God - and remember how that word was once used about Eric? - this is disappointing.
Let's be honest, Clapton had four briefly interesting periods: when he was pop-blues guitarist more than 35 years ago in the Yardbirds/John Mayall; when he did the spirallingimprov guitar thing in Cream 30 years ago; when he was a junkie doing the Layla then JJ Cale-on-coke stuff 25 years ago; then when his child died in a fall and he became that Armani-wearing Tears in Heaven elder statesman of rock whose fans read deep meaning into his every bent note and vocal vibrato.
But, as with Wagner, while he has some sublime moments, there are all those boring quarter-hours in between. This double disc, in his cheapest-looking cover ever, is a live re-run of his now-familiar hits, signature songs and some tedious favourites.
It allows for oceans of wretched keyboard jazz-rock filler, and Eric sounds less and less authentic on the old blues numbers than when he was junked up to the eyeballs. A Hoochie Coochie Man? Not in these buffed-smooth, starched-collar days.
Yes, it is professional - as you'd expect with Billy Preston, Steve Gadd and Nathan East in the band - but what to make of a double disc which comes with a sleeve slip reading that there are the enhanced CDs with concert footage and the concert DVD which are "available separately, or pick up both in a special combo-pack for one special price"?
Yeah, Eric has come to that kind of fast-food marketing where you can upsize.
