Eric Clapton’s first released vocal performance was on a version of Robert Johnson’s “Ramblin’ on My Mind,” and he has returned regularly over the ensuing four decades to the great 1930s bluesman’s slim legacy (his entire output, alternate takes included, was collected on 1990′s two-disc Complete Recordings with room to spare) for nourishment and inspiration.
So perhaps it was inevitable, even predictable, that eventually he would undertake a full album of Johnson’s songs. It’s a good time for Clapton to delve into this undertaking – at 59, his voice is well lived-in and his guitar playing is as strong as ever, his tone razor-sharp. Although Johnson himself died at age 27 (setting the standard for rock stars from Jimi Hendrix to Kurt Cobain), his songs are haunted and complex, and some depth is necessary to convey them convincingly.
Clapton is entirely up to that task – his performances on Mr. Johnson are passionate and powerful, as are those of his crack road band. The troublemaker here is producer Simon Climie, to whom Clapton has inexplicably yoked himself since 1997. Climie’s devotion to electronics has been a drag on each of Clapton’s last several albums to some degree, and in this case is entirely inexplicable; there should never be a credit for ProTools on an album like this one. All one needs to do is hear Clapton’s previous all-blues effort, 1993′s rivetingly gritty From the Cradle, to hear that – recorded straight off the floor, with the emphasis on emotion rather than precision. As good as Mr. Johnson can get – and it has its moments, make no mistake — it’s impossible to shake the feeling that Eric Clapton is driving with the emergency brake on. It’s starting to smell funny.

– Chris Neal