Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [30]
We traveled in John’s Ford Transit. Back in the sixties, a lot of rank was attached to the kind of van a band had. A Bedford Dormobile, ugly and clunky and with sliding doors, denoted lowly standing, but owning a Transit showed that you were at the top of the pile. They had powerful engines and really zipped along, meaning you could do a fair amount of mileage in them, and they were big inside and comfortable. The multitalented John, also a bit of an inventor, had tailor made the interior of the Transit to his own design.
This entailed making a special space to carry his Hammond B3 organ, which was rigged up so it could be carried on two poles, like a sedan chair. Then, in the space between the organ and the roof of the van he had built himself a bunk bed, so on return trips from faraway places like Manchester or Sheffield, we’d all be sitting in the front of the van on the bench seats while he’d be in the back, asleep in his bed. Apart from once or twice, we never stayed in a bed and breakfast or a hotel. The most we could hope for was, if we were playing in Manchester, where John’s family came from, he might invite us to stay in one of the family homes. I did this once and it was pretty lugubrious, although it was better than sitting up all night in the van.
It was an incredible life, and at times I didn’t believe it was happening. One night, for example, Mike Vernon, who owned Blue Horizon records, asked me to go down to a studio to do some session work, and I found myself playing with Muddy Waters and Otis Spann, two of my all-time heroes. I was absolutely terrified, but not because I felt that I couldn’t carry my weight musically. I just didn’t know how to behave around these guys. They were incredible. They had these beautiful baggy silk suits on, and were so sharp. And, they were men. And here I was, a skinny young white boy. But it was fine. We cut a song called “Pretty Girls Everywhere I Go,” and I played lead over Muddy’s rhythm while Otis sang and played piano. I was in heaven, and they seemed pretty happy with what I did.
At this point people began to talk about me as if I were some kind of genius, and I heard that someone had written the slogan “Clapton is God” on the wall of Islington underground station. Then it started to spring up all over London, like graffiti. I was a bit mystified by this, and part of me ran a mile from it. I didn’t really want that kind of notoriety. I knew it would bring some kind of trouble. Another part of me really liked the idea, that what I had been fostering all these years was finally getting some recognition. The fact is, of course, that through my playing people were being exposed to a kind of music that was new to them, and I was getting all the credit for it, as if I had invented the blues.
As for technique, tons of white American guitar players were better than me. Apart from the famous blues guys, there were a lot of white players too. Reggie Young, for example, a Memphis session player, was one of the best guitarists I had ever heard. I had seen him playing with the Bill Black Combo on the Ronettes package tour. Don Peake, who I saw play with the Everly Brothers, and James Burton, who played on Ricky Nelson’s records, were two others. English guitarists I had seen who had knocked me out were Bernie Watson and Albert Lee. They both played with Screaming Lord Sutch’s band, the Savages. Bernie, and Sutch’s pianist Andy Wren, were supreme musicians, far ahead of everyone else at the time. I remember hearing them play “Worried Life Blues,” the Big Maceo song, and Bernie was bending notes, which he had been doing long before anybody. Though I rated Jeff Beck, and also Jimmy Page, their roots were in rockabilly, while mine were in the blues. I loved what they did, and there was no competitiveness between us; we just played different