The sound of music

The first time I heard Eric Clapton, I HATED him. I hated his stinking guts.

In my defence, I was only 6 years old and cartoons were a rare precious dream on DD 1. Let me explain. Folks had gathered to watch a video cassette recording of the Grammy awards and amongst the many nominees was the title track of 'Beauty and the Beast'. Just as I watched with wide eyed wonder at the magical world of Disney's animated magnum opus, the host cut to the next nominee. This happened to be Clapton with 'Tears in Heaven'. He later won too. I would play this reel again and again, and everytime, right when I wanted to see more of the Beauty and the Beast swaying all over th ballroom, the host would cut in and give us Clapton. Ahem, that's my defence.

I grew up reading 'Clapton is God' on T-shirts or a Reader's Digest story on his life and times and since I had forgotten his earlier tresspass, my dislike must have mellowed to indifference. I was 15 when I heard 'Tears in heaven' once again. I wouldn't put my regard for it in words, because I am sure they describe only a dull image of the actual sentiment. Then I heard 'Layla' and the lyrics aside; I wasn't being able to put a finger on what was made the song so good. I just knew I had to hear it being played again and again. Here I realised that playing the guitar isn't just about simply following the vocals. The guitar makes a music of it's own that complements and completes the vocals, making the song richer. (I don't know if this makes sense, it's just my own logic)

All I know is that I have come a long way from grudging Eric Clapton those 15 seconds of screeen space 17 years back.