Derek & The Dominos
Layla And Other Assorted Love Songs

In every list of one hundred perfect albums, twenty masterpieces of rock, the best records of all time that are worth respecting, there are works that must necessarily be present (Velvet Underground & Nico, Marquee Moon by Television, and so on) and other masterpieces that are regularly excluded: either because they are considered minor, due to their importance, because historically no one has ever paid attention to them, or (and at this point, I begin to suspect it) due to some strange form of superstition and boycott.

This is the case with this album, historic and beautiful for many, too many reasons. Swingin' London in the '60s was a festive circus, a whirlwind of artists, madmen, dreamers: among them was a guitarist who had already been described as God, one Eric Clapton, former Yardbird, former Bluesbreaker, former Cream; Mr. Clapton held his own with people like Townshend, Peter Green, and maybe was second only to Mr. Hendrix, towards whom he had an evident inferiority complex (anyway, the black man from Seattle declared that he founded the Experience influenced precisely by Cream and that Clapton was the only guitarist who impressed him). At the end of the '60s, Clapton leaves Cream and founds another supergroup, Blind Faith: he releases an excellent album followed by a tour with outcomes far from exceptional, yet consolidating his fame as a genius of the six strings. It would be time to release a solo album, his record labels tell him: but Clapton, already halfway devastated by alcohol, possibly overwhelmed by the success, isn't up for it, and takes refuge in a group of completely unknown friends of his, Delaney & Bonnie (in fact, in ’70 he will release an album in Clapton's name, but it is actually attributable to the aforementioned group).

Meanwhile, he continues his illustrious associations with the rock elite: among them is his brother-like friend George Harrison, with whom he had collaborated on “While my guitar gently weeps” perhaps to return the favor for “Badge”. And it happens that Eric Clapton, a sensitive, shy, and fragile soul, falls in love with the beautiful wife of his friend, Patty Boyd, whom the Beatle had met on the set of “A hard day’s night.” The lady in question had inspired George to create “Something” and “Here comes the sun,” and legend has it that even Lennon had a crush on her. Eric, however, is not reciprocated, and perhaps this is one of the elements that pushes him even more to the brink of the abyss: all he has left is to transform, as the bluesman he is, all his inner hell into music.
Slowhand in ’70 records the tracks of this exceptional “Layla and other assorted love songs” with Delaney & Bonnie, a definitive and unrepeatable compendium of rock-blues complementary to the “Live at Fillmore” by the Allman Bros. And as luck would have it, Duane Allman is called to Clapton’s court to act as his “support” (and what a support!) with his slide, and the magical intertwining of sounds created by these two phenomenal musicians is probably to be credited for the beauty of this album.

This double album is a long and heartbreaking love letter to his muse Patty, alias Layla, from the first song to the last: starting with the beautiful blues-rock “I looked away,” a calling card that little foreshadows what it has to offer, and is remembered if only for the soft and piercing solo Clapton gives us; “Bell bottom blues” coming up inaugurates the barrage that is this record: a heartbreaking blues, built on a slow and sweet arpeggio that bursts into a crescendoing refrain, with the electric guitar screaming Clap’s pain for the loss of his love (wishing her to find “a better loser”) and revolving on high and piercing notes, often using harmonics; “Keep on growing” and “Anyday” on their part are two long, street-wise rock numbers where Eric and Duane’s guitars soar high, powerful and energetic, for six and a half minutes each, and seem like they could continue indefinitely, supported as they are by an excellent rhythm section; “Nobody knows you when you’re down and out” is almost a sinister omen in the form of blues, it’s Clapton forecasting that soon he will be swallowed by the vortex of alcohol and heroin, and will be sidelined from the music business for four years, all supported by a toxic and sunken guitar; “I am yours” is detached from the blues context of the album, being an almost Caribbean ballad dedicated to his beloved Patty, yet another confirmation that “he is hers forever, no matter how far apart they are,” with a guitar that seems almost taken from a Santo & Johnny track; “Keys to the highway” is an authentic, colossal, probably to some, indigestive nine-minute blues piece with our heroes unraveling notes upon notes, wrapping, crushing, and squeezing every last sound from a blues pentatonic: a considerable punch.

The best is yet to come: “Tell the truth” is a joke, unfolding into a southern piece and veering towards a classic rock theme; “Why does love got to be so sad” seems from Peter Green’s pen, and is a composition jewel, with a fast and lysergic start and solo to follow, leading into a memorable and exemplary guitar intertwining that gradually slows down, ending in a handful of warm and soothing notes. “Have you ever loved a woman” follows the thread of track number 4 and is the one with more references to his love situation (but all the time you know that she belongs to your very best friend); next is the grand and heartfelt remake of Hendrix’s “Little wing,” a tribute to his newly departed friend/enemy: this version is not even remotely comparable to the original, it’s simply different, with Slowhand making it his own by taking it into the more human fields of blues and embellishing it with dreamy lines, as only he can do.

And it’s time for the big hit, worth a career: “It’s too late,” a track that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the film “American Graffiti,” leads us straight to one of the greatest riffs of all time. It’s time for “Layla.” The intro, violent and reminiscent of the Cream days, will mark a generation of guitarists; Clapton’s interpretation is memorable; the sound, chaotic, magmatic, and bordering on psychedelic, is the maximum expression of the young guitar god’s torments, pushing to the limits of noise and distortion; and all this lands in three and a half minutes of a tender and melancholic final ballad led by piano and slide guitar. Miracle.
“Thorn three in the garden” is the perfect closure, and it’s surprising to discover it is the work of the pianist Whitlock, not Clapton, because its arpeggio is a perfect summary of the spirit of this record. Touching, to say the least. The album will become what’s known as a cult: initially, it won’t sell a copy (perhaps due to shyness, or maybe to see if people bought his records because they really were good or just because they were the work of “a famous person”, it was released under the title of “Derek and the Dominos”), then its fame will grow.

Clapton and his fellows will mark a memorable series of concerts and plan a follow-up; Eric then (legend has it, precisely to the title track) will snatch the beautiful Patty from George’s hands, whom he will later marry. In short, everything perfect: it weren’t for Duane Allman dying soon after in a motorcycle accident, leading to the band’s dissolution, and Patty not being the angel she seemed. Their love story will be a tormented one, and Slowhand will enter the vortex of alcohol and heroin. But that’s another story…