Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [56]
Delaney shared Steve’s opinion, but took a slightly different tack. Raised in Mississippi, he was a very charismatic character, with long hair and a beard, and he had successfully cultivated the persona of a Southern Baptist preacher, delivering a fire-and-brimstone message. It could have been off-putting, if it wasn’t for the fact that when he sang, he was totally right, and absolutely inspiring. I completely believed in him. We went out one night to see Sha Na Na, and when we got back to my hotel, we dropped some acid and started to play our guitars. At some point, Delaney looked deep into my eyes and said, “You know, you really have to start singing, and you ought to be leading your own band. God has given you this gift, and if you don’t use it he will take it away.” I was stunned by the certainty of his statement, and it really struck home with me. The acid probably gave it a bit of depth, too. I thought to myself, “He may have a point here. I’d better start doing something about this.” Other than my early fantasies of what Cream could have been, this was the first time I ever really considered the idea of a solo career.
The last Blind Faith concert took place in Honolulu on August 24, and I then returned to England and Hurtwood. I had barely settled in, however, when one Saturday morning, September 13, the phone rang. It was John Lennon. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked me.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Well, do you want to do a gig with the Plastic Ono Band in Toronto?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure,” I answered, because part of the thing in those days was doing stuff like that, hopping on a plane on the spur of the moment without giving it a second thought. “Great!” he said. “Meet me as soon as you can get there in the BOAC first-class lounge at the London airport. I’ll explain everything then.”
I drove to the airport, where I found John and Yoko with Klaus Voorman, the bass player of the band, and the drummer Alan White. John was going through his white suit phase and had long hair and a beard. He told us that we were going to play at the Toronto Rock and Roll Revival festival and that we could rehearse on the plane. We carried our semi-acoustic electric guitars on board and settled into the first-class cabin among a number of other passengers, including the man who owned the Schick razor company. He was sitting in the same row of seats as us and tried to humor us by saying we could all make good use of his razors to shave our beards and mustaches.
He didn’t get very far since, as soon as we were airborne, we were concentrating on running through the numbers for the show, songs like “Be-Bop-A-Lula,” “Yer Blues,” “Dizzy Miss Lizzie,” and “Blue Suede Shoes.” We just played sitting in our seats. No one complained, which, looking back on it, was not surprising since John was one of the biggest stars in the world, and the other passengers were probably just astonished to be in the same space with him. Curiously enough, I don’t recall Yoko getting involved at all. She just sat quietly in the background.
When we arrived in Toronto it was raining, and we were standing around waiting for the luggage when a huge limo rolled up, and John and Yoko jumped into it and drove away, leaving the rest of us standing there without a clue as to what to do next. “Well, that’s nice,” I thought. In the end we got in the van with the luggage, which I deemed a bit sad, as I felt we deserved a little more respect than that.
When we arrived we found that we were all staying together in this very grand house belonging to Cyrus Eaton, one of the richest men in Canada, and that a press conference had been called. Loads of journalists turned up, but John and Yoko steadfastly refused to come out to talk to them. So I spoke to them