Versemmelt

This album fails terrific, with all parameters that may occur to the pitiful attempt of objective evaluation of music.
So what to do?

The packaging front of the now almost legendary mobile snapshot in a relaxed South Seas atmosphere, embedded in an almost grotesque amateurish style design, the rear almost-Opa Clapton with fatter sunglasses, a gray beard and gray wool sock on the head, this time in the wintry atmosphere. Otherwise, we may admire nice little pictures of a park in autumn / winter face, an autumnal paddock without horses and an evening sea view, simultaneously connected to the question of whether you want to say something to us?
Along with the title of this album is close to the suspicion that someone here to clown in the bag has Brit humor, but the amateurish design and somehow a bit disjointed.

The songs / music here all incoherence of the work is clear. Ten tracks are covers, apparently at random taken from the time continuum, even in the title picture matching Bacardi rhythm style, sometimes the crooner style for the generation 70+, sometimes almost a gospel hit inventing, including oblique children choir, laid back and the artist's own past citing times almost right rocking and never adopt implementing reluctant purifies, but it's always too much of something, whether the backing vocals, or whether they are for example the completely superfluous string arrangements, especially with Still Got The Blues.
Instead, there is precious little of Clapton's trademark game to the 6 strings and the possibly unintended irony factor, for example, the sporadically used Hawaiian pedal steel, nor convert convincing. The summit of this apparently familiar finger exercise is then the fact that the pop-like gospel children's song Every Little Thing, proudly presents the Clapton-Kids, was not even written by the proud daddy, but to his sideman Doyle Bramhall II, who also found his family fortune seems to have. Very cute, but ultimately has little to Trash factor to be really funny.
Only, serious can not be meant this album to grotesque is the circumvention of any effort to leave here the respective songs bestow appropriate arrangements.

Allowed the musicians the (musical) family is large, there are listed tens of names already let the fear an overloaded production, which seems plain inappropriate for many of the offered songs, fun or not alone, right scents leaves no one, instead, for example, drummer Steve Gadd completely uninspired by the stimulant Gotta Get Over (also not from Clapton, but by Doyle Bramhall II) stumble that otherwise ensures that the neat Wegnicken is interrupted when highball. Moreover teeters most times of cane at Sunday tea dance!

The production is transparent, smooth, clean, cluttered the mastering legend Bob Ludwig is not exaggerating after all the Loudness War DR. 9

Conclusion:
This part is merciless versemmelt because it does not really matter like what direction the intentions. Even the time of publication is wrong this concoction is a summer music!
So why 3 stars?
Because Eric Clapton does what he wants, audibly feels in his part of life, selectively allowed to stand, the marks in his game and a sound generated, as has been widely copied and is, but still is unmatched, his vocals compared to previous periods is truly remarkable, and perhaps the whole thing to be a joke but with British traits.