I could even envisage the old microphones that came down from the ceiling and were usually used for announcing prize fights. This was back when rock 'n' roll was 95% of my life and all that mattered was who had a new album out and who was playing where and when. The guitar player's hair was longer, so was mine. But here's the kicker: the music felt the same—good fresh rock 'n' roll. Since we own nothing permanently or with certainty except our memories, it was incredible to have mine brought so perfectly into the present. The moment was magic. The new album may be called Journeyman, but it was "Sunshine" that took me on some journey, man. When I opened my eyes at ringside to look again upon Eric Clapton a few feet away, I felt a seamless loyalty to this man and his work. I also realized it was true that Slowhand was so fast, he could steal the seconds off a clock. Clapton's last note of the night whirls out into the galvanic airspace of Madison Square Garden. Ripples of applause make their way to the front of the stage in big curling waves. Our Mr. Eric Clapton takes off his guitar, bows, and leans it against an amp. He joins the band, arm-in-arm once again, and they take several group bows. The bandleader had given his musicians plenty of chances to show their stuff tonight, but mainly he kept center-stage—definitely what the audience wanted. In terms of material, there were sixteen tunes and one blues solo. Half-a-dozen numbers on the set list—over a third of the show—were off the Journeyman album. Four songs were from albums of the late 60s; two from the early 70s; three from the late 70s (the Slowhand album); and seven from the late 80s.

What a beginning, tonight, to the last decade of the 20th Century: to see that sensitive art can work so fine with advanced technology; to see that personal mood can walk hand-in-hand with worldwide electronic communication; to see that so many people of so different ages and backgrounds can come together so pleasantly. From the first whine of Clapton's guitar to its last sigh, the man was often excellent, rarely extravagant, sometimes exotic, never exhibitionist, always exciting. Captain Crossroads once again proved himself no different from anybody else with two eyes, two ears, two feet, two possessed hands and two million admirers. He seems to be getting better with age—beating the grays with the blues. Plainly, he's more of a touchstone than a tombstone. He keeps doing treasurable shows like this, and he'll graduate from living legend to genuine miracle by 2001. But it's 1990 and what we can say for sure is that tonight he shot for the heavens and got 'em: E.C. as E.T. The winner and still champion—still the cream of rock guitar—Eric Patrick Clapton with a slow hand to the chin of great expectations. How the Dickens to characterize such a performance in a single, long-after-midnight, finishing-off phrase? Call it a technical knockout. *** CD: Eric Clapton, 24 Nights. Reprise, 1991. Book: Ray Coleman, Clapton! Warner, 1988. Website: http://www.eric-clapton.co.uk