Thursday, May 17, 2007
A big, big favorite with me and much of my crowd at the time, all prog-safe and jazzy and as an instrumental with nobody likely to make a fool of themselves shrieking and hoarsing out the blooz. If you wanted to posit the Yardbirds as the big bang of "Rock," itself the natural progression of "rock 'n' roll" -- this probably made more sense then, so don't worry if you're not following along -- your choice of galaxies basically came down to the earnest heroin-addicted awthentic noblesse oblige of Eric Clapton, the satan worship of Jimmy Page (who at least spared his throat), and Jeff Beck, who was the one of these things not like the others. Satan worship evidently not to his taste, he turned here and on the follow-up Wired to the pleasantries of electric guitar sonics in the proggy context of post-Bitches Brew jazz. And makes your head spin when he steps out and gets on top of his game, which here is like always.