week and twice on Sunday over Clapton and his screechy guitars. Sorry, dad. I'm just not that into him.
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