Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [155]
Time passed slowly in Ohio, and when I wasn’t practicing Ahmet’s songs, I was watching cricket on TV. Amazingly enough, my brother-in-law, Steve, had managed to get the World Cup cricket tournament on cable, and it became my drug for the next two weeks. It also helped with my cravings for England and home, giving me something I could identify with until we finally made the trip. I loved our house in Columbus, and the family is a superb gang, but I was yearning for England, and with still one more gig to do, I felt like I was in limbo. I was also finding it hard to believe that the tour was finally over, and I went into a bit of a decline. It always happens, but my experience over the years has helped me prepare for this, and I know how to deal with it, although I’m sure my family and friends must find it very confusing. I had been looking forward to the last stretch for as long as I could remember, and now that it was a reality, I was depressed. It seems completely illogical, and can be misinterpreted very easily, but it is, in my experience, almost unavoidable. It’s part of the process, and always passes, but it takes a lot of patience and understanding from everyone around me.
Ahmet’s tribute evening was to be held at Jazz at Lincoln Center in New York. I had played there in 2003 with Wynton Marsalis, who had helped establish it, and thought it was the perfect venue. As we were also moving home as a family unit, the plan was to stop in NYC for the tribute, allowing time for rehearsals and sightseeing, and then travel on the following day. There are no direct flights from Columbus to London, and with the strong possibility of losing luggage and just general wear and tear, it has become our routine to break the journey in half by staying a night in Manhattan. It also gives me the chance to visit friends and shop, and, of course, the kids love to play in Central Park. Unfortunately, the weather turned nasty, and torrential rain kept us pent up in our room, just as the snow had in Ohio. By now, after all the hotel rooms and general bad weather, I was craving fresh air and outdoor life, but we would have to wait a few more days.
The celebration for Ahmet was a great success, well staged and very well attended. The evening was mostly given over to speakers such as Henry Kissinger, Oscar de la Renta, David Geffen, and Mick Jagger, all of whom spoke with love and eloquence, while a few others, including Ben E. King, Phil Collins, Stevie Nicks, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, Bette Midler, and myself, provided the music. Melia was with me, and I thought it was great for her to see just how much this man had meant to all of us. Mick was incredibly funny, telling great stories and referring to Ahmet as his “wicked uncle.” But as entertaining and emotionally stirring as it was, I still felt that had Ahmet been there in the flesh, he would have said something like, “Let’s get out of here and find the real shit.”
After the show, Melia and I went to the after-party for a few minutes, where we bumped into Robbie Robertson. He’s always great fun to be with, and earlier in the day we had been listening to some music we had started writing back in the nineties, with a notion to finish it. I had always wanted to collaborate with Robbie. He has a great ear and brilliant