Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [139]
A lot of the time in my day-to-day relationship with the kids, I have had to learn just to stay in the background and support Melia, even if I don’t agree with what’s going on, because I have invariably found, on reflection, that she is usually right, and also I have had very little experience of a healthy family life. My wife’s intuitive knowledge often astounds me, and in the occasional difficult family situation that arises, just being there and staying there is sometimes all that’s required of me, and that in itself is big.
After a while it was time to start on another album, and I knew I needed to write about the great things that were going on in my life. It is not an easy thing to do, writing songs about happiness, but I wanted to bear witness to how radically my life had changed. To begin with I addressed the basics, and started dropping around at Simon Climie’s house every day for a couple of hours, and we would experiment with different rhythmic ideas, trying to lay foundations for me to write on. It was slow, arduous work, and the lyrics just weren’t coming, but I knew there was no sense in trying to force it. They would come when the time was right. We did have studio time booked, however, and the usual suspects were standing by—Andy Fairweather Low, Billy Preston, Steve Gadd, Doyle Bramhall, and Nathan East.
When the day arrived to begin recording, however, it was clear to everyone that we didn’t have enough material to work with and, with our musicians’ level of proficiency, we would soon run out of things to do. So I came up with the idea that whenever there was a lull, instead of getting frustrated or trying to force something through, we would play a Robert Johnson song to relieve the tension and just have some fun. I had no RJ agenda in place as such, but for some reason his influence had resurfaced in my consciousness. I also wanted to see what players like Billy Preston and Steve Gadd would make of his music and how they would interpret it. As usual, I tried not to steer the proceedings, and just let everybody play the way they felt it. It was amazing. Within two weeks we had a complete Robert Johnson tribute album, Me and Mr. Johnson, without ever having had any intention to do anything of the kind. It just grew out of necessity, from nothing.
My whole life I had intended to make this album, but until now, just like with my children, I had not been ready. It was a good record, I thought, with great work from everybody, and I really loved doing it. It was representational but not derivative, and the songs came to life because of the way they were played. Tom Whalley, the head of my record company, Reprise, seemed happy with it, too. Over the years my relationship with Warner Bros., with whom I had been for so long, had become pretty disjointed as one executive after another either left or was fired. I had originally signed with Mo Ostin back in the seventies, and the team they had in place back then was pretty awe inspiring: Lenny Waronker, Ted Templeman, and, of course, Russ Titleman. But everything had changed, and some of those guys, along with Robbie Robertson, had gone to DreamWorks.
Today, what has evolved from my original agreement is that I deal with Tom over projects and ideas, while I retain Rich Fitzgerald, who over the years had been my “inside man” at Warner, as a sort of independent record man who monitors what is going on with the record company on a day-to-day basis. Over the years he has become a good friend, and in an industry that abounds with hustlers and faceless corporate entities, he stands out