In 1986, I visited Eric Clapton at his home in Surrey, England, in hopes of seducing him into taking part in my documentary tribute to Chuck Berry on his 60th birthday. Keith Richards had already signed on as music director and was putting together a great backup band, but both Keith and I also wanted some world-class guest artists to collaborate with Chuck onstage.
Eric’s then wife, Pattie Boyd Harrison Clapton, welcomed me graciously, serving me a cup of tea in the library and then discreetly disappearing so Eric and I could chat. He said he’d just come out of the studio, and asked if I’d like to hear what he’d recorded. Although it’s treacherous to preview an artist’s work in progress and then have to give an opinion, I was cheered to hear bold, muscular, big-band blues pouring out of his sound system, something very different from what he’d done before.
