Eric Clapton: The Autobiography

Published 9th October 2007
(Century Press)

Eric Clapton is a complex figure, revered by many, famously cast as "God" by some London graffiti-artists, and whose life has been played out in public since he was a teenager. My first gig, at the age of 12, was to see Clapton at the Royal Albert Hall, so when his autobiography was released I looked forward to learning a bit more about the man himself.

Did I learn much? Well, yes, but not in the way you might expect. Sure, there is an account of the way that young "Rick" learnt that his "Mum and Dad" were in fact his grandparents; he recounts the acquisition of his first couple of guitars; he even tells some of his reckless pursuit and subsequent marriage to Patti Boyd. However, by the time the book moves onto the later years, most notably the tragic death of his four year old son Conor, and the happier times that he now shares with his wife and young daughters, I found myself feeling curiously dissatisfied as a reader; I can't help feeling I learnt more about Clapton from the things he doesn't say, as the things he does.

The most obvious example is the way he skirts over many issues, such as recounting tales of excessive drinking and drug abuse but refusing to dwell on the moment, or any of the consequences (the time he rolled his car over while driving home drunk is a fine example). Equally, if you want to get under the skin of Eric as a musician, it is nigh-on impossible; he mentions a lot of blues musicians that he likes, admires, and in some cases has tried to copy, but does not mention much of his own skill and hard graft in learning the instrument or writing songs. If I was to write an account of an average day in the same style as this book, it would read much like this:

"The alarm went off at 7am, then I got up and made a cup of tea and some toast. Then I ate it and brushed my teeth. I got to work by car, then I turned my computer on and checked my emails. Jane was in the office, so I chatted to her, and also to Jenny and Andy. At lunchtime I went to the canteen and got a sandwich, then I made another cup of tea and before I knew it, it was time to go home again. At home, I sat down before having pie and chips for dinner, and then I watched TV and it was time for bed."

It is lacking in feeling, expression and merely feels like a factual account, save for Clapton's willingness to name-drop. He talks about his many celebrity friends, such as various Beatles and Stones, as well as blues musicians. However, as you might expect, the nearest that he comes to humility is when he addresses the death of Conor, and this is partly because he contrasts his own subdued reactions to those of Conor's Italian grandmother; cultural barriers notwithstanding, this really tells its own story.

I don't think it is a bad book, in fact, Clapton's life features many intriguing episodes and characters; however, I am not sure that Eric himself was the best person to write it. I am sure he would be the first to admit that his primary talent (and mode of expression) comes through the six strings, and unfortunately he is clearly no writer. Clapton is credited as the author on this book, and although a lot of subjects get criticised for their use of ghost writers, I think this book cries out for some proper editing at the very least, and if I was being harsh, would have been better ghost-written.

While writing this review, I checked out what others have to say about the book on Amazon: although most give him a good star rating, and praise him for his honesty in raising many subjects (it cannot be easy to talk honestly about family issues, bereavement, rehab and sexual inadequacy), many also comment on the lack of depth that I have referred to above.

The best way I can describe this book is as a good catalogue of the events in Clapton's life; he is painfully honest about many of the factual occurrences, but fails to discuss his own thoughts and feelings (other than the occasional bout of guilt). The amateur psychologist in me would suggest that it is symptomatic of a man who has spent much of his life struggling to face up to harsh realities and addictions, but the critic in me would counter that by saying that people read autobiographies to learn more (much more) about the subject. It is on the latter count that this particular volume falls short.

8/10 for effort, 5/10 for execution.