ClaptonThe Autobiography

A celeb autobio that devotes as much detail to nights in the pub as it does to brushes with greatness.
As a guitarist, Eric Clapton is distinguished more by his work ethic than his fits of inspiration; “Clapton is God” graffiti notwithstanding, he seems like a mere mortal next to the mythic figures he emulated, less awe-inspiring but more approachable. Rather than making a deal with the devil, he seems like the kind of guy who might have asked Satan to lend him a few bucks until payday. His soup-to-nuts account of his own life is likewise, a solid, sober (in both senses of the word) look back at his journey from rural England to quasi-deification.

Clapton’s functional, unfussy prose moves steadily through his life, devoting as much detail to his nights in the pub as his brushes with greatness. The details can be a bit random, like this bombshell about his early childhood: “I loved pies.” Luckily, narrator Bill Nighy supplies the enthusiasm that Clapton left out, leaning into every emphasis as if his life depended on it. With Nighy leading the way, the facts of Clapton’s life are gripping enough, especially his long-standing struggle with alcoholism and the tragic death of his son, recounted in a factual but hardly dispassionate style. (Oh, and then there’s that whole thing about him writing “Layla” to steal George Harrison’s wife.) A few myths die ugly deaths along the way; if you’ve ever slow-danced to “Wonderful Tonight,” it may hurt to find that it was inspired by Clapton’s irritation that his wife was taking too long to dress for dinner.

While Clapton at 62 is mellow and reflective — you can hear years of recovery and psychotherapy in his observations about his family and relationships — a few blind spots remain. He may decry his previously piggish attitude towards women, but he still notes that one of the things that appealed to him about his current wife (his second) is that she had “no agenda or ambition.” The abridged version strangely makes no mention of Clapton’s legendary guitar solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” but does include Clapton’s first impression of the Beatles as “a bunch of wankers.”