Half a century ago, Eric Claptonโ€™s instrumental prowess was forged in the fiery cauldron of Cream, the guitarist forced to battle for space with two equally gifted, ferociously combative egos. The result was that when he grasped the spotlight, he held onto it for dear life, pursuing improvisational threads with the delirious focus of a Coltrane, drilling deeper and deeper into a solo until the actual song was left far behind.

It was a mode which, executed with formidable technique, acquired him the unwelcome nickname โ€œGodโ€, and it became a reliable backbone of live performances through subsequent decades. But look back at Claptonโ€™s solo career and youโ€™ll notice that virtually from the start, he was drawing back from that kind of excessive, egotistical approach, keener instead to serve the song. Key to this change were two acts: Delaney & Bonnie, the blue-eyed soul troupe with whom he spent some time in retreat from Cream; and most notably JJ Cale, the reclusive Okie guitarist who became such a touchstone of excellence for Clapton that he considered him โ€œone of the most important artists in the history of rock, quietly representing the greatest asset his country has ever hadโ€.

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Cale became, Clapton later asserted, a โ€œbeaconโ€ for his own attempts to discard the ensnaring lures of amplitude, speed and complexity in search of the fundamentals of purity and simplicity. And so, in curious contrast to the usual progress of musical endeavour in rock, Claptonโ€™s career became a process of self-denial, shifting from noisy, boastful indulgence to more modest, poised refinement โ€“ and if he never quite reached the point of minimal musical satori that Cale represented, the effects are more evident than ever throughout his 23rd studio album I Still Do.

Thereโ€™s a cover of Caleโ€™s โ€œSomebodyโ€™s Knockinโ€™โ€, ECโ€™s set-opener in recent years, and a good way to ease into a show โ€“ though ironically, here it provides a platform for the albumโ€™s most old-school Clapton solo; while โ€œCanโ€™t Let You Do Itโ€ is a neat, toe-tapping shuffle with nimble, spartan picking, just enough to carry the song along, in the liquid tone favoured by JJ. And another Latin-tinged shuffle, โ€œCatch The Bluesโ€, features a deliciously understated JJ-style guitar break, delivered with touches of the creamy wah-wah flavour employed by Mac Gayden on โ€œCrazy Mamaโ€.

The album, which reunites the guitarist with Slowhand and Backless producer Glyn Johns for the first time in four decades, offers a typical Clapton mix of covers and original material. The former are rather more impressive than the latter, particularly the lullaby โ€œLittle Man, Youโ€™ve Had A Busy Dayโ€, which is a winsome but forgettable trifle. He returns several times to the blues wellspring, opening proceedings with a slow, earthy version of Leroy Carr & Scrapper Blackwellโ€™s โ€œAlabama Woman Bluesโ€, in which Chris Staintonโ€™s piano and Dirk Powellโ€™s accordion occupy the space around Claptonโ€™s snaking, snarling lead lines, delivered with a tone of dirty elegance, like a battered top hat.

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Powellโ€™s accordion features prominently on several other blues covers, lending the album a swampy flavour akin to that which David Hidalgo brought to Dylanโ€™s Together Through Life. Skip Jamesโ€™ โ€œCypress Groveโ€, for example, employs a similar instrumental blend on a slow rolling groove, through which ECโ€™s guitar crawls like a surly water-moccasin gliding through a bayou: the arrangementโ€™s gritty, sluggish tenacity brings to mind Little Featโ€™s version of โ€œ44 Bluesโ€. โ€œStones In My Passwayโ€ features sharp, biting guitar and vocal, as befits one of Robert Johnsonโ€™s more enigmatically troubled songs. The spindly interplay of lines during the guitar break โ€“ presumably shared with Andy Fairweather-Low โ€“ is delightful, while the handclaps accenting the third beat animate the song with a subtle syncopation.

The album closer is a languid piano stroll through the standard โ€œIโ€™ll Be Seeing Youโ€, with Clapton in relaxed crooner mode, though perhaps the most surprising and successful cover is of Dylanโ€™s โ€œI Dreamed I Saw St Augustineโ€, a song which is usually hard to perform without slipping into a certain ponderous, sententious solemnity. Ingeniously, Clapton injects a light, funky offbeat into his vocal delivery, which combined with the piano and accordion lifts the mood in buoyant, jubilee manner, with Fairweather-Low and Paul Carrackโ€™s background vocals adding a lovely, restrained gospel flavour. Claptonโ€™s solo is likewise understated and neat, twining around the melody rather than sprouting away from it.

The gospel tone is extended by the male and female backing vocals of the subsequent โ€œIโ€™ll Be Alrightโ€, an old spiritual forebear of โ€œWe Shall Overcomeโ€. Its restful, consolatory mood applies balm to the albumโ€™s bruised blues, characterised elsewhere in โ€œSpiralโ€ as a kind of welcome affliction: โ€œYou donโ€™t know what it means,โ€ claims Clapton, โ€œto have this music in me.โ€ Thereโ€™s further comfort offered in the light reggae groove of โ€œI Will Be Thereโ€, driven by Paul Carrackโ€™s pulsing organ, Henry Spinettiโ€™s deft rimshots, and springy guitar vamping. โ€œJust call on me,โ€ sings Eric, โ€œโ€ฆdonโ€™t be afraid, when you are lost, I will be there.โ€

Intriguingly, the song contains a credit for โ€œAngelo Mysteriosoโ€, a variant of the pseudonym famously employed by George Harrison when anonymously guesting on friendsโ€™ recordings, most notably on Creamโ€™s โ€œBadgeโ€. Clapton, however, has already denied it refers to George. Which would, letโ€™s face it, be somewhat miraculous anyway.

The July 2016 issue of Uncut is now on sale in the UK โ€“ featuring our cover story on Prince, plus Carole King, Paul Simon, case/lang/viers, Laurie Anderson, 10CC, Wilko Johnson, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Steve Gunn, Ryan Adams, Lift To Experience, David Bowie and more plus 40 pages of reviews and our free 15-track CD

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