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Life Without SRV
Copyright 2007 Christina M. Guerrero
I decided to go to the Eric Clapton concert. I ordered the tickets and then kept the exciting news to myself for a few days.
However, after I told my daughter, something changed. Although she's a classic-rock-worshipping hippie, the plan didn't seem extraordinary to her. She was pleased but not beside herself. As for my own attitude, I felt privileged as I looked forward to seeing a legendary musician live in concert, but strangely and rather abruptly not eager.
Something just felt ... I don't know ... different ... about this concert, even before we arrived at the venue.
If I had a perfect memory, the feelings might have made more sense, as I was aware of certain details about Clapton's life. Also, had I flipped way ahead in the book in which I was deeply engrossed, I might have figured out what felt "different" but I was savoring the book page by page, not wanting to rush.
Without a perfect memory, and thus temporarily and blissfully ignorant, I arrived at the venue after dinner and a short walk through town. Will Call had our tickets as promised; we searched for a few minutes then found our seats, which were quite a find at the last minute -- they were almost on top of Clapton's right shoulder.
Or rather, on Robert Cray's right shoulder.
Mr. Cray was performing as we sat down, playing the type of blues I love: slow, thoughtful, rythmic, accompanied by his clear tenor voice. I got lost in his music and felt disappointed when he finished his set. I wanted more.
About twenty minutes after Cray's departure, Clapton and his band appeared and played almost nonstop. He played a lot of stuff I did not recognize, and a few songs that I did: "Layla" and "Cocaine." Then Cray returned and they played "Crossroads." Afterwards, when the show ended, I had to ask myself: Was it worth a hundred dollars? Yet it was ... every penny. It was one of very few impulse purchases in a lifetime of penny-pinching, and I'd do it again.
But ... but ....
But what?
I don't know ... Clapton was excellent. At age sixty-two, he could be retired, but instead he continues to tour and entertain fans around the world with his gifts; and as for Cray -- at age fifty-three he isn't a beginner, but he's been around long enough and is regarded so highly that he is written about in music history books.
What more did I want?
Well, the book I was reading, as did plenty of other sources within the next few days, explained a few things.
Eric Clapton and Robert Cray played "Crossroads" together at a concert on August 26, 1990. They were two of several musicians who performed with blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan that night.
Later, in the early morning hours of August 27, 1990, the musicians left the stage. I'd like to think they traveled safely to their destinations ... and that they continued touring ... and took some time off ... and started up another tour ... and that they have been repeating this process for the past seventeen years, and that now, in 2007, Vaughan is still touring with Clapton and Cray ... or maybe even vice versa.
Yeah, I'd like to believe that.
However, that's not what happened.
Stevie Ray Vaughan is gone. Along with several members of Clapton's entourage, SRV died early that morning in a helicopter crash.
Upon relearning this information, I felt a strange but not unpleasant chill while reflecting on the Clapton concert. That night, just outside the venue, I had felt subdued; inside, I had waited for something or someone that never appeared.
Throughout the concert, I sensed an empty space into which nothing would have fit ... nothing, I later realized, except Stevie Ray.
He would have fit nicely into that empty space ... sealing it shut with his early 2007 fifty-two-year-old self ... and holding back memories of life without him.
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