Published on Jul 12, 2015
Jay Bulger catches up with the irascible Cream drummer Ginger Baker at his ranch in South Africa. He reflects on his sixty-year career that led him to sellout stadium concerts.
HE’S long had a reputation for making even an infamous rock curmudgeon like Lou Reed come across like someone’s avuncular uncle, so I wasn’t relishing the prospect of an early morning phone chat with drumming legend Ginger Baker.
It was a feeling made worse by my foolishly having read other journalists’ previous run-ins with the man who, during his time in ’60s supergroup Cream, laid down the polyrhythmic beat to some of the most famous rock songs ever penned.And, as I quickly found out, choosing to wax lyrical about how much I loved Sunshine Of Your Love or Eric Clapton’s guitar playing on White Room wasn’t the best way of getting him to warm to me.
“Oh God, Cream’s a bloody albatross around my neck,” mutters the 72-year-old musical veteran who, in true septuagenarian fashion, duly informs me he’ll be 73 in a few weeks.
And the more I talk to the superannuated South Londoner – who, having somehow resembled old man Steptoe since his 30s has now come to look curiously ageless – about the band which has brought him the most fame and adulation the less it seems like a good idea.
“Cream wasn’t even rock and roll, you know,” he snorts. “I mean, 80% of it was total improvisation, and what’s another word for improvised music?”
‘Er, jazz?’ I squeak.
“Exactly, jazz,” he adds, slowly thawing. “In fact, I don’t think we ever played any song the same way twice, that’s how together we were on stage.
“Don’t get me wrong though, I’m proud of everything we did – a lot of it was of an incredibly high standard, much higher than any other pop group achieved,” adds Baker.
It’s odd then that he’s so circumspect about giving it pride of place on his CV.
“The main problem is that because of Cream people tend to think I’m very rich, but I’m not,” he sighs, taking a long, hard drag on a cigarette.
“I’m actually really struggling financially because I’ve managed to outlive all the money we made and now I’ve got to work again.
“There’s no fortune stashed away for me in some Swiss bank unfortunately, so any retirement plans ain’t happening quite yet.”
By his own admittance then, Ginger Baker’s Jazz Confusion – the incredible outfit he’ll be debuting at Brecon Jazz tonight, featuring James Brown’s sax man Peewee Ellis, bassist Alec Dankworth, and African percussionist Abass Dodoo – just seems like a means to an end for the star.
“Would I be doing it if I didn’t have to? Hmm, dunno – I do enjoy it though because jazz is exactly my thing,” says Baker.
I certainly don’t want to go back to playing rock and roll and all that stuff, unless I was offered some really lucrative deal.
“It’s good though in a way, I feel like a kid having to prove himself again.”
Briefly he recalls his 16-year-old self in 1956, being dared by friends at a party to sit behind a drum kit for the first time.
“I just discovered I could play – had absolutely no idea how, I just could,” he chuckles throatily.
HE’S long had a reputation for making even an infamous rock curmudgeon like Lou Reed come across like someone’s avuncular uncle, so I wasn’t relishing the prospect of an early morning phone chat with drumming legend Ginger Baker.
It was a feeling made worse by my foolishly having read other journalists’ previous run-ins with the man who, during his time in ’60s supergroup Cream, laid down the polyrhythmic beat to some of the most famous rock songs ever penned.And, as I quickly found out, choosing to wax lyrical about how much I loved Sunshine Of Your Love or Eric Clapton’s guitar playing on White Room wasn’t the best way of getting him to warm to me.
“Oh God, Cream’s a bloody albatross around my neck,” mutters the 72-year-old musical veteran who, in true septuagenarian fashion, duly informs me he’ll be 73 in a few weeks.
And the more I talk to the superannuated South Londoner – who, having somehow resembled old man Steptoe since his 30s has now come to look curiously ageless – about the band which has brought him the most fame and adulation the less it seems like a good idea.
“Cream wasn’t even rock and roll, you know,” he snorts. “I mean, 80% of it was total improvisation, and what’s another word for improvised music?”
‘Er, jazz?’ I squeak.
“Exactly, jazz,” he adds, slowly thawing. “In fact, I don’t think we ever played any song the same way twice, that’s how together we were on stage.
“Don’t get me wrong though, I’m proud of everything we did – a lot of it was of an incredibly high standard, much higher than any other pop group achieved,” adds Baker.
It’s odd then that he’s so circumspect about giving it pride of place on his CV.
“The main problem is that because of Cream people tend to think I’m very rich, but I’m not,” he sighs, taking a long, hard drag on a cigarette.
“I’m actually really struggling financially because I’ve managed to outlive all the money we made and now I’ve got to work again.
“There’s no fortune stashed away for me in some Swiss bank unfortunately, so any retirement plans ain’t happening quite yet.”
By his own admittance then, Ginger Baker’s Jazz Confusion – the incredible outfit he’ll be debuting at Brecon Jazz tonight, featuring James Brown’s sax man Peewee Ellis, bassist Alec Dankworth, and African percussionist Abass Dodoo – just seems like a means to an end for the star.
“Would I be doing it if I didn’t have to? Hmm, dunno – I do enjoy it though because jazz is exactly my thing,” says Baker.
I certainly don’t want to go back to playing rock and roll and all that stuff, unless I was offered some really lucrative deal.
“It’s good though in a way, I feel like a kid having to prove himself again.”
Briefly he recalls his 16-year-old self in 1956, being dared by friends at a party to sit behind a drum kit for the first time.
“I just discovered I could play – had absolutely no idea how, I just could,” he chuckles throatily.
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