Legends of blues and legions of fans
Eric Clapton’s Crossroads Guitar Festival hits a high note with its smorgasbord of instrumentalists
By Carlye Wisel
Published: August 2nd, 2007 | 11:55am
July 28, 2007, in Bridgeview, Illinois — After queuing up inside Toyota Park’s entrance at 9:30 a.m., the early morning general-admission ticket-holding crowd dashed up a long staircase and raced through the aisles of seats to claim their blanketed spots on the plastic-covered lawn. My ex–track captain brother sprinted toward the stage and was tipped off by a security guard about a special first-come, first-served fenced-in viewing section. Ten minutes later, with a highly sought-after neon yellow band around my wrist, I was up close and had slowly charmed my way into the first row. Two and a half hours of sitting, standing, and awkward schmoozing passed before festival emcee Bill Murray hit the stage.
Once he poked fun at Bridgeview, Illinois, in the first installment of a recurring joke, Murray played an admittedly weak rendition of Van Morrison’s “Gloria,” to which the crowd proudly sang along “G-L-O-R-I-A” during its lettered chorus. Thankfully, Eric Clapton, dressed in a loose white shirt and plaid shorts, snuck onstage behind him and lent a helping hand before introducing slide guitarist Sonny Landreth, who started off the festival’s 11 straight hours of music.
Switching guitars on each song, Landreth’s sound ranged from bluesy “The Promise Land” to faster, prog-rock-like tunes, to the Clapton-collaborated “Hell at Home.” The assigned seating was still quite empty for the most part, a stark contrast to the bodies and blankets covering the grounds.
First held in 2004 in Dallas, Texas, this second installment of the Crossroads Guitar Festival was also a benefit for Crossroads Centre, a an alcohol and drug addiction rehabilitation facility in Antigua founded by Clapton. But, from the looks of the $10 Corona–carrying crowd and a nearby man wearing a “work is the curse of the drinking class” t-shirt, the attendees were here for the music, not the charity.
Like Les Miserables but better, the stage rotated in between sets in order to shorten the time between performers. Its flashing LED lights made it a bit more entrancing in a circus ride sense, but set breaks were longer than one would expect, considering that the stage moved faster than the stagehands.
With an inexplicably happy bassist by his side, John McLaughlin, the next act, had a sound that was jazzier and jammier than Landreth’s — there were more extended instrumental solos, with the keyboardist even taking one before McLaughlin did. “Five Piece Band,” a song characterized by a five-note thematic phrase that was the building block for short, repeated teases, was his best.
Alison Krauss & Union Station’s bluegrass-influenced set with resonator guitarist Jerry Douglass was impressive, but distractingly problematic. Her soulful voice, which perfectly fit a “female country singer” mold, shone during the first half of the set, but near the end, sound issues dampened the entire performance. Crackling feedback caused Krauss to completely stop during one of her songs, and once she began singing into her violin’s microphone, neither her vocals nor her fiddle were picked up loudly enough. But, with cheers of, “Yeah, Alison!” and “You rock, girl!,” the crowd still enjoyed what they were able to hear of the group’s performance.
Doyle Bramhall II, guitarist for Eric Clapton’s backup band, sat in a chair through his entire set, which should have been a visual cue for the audience to do the same. Wincing his face and squinting his eyes while singing, his extremely repetitive lyrics were bland and boring. Even playing mildly commendable solos on a glittery, maroon left-handed guitar strung right-handedly wasn’t enough for me to stop wishing that the stage would start rotating early.
All the while barely even looking at the audience, phenomenal blues-rock guitarist Derek Trucks played the next set, which was one of the festival’s best. Joined by vocalist/guitarist wife Susan Tedeschi halfway through, her impressive, emotive voice drew louder cheers than any other act that performed before her. On a stage full of men, she was more commanding than all of them combined, proving that it took a woman like Tedeschi to get the audience to stand up and listen. Blues guitarist Johnny Winter made a guest appearance, and though he slowly shuffled across the stage to an awaiting chair, his thin, frail-looking arms ridden with blueish fading tattoos still had plenty of energy in them during the collective rendition of Bob Dylan’s “Highway 61.”
After five minutes of playing introduction-sounding music, Robert Randolph, joined by members of his Family Band, finally began his energetic, soulful set. Happily grinning and chomping on gum, Randolph sat behind a pedal-steel guitar emblazoned with his name, wailing and invigoratingly dragging out song endings long enough to get the whole crowd dancing and cheering. Even Clapton, who burst out laughing when the bassist started singing in super-high falsetto, was grooving in his offstage seat.
Robert Cray’s performance started out as serene but finished as one of the day’s most memorable. His slower tunes highlighted his legendary voice, but when guitarist Jimmie Vaughan came out to join him, the energy completely shifted, as did the spotlight. Legendary blues guitarist Hubert Sumlin entered a bit later, and after Cray’s “Let’s bring out the king of blues!” prompt, B.B. King came onstage for a saucy, shoulder-shaking rendition of “Rock Me Baby.”
“I would like to say a toast to the boss,” King said, before mentioning that, after traveling around the world to 90 countries and meeting many people, he had “never met a better man, a more gracious man, than my friend Eric Clapton.” Before segueing into an electrifying “The Thrill Is Gone,” the 81-year-old King confessed to the crowd, “And when they lay me down to rest, may the last voices I hear be yours.”
Famous for poppy ballads and often ignored for his strong blues roots, John Mayer, who was up next, opened with “Waiting on the World to Change” and “Belief,” two songs that seemed a bit too radio-friendly and didn’t show off what he’s made of. But, the crowd soon learned that Mayer isn’t a one-trick sappy love song pony, and even if their daughters love, well, “Daughters,” his guitar chops are undeniable. “Every note coming out of my guitar today is dedicated to Mr. B.B. King,” he shared, before playing an extended version of Continuum standout track “Vultures.” Mayer next mentioned hearing an audience member yell out, “Play some blues!” — and admitted that he thought he was — so he retaliated with a fantastic cover of Ray Charles’ “I Don’t Need No Doctor,” and wrapped up the set with an instrumentally expanded version of “Gravity,” complete with jazzier lyrics.
Now that I had seen Mayer, I decided to give up my prime spot and go grab dinner with my brother Steve, who was stuck a few rows behind me, for the duration of the show. While recapping the super fan on my right who kept waving an Indian flag in my face and the couple on my left who forced people out of their “spot” upon their return from subsequent beer runs, I learned that my brother, who admitted that if we didn’t move when we did he “might have needed to punch someone in the face,” clearly had it a bit worse than me. Despite no blankets being allowed in our front-of-stage section, a small group of people had obnoxiously laid one out and used their legs to block him from standing on it — leaving Steve to stand off balance for nine hours. Later, he scrambled for a B.B. King guitar pick with a few other fans, and was accused by a woman of nearly breaking her ankle after accidentally bumping into her. The crowd surrounding us — consisting mostly of adults whose behavior inferred that they don’t attend many outdoor, general admission concerts — was rude, ruthless, and selfish. Well, everyone but the kind, Dead-loving gentleman who saved my spot during a bathroom run. (And I’m not just saying that because he reads Venus Zine.)
One $5 concession-stand hot dog and two white-bread sandwiches from the press room later (the stands had begun running out of food), we found a new spot in the back of our reserved section and settled in to watch Vince Gill with Albert Lee and Sheryl Crow. Gill’s band consisted of 13 people, and they played a few upbeat songs before Crow came onstage for “If It Makes You Happy,” a tune that didn’t quite fit the bluesy pattern of the day thus far. Jerry Douglas and Alison Krauss returned for “Strong Enough,” proving that Krauss just couldn’t catch a break — it was still difficult to hear her singing and playing violin, and Crow’s vocals tended to drown her out. Eric Clapton also made an appearance on Don Williams’ “Tulsa Time,” and smilingly shared a microphone with ex-flame Crow. Willie Nelson came in and rounded out the superstar set with a few of his classic tunes.
Trying to hunt down musicians for an interview resulted in missing Los Lobos’ set, so next up was Jeff Beck. All I knew going into the show was that Marci Sepulveda, one of Venus Zine’s publishers was obsessed with him. Now I know why.
Although he didn’t utter a single word, Beck’s intense performance was wowing — it even included him using a slide above the fret board, which literally caused jaws to drop. Doing everything but standard strumming, his sound is a fusion of blues, rock, and a style all his own (as seen through his fabulous rendition of the Beatles’ “A Day In the Life”) but attention was drawn away from him to the bassist, a curly-haired 21-year-old named Tal Wilkenfeld. Her young-looking face easily mistook her for a presumable band member’s child, but her talent proved she stood on her own. After an extensive amount of on-camera time — more than any other backup band member — throughout the set, everyone was buzzing about the unnamed bassist’s identity until Bill Murray, dressed in a paisley shirt and stick-on mutton chops, carrying a rainbow-colored guitar, came back onstage to introduce Clapton’s set.
With Derek Trucks, Doyle Bramhall II, and a pair of drum kits by his side, the festival’s main man put on an energetic show that was a complete concert in and of itself. “Tell the Truth” and “Got to Get Better in a Little While” started them off with Bramhall II playing better in this environment than his own. The Band’s Robbie Robertson helped out on Bo Diddley’s “Who Do You Love,” Steve Winwood lent a hand before performing “Dear Mr. Fantasy,” and the collective played a handful of tunes before wrapping the set up with festival namesake “Crossroads” and crowd favorite “Cocaine.”
Buddy Guy’s set ended the festival a bit abruptly, but his charismatic performance made it the most entertaining of the night. Guy, who is a total clown, bantered in tune, shook his hat along with his guitar’s vibrato, and excited the worn-down crowd with his onstage passion. “I don’t like doin’ nothin’ by myself,” he said, bringing Clapton onstage. “Make it funky for me, Eric!” he demanded as they began a hilarious song about a promiscuous woman. Surrounding by a crowd dressed in B.B. King and Jeff Beck tour T-shirts while listening to Clapton, Cray, Vaughan, and Sumlin return for a rendition of “Sweet Home Chicago,” I realized that this wasn’t just a concert — this was blues by people who are the blues. And despite their age or musical tenure, each and every one of them has still got it.
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Photos by Carlye Wisel
Photo 1: Bill Murray
Photo 2: Alison Krauss
Photo 3: Susan Tedeschi
Photo 6: Eric Clapton
Issue #35
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