Album Review: Eric Clapton - Old Sock

Whatever fire once burned in the belly of the young guitarist from Ripley in Surrey that briefly won him the soubriquet, “God”, as he dazzled a generation first with The Yardbirds and then the incendiary Cream via John Mayall's Bluesbreaker, dimmed long ago. Clapton's other nickname, Slowhand, quickly went from ironic to fitting, though the tastefulness of his playing has never waned.

It seems obligatory to trawl through the music that inspired one's formative years and recast them in one's own image, just because you can, so Clapton has every right to do the same, which is what you get on Old Sock. The selection might, however, surprise: Huddie Ledbetter's Goodnight Irene? Fair enough – Leadbelly was seminal for generations of blues musicians. Jazz standard All Of Me? Again, we've got to take into account that Clapton's 67, so comes from the generation on the cusp between the jazz crooners – Sinatra, Tony Bennett – and rock'n'roll. He's even joined by Paul McCartney on double bass and backing vocals, but McCartney's own stroll down this particular path on last year's Kisses On The Bottom seemed to carry more conviction.

The sad part of it all is that Clapton seems to have gone from Slowhand to simply lazy. The slide was an inevitable consequence of his becoming besotted by JJ Cale, whose Angel he includes here. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. It's just there should be – was! – so much more to him. That said, vocally there are some nice performances and interpretations on offer – his more 3am blues club crooning on Gary Moore's Still Got The Blues for instance. It's not an age thing – look at Buddy Guy. It's just that the result is a nice rather than an essential album.