BOOKS

Eric Clapton’s life scrutinised.

Slowhand: The Life And Music Of Eric Clapton

★★★★ Philip Norman WEIDENFELD & NICOLSON. £25

IN HIS introduction to Slowhand, Beatles/ Stones biographer Philip Norman says he only writes about music’s “tiny, topmost echelon… names that provoke the same excited reaction in every culture and country.” It’s a moot point, perhaps, but it feels a slight stretch to put Eric Clapton in this category. Never mind, though, because Slowhand redresses the balance after EC’s candid but bland 2007 autobiography. It’s the ‘life’ rather than the ‘music’ which dominates this account, with its gossipy revelations and tales of eye-watering hedonism. Norman found the holy grail for any biographer essaying music’s “topmost echelon” in persuading a former wife to talk. Clapton and George Harrison’s ex, Pattie Boyd, blabs happily and with a saintly lack of rancour about a man whom, she says, “became famous at a youngish age without growing up first”. The root of the man-child Eric’s poor behaviour was his rejection by teenage mother Patricia and his subsequent over-indulgence by maternal grandmother Rose. Old childhood friends from the Surrey village of Ripley remember Eric owning more toys than they did and never being made to clean his teeth; an oversight which lasted into adulthood. “He would have had halitosis if it hadn’t been masked by the alcoholic breath and smoking,” suggests Pattie, cheerily. Eric’s entrée into the ’60s pop elite – and the appearance of the ‘Clapton is God’ graffiti – sees him indulged even further; Boyd coins the phrase ‘Clapton Luck’ for his curious untouchability. He pinwheels from The Yardbirds to Cream to Blind Faith and so forth, and ‘collects’ women as obsessively as he does guitars. At times, Slowhand becomes a rock star Whitehall farce, as its hero compulsively drops his trousers and tumbles into the sack with models, backing singers and studio managers. All are unceremoniously dumped; subconscious revenge for Patricia Clapton’s rejection. There’s a thorough dissection of the famous Harrison/Clapton/Boyd love triangle (though it was actually a ‘love square’, as Eric was sleeping with Pattie’s kid sister Paula while ardently pursuing her), and Clapton’s descent into heroin addiction. In one priceless scene, Eric sits in his country mansion, snorting lines through £50 notes which he then discards in the kitchen bin. His faithful retainer, Arthur, retrieves the cash, washes it clean and puts it towards a holiday on the Isle Of Wight for him and his wife Iris. Clapton eventually swaps smack for brandy and super-strength lager, and is indulged further by new manager Roger Forrester (another key interviewee). Forrester dotes on Eric, whom he refers to as “the boy”, helps him make an enormous amount of money and is fired when Clapton gets properly sober. Norman suggests the guitarist’s musical prowess came from an obsessive behavioural streak, and he pursues his sobriety with the same obsessiveness. Old friends here marvel at the modern-day Eric – now a faithful partner and proud father – and sound strangely like parents applauding their toddler’s first steps. A happy ending of sorts, then. Rock’n’roll has always been created by brilliantly gifted but deeply damaged individuals, and Norman’s entertaining study brings that point home – and some.

“[He was] famous at a young age without growing up.” PATTIE BOYD