Sunday afternoon with Clapton

It's not the hot Saturday night blues which permeates together with smoke enriched with all sorts of indefinable substances from trendy jazz cellars. Neither of testosterone and mood to play blues that can be heard loudly and with lowered windows while driving on a sunny day from one traffic light to the cultural cripple further with angewachsenem Basecap and extra comfortable sweatpants in its fully verbastelten BMW 3 Series two cars aufzunötigen the alternative program to Bushido's pimped bass Proll lyric. And also to some unloved visitors from distant relationship, as if by chance and by the way, their own intellectual superiority to suggest by oblique sound art that you can run casual as background music, while besieging the domestic sofa, this album is not suitable.

The Clapton plant anno 2010 is the perfect album for a relaxing Sunday afternoon. Feet Up, wander a good glass of wine, thoughts and let the songs take effect - just 62 time minutes explaining everything outside this space as unimportant.

That the disc has not be accepted by all with jubilation storms is therefore hardly surprising. The rhetorical failures, however, I find it somewhat irritating. Gone> boring droning, shallow elevator music, creativity
It seems to me significant that Eric Clapton precisely this quietest of all his many albums in his long career simply "Clapton" titled. Balance and peace within, as the plate acts, even Clapton in recent years seems to be arrived at. Of course he's Mister Slowhand and of course he can still let fly the cow (which it only a year later, 2011, "Play the Blues: Live from Jazz at Lincoln Center" had already submitted again impressively demonstrated), but he needs the Pose no more.

And it should actually give elevators, where sounds of this album, I recommend just a few times to go from the attic to the basement and back - just like that, just because of the leisure