After Phil Collins mentioned his friendship with Eric Clapton in his book, I thought I'd revisit Clapton's autobiography in the library, maybe in a more favorable light. Nöpe. What a prick. What a twat. He can literally go fuck himself. Obviously I'm biased, so what I have to say has zero credibility. I'm not trying to convince anyone to dislike him, nor dissing anyone who is a fan. Since he's a rock legend, I'm not gonna dis his music. I just never liked enough to become a fan, but really I never thought any of it was bad. Unlike Nickelback or Hootie, never did I turn it off because it was Eric Clapton. Just not my cup of vodka. For the record, he does appear on my "every year of my life" mix CDs ("Layla" (1970), "I Can't Stand It" (1981), "Can't Find My Way Home" (1969), "The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking" (1984), and he may have been on "My Sweet Lord" (1970) on a background acoustic guitar). That is to say as much as I dislike him, I can't deny him.

The funny thing is I didn't particularly like him before, but now I know why I don't like him. Just not an impressive personality. Maybe it's a matter of "camps"; as to likes and dislikes, we would be in opposite camps. He likes killing animals for sport, I only kill insects when I can't get past karmic obscurations that make me find them unacceptable in my personal space. He disses Genesis and Led Zeppelin, two of my top five fave bands of all time, where zero acts he's associated with even ranks. He's into and takes pride in fashion, I'm anti-fashion. Clothes weep when forced to be worn by me. If we met as peers, we wouldn't connect or would rub each other the wrong way. Maybe it's self-fulfilling prophecy – who reads a rock bio of someone they don't even like? I tried reading his book before and stopped because it turns out he's the kind of a man who likes to pull the hooks out of fish. I should have left it at that.

That's actually a good point. Without being a fan of his music to back him up, all I read were his numerous, egregious character flaws. It didn't help that some of his character flaws are painfully similar to ones I see in myself; things about me that disgust myself. If not a fan of Steven Tyler, Keith Richards, Phil Collins, Pete Townshend, Sting, Kim Gordon, Ozzy Osbourne, etc., would their books have impressed? And I shouldn't wonder that a rabid Eric Clapton fan, one with rabies that is, would love his book, despite him coming across as weak, arrogant, cowardly, judgmental, privileged, abusive, selfish and an overall weeny. Oops.

Oh wait, Sting's book didn't impress me, but I pretty much expected that. I was just surprised by what it was that didn't impress. I expected to not be impressed by his arrogance and pomposity, but on the other hand I also expected intelligent, well-written, witty and insightful writing. I was totally surprised at how bland and boring the book was. And I got into Sonic Youth (Kim Gordon) way too late to consider myself a fan, even though I would've been if I had been exposed to them earlier (Versus, one of my fave 90s indie bands was clearly influenced by them. When I first heard Sonic Youth, it took a few seconds to realize it was Versus that sounded like Sonic Youth, not the other way around), but Kim Gordon's book, Girl in a Band, is a must-read for a woman's view in the male-dominated world of rock bios. By the time I read her book, I did have many, if not most, Sonic Youth albums in my collection and a healthy respect for them. Although by the end of the book, not so much for Thurston Moore. Fuckwad. 

I don't want this to devolve into a Clapton diss-fest, so the last thing I'll comment on is the death of his four-year old son, Conor, that made headline news when it happened. I interpret the way Clapton describes that horrible moment in time as him interpreting Conor as an angel who was sent to him. The way I imagine it is that it wasn't Conor playing near an open window 49 floors up unsupervised and then accidentally falling out of it in a moment of carelessness, but it was a condo with floor to ceiling  (at least very large) windows that happened to be open for cleaning, and in Conor's playful, four-year old running around flung himself out the window. No one could've prevented it, it wasn't about no supervision. If there were a camera in the room, it may have looked like Conor just hurled himself out the window. Realistically it must have been horrible for the little boy and his last moments terrifying not knowing intellectually what he had done as he plunged to his death. But spiritually, for Eric, it was recognition of being touched by an angel, having had an angel in his life. Conor didn't fling himself out the window and plunge to his death, but flew up with grace, sacrificing himself, to teach Clapton something about his own miserable life. If there's anything redeeming about Eric Clapton, and there is actually quite a lot, it's Conor. Stevie Ray Vaughan, a blessed spirit in his own right by my estimation, obviously didn't do it.