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Rating: And inevitably, here we are talking about the old guard.
Because, what can we expect from two old lions?
We know the theories, having read them a thousand and more times. And a thousand and more times debated and argued over them. The uncompromising modernist, at all costs, says: "Why don't they retire?"
Another, a bit less modernist and beaten down by life with all its commitments, whims, irritations, workkidswivesloversdependentscolleagues..., doesn't want to seek the new and is drawn to that old Hammond and that familiar Stratocaster.
So, often, a pure nostalgia operation clashes with an equally pure modernist operation, both almost fanatical.
I, those who read me know, believe that so-called light music is no exception compared to other things in the world, and is consequently destined to have a beginning, a development, and an end. Like everything around us, starting from what we periodically see in the mirror.
So, personally, I don't see other Claptons around, nor other Hendrixes or Gilmours, staying with guitarists. And this is because those who have started, or greatly developed, a genre, usually do it better than the students.
And then, I believe that Blues, probably destined to its natural end as well, struggles a little more than other genres, to let go. To throw in the towel. It stands firm because it is made of blood.
It's somewhat as if the Blues, or rather the Blueses, are so much part of the human soul that they will be part of it as long as the soul itself exists, namely as long as humanity exists.
But perhaps it's just my usual mental self-indulgence.
However, in Blues, I still see (especially in the few great ones still alive, but essentially also in the new, young, and always very American names that are scarcely exported) a freshness that I can no longer discern in rock in its broader sense.
Undoubtedly there no longer exists contemporary rock-blues that is both cultured and mainstream among the new guards.
Here, coming to the album, there is obviously no trace of what we couldn't easily imagine. But there is the usual great dish cooked as only on very few occasions before.
There are Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood singing and playing, with their voices, one hoarse, beautiful, and very high-pitched, the other darker and more bluesy, with their instruments, so unique and identifiable. There's a group of musicians with predictably outstanding skills. The repertoire is obviously drawn from the Blind Faith experience of 1969, with some extra Hendrix elements.
And the point, my friends, is all there. There are those who find pleasure and those who don't. Or don't try because they think they know what's in the box.
There are those who love the blues and those who don't (honestly, I don't believe a person exists who, once loved it, could have stopped...).
And there are these two almost old men who, listening to them, have the energy of their twenties, with the wisdom and precision, even instrumental, of maturity.
In short, there's the product you expect, but at the highest quality, both in interpretation and crudely material (the album "sounds" great).
Moreover, it seems there isn't much post-production, considering some nice inaccuracies and some tiny sound balance flaws (rare, but they exist).
That is: the two old fellows played really well, in this event tour that obviously ignored us, all caught up as we are filling squares every time nonsense like friends or x-factor comes to pollute one of the beautiful Italian squares, or filling San Siro to the warbles of Pausini or the gargles of Negramaro.
We live our nice socio-cultural degradation (I wouldn't talk about functional illiteracy because to enjoy it, there should first have been the "literacy to go"...), while beyond the mountains, the ocean, and the Channel it really seems they still know what Music is.
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