Setting Sharp’s words to an uptempo melody he’d been working on based around The Lovin’ Spoonful’s Summer in the City, Clapton slowed things down, overdubbed lashings of wah-wah guitar and came up with something that’s often rated as the band’s finest effort. While I’m inclined to hand that label to We’re Going Wrong I can see where the Ulysses crew are coming from.The contrast between the calm minimalism of Bruce’s vocal line as Baker pounds away underneath and that frenzied wah wah was mind-blowing back then and still sends chill down the spine forty-five years later. It wasn’t the only Clapton/Sharp composition, but the contrast with the rather charming Anyone for Tennis couldn’t be much more extreme.
They could possibly have left the title of the Bruce/Brown collaboration we’ve come to know, love and attempt to pronounce as SWLABR as the full length She Walks Like a Bearded Rainbow, but the mystery in the initials lines up with the ring a rosy guitar licks Clapton delivers, Bruce’s surreal vocal showcases the substance-driven inspiration behind the lyrics and the whole package rocks along in suitably surreal style (what with the subject matter and all).
But as stated previously, Hughesy’s tick for the album’s standout track goes to Jack Bruce’s We're Going Wrong, which stems from the masterly underplaying Clapton demonstrates throughout, that old saw about what you leave out being as important as what actually goes in. It’s not quite an exercise in minimalism, but check the slow inexorable build under the Bruce vocal line from the starting plea to open your mind, little licks that stay under the surface until that verse gets repeated as Baker gives the rolling drums the mallet treatment. Melancholic, quite majestic with a vocal melody that’s not as simple as it sounds, contrast this with, say Dreaming from Fresh Cream as an indication of how things had progressed in less than a year, then skip over to the reunion version from Royal Albert Hall London May 2-3-5-6 2005 and see where they ended up taking it nearly forty years later and you might note that certain je ne sais quoi that underlies a rather sublime piece of music.
At the time I seem to recall some statement from Clapton about ensuring the old blues men get their fair share of royalties, and Blind Joe Reynolds might have lived long enough to collect a pay cheque for Outside Woman Blues, which Clapton sings, delivering a reasonably traditionalist take on the song an a slightly rock-oriented arrangement.