His politics are despicable, he stole George HarrisonвЂ™s girlfriend, and if thatвЂ™s not enough to convince you heвЂ™s a dastardly cur he followed the execrable вЂњTears in HeavenвЂќ with the exquisitely vile вЂњMy FatherвЂ™s Eyes,вЂќ thereby achieving a kind of immortality as the author of the two worst tear-jerkers ever to bedevil listeners of discernment and taste. IвЂ™ve always disliked ClaptonвЂ“if it werenвЂ™t for Layla and Assorted Other Love Songs and a precious few other tunes, IвЂ™d have no use for the man whatsoever. Unplugged? Make that CanвЂ™t Find a Thrill. Clapton left the passion at home and plays it safe throughout, and while there are a precious few genial winners towards the end of the LP, there isnвЂ™t a single lightning strike. On Unplugged Clapton takes zero risks, that is unless you call his unspeakable transformation of вЂњLaylaвЂќ into an advertisement for adult diapers taking a chance. Cale.Д«ut thereвЂ™s a difference between laid back and Sominex, just as thereвЂ™s a difference between taking it easy and taking the easy way out. The decision to sleepwalk his way through the LPвЂ™s assortment of hoary blues covers and lackluster originals was all his.Д¬hampions of this bland excuse for an albumвЂ“and there must be legion, given itвЂ™s the best-selling live album of all timeвЂ“will no doubt argue that Clapton had every right to play like a guy whoвЂ™s taken too many muscle relaxants, and they have a point ClaptonвЂ™s mid-1970s conversion to the easy-does-it Tulsa sound is a matter of historical record, and you can hardly fault a guy for digging the likes of Clyde Stacy and J.J. to go the adult contemporary, easy-listening route. But IвЂ™m not blaming MTV its corporate heads didnвЂ™t force E.C. As it turns out, one is much safer making deals with the Lord of the Underworld. Robert JohnsonвЂ“whose вЂњMalted MilkвЂќ Clapton does a grave disservice to hereвЂ“sold his soul to the devil Clapton sold his soulвЂ“or what little was left of itвЂ“to MTV. Here IвЂ™d been begging somebody to unplug old Slowhand for years, and when they finally did I gotвЂ¦ this monstrosity. On 1992вЂ™s Unplugged axe legend turned pop hack Eric Clapton plays the blues with far less passion and commitment than your average 94-year-old lady puts into a game of Mahjong, laying waste to вЂњLaylaвЂќ and adding his live version of вЂњTears in HeavenвЂќ to the short list of contenders for worst song ever in the process.

Well here you have itвЂ“the most feckless, no account, totally useless dog turd of an album it has ever been my displeasure to hear.

Eric clapton unplugged