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Rating: Truly bizarre are the laws that govern the renown of records: it is customary to think of the most influential band in the transition from blues to rock (Hendrix himself described his work as a mere continuation of the path already paved by Cream) by focusing on the famous masterpieces "Disraeli Gears" and "Wheels of Fire" while overlooking this dazzling condensation of concerts held at the Oakland Coliseum Arena and the Winterland in San Francisco on 4/10/68 and 10/3/68, respectively.
If the term "hard blues" was coined (by unoriginal cataloguers) to designate the driving jams of the ace trio consisting of Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Ginger Baker, this record provides the clearest explanation of it. The opening is entrusted to a masterful interpretation of "Desert Cities Of The Earth" punctuated by repeated dialogues between a mysteriously mixed bass and the galloping Stratocaster of the future Slowhand. The energetic execution of the following "White Room" testifies to the abandonment of the dreamy flower power atmospheres that had contaminated previous studio works: the piece is here revived with a definitive shift towards more pronounced rock sounds, marked by the constant lashings of good Eric and the violent rolls of a trapeze artist-like Baker. A minimalist arpeggio by Clapton then introduces "Politician," a piece from Wheels Of Fire reinterpreted with a markedly more measured rhythm. The track flows through repeated guitar digressions from the main theme, emblematic of the trio's ability to disrupt the canonical structure of songs to create a genuine battle between the verse-chorus combination and the relinquishing to brilliant improvisations.
After the captivating five minutes of "Tales Of Brave Ulysses," a legendary riff timidly hinted by Slowhand accompanied by a deafening roar from a delirious audience inaugurates a version of over seven minutes of the renowned "Sunshine Of Your Love", the authentic flag of the band. What can be said about this piece other than it represents the quintessence of a repertoire crucial in ferrying the old canons of traditional blues towards the new liberating rock styles. The album ends with an interminable version of "Steppin' Out." This piece, recorded in the studio by Clapton during his brief stint with John Mayall's Bluesbreakers in '66, here enjoys the renewed vitality of any blues song put in the hands of Eric and associates: the guitar floggings extend until they lose all connection with the main melody, only to bring back the initial arpeggio.
Finally, it is necessary to reluctantly acknowledge the validity of the criticism traditionally leveled at the album I've had the honor to review: for many, it is an album released in '72 (after the group had disbanded) solely to squeeze out the inexhaustible commercial capabilities of a band as crucial in renewing the outdated schematics of blues as it was incapable (due to repeated compositional disputes) of sustaining a long life.
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