As October speeds along and we inevitably face those frantic Holiday-filled final few months of the year it’s time to take a quick pause before the action begins and consider a truly beautiful and special vintage timepiece — this mid-1970s IWC Yacht Club with stunning blue dial on original bracelet.
Now the blue dial alone is reason enough to catch the savvy collector’s attention. But then there’s the fact that it also comes with its original box and a raft of matching paperwork that has survived the years along with this stunning watch. These bits of history include the original guarantee and even the sales receipt from Spandau, Germany dated 1976, among other records. That kind of hard-to-find provenance really puts this piece into solid investment grade “collector’s set” territory.
Of course you can’t wear the box and papers no matter how nice those goodies are to have. Where this Yacht Club really shines is on the wrist, its perfectly balanced 36mm “C-shape” case all flowing lines and making the dial really pop. And underneath the hood is a recently serviced caliber 8541B, the ultimate development of IWC’s wonderful in-house automatic calibers at the time.
On land or at sea, this blue Yacht Club is a watch guaranteed to make a fantastically stylish impression — make it yours before the gift giving season heats up and someone else snaps it up!
The death of Burt Reynolds at the age of 82 a few weeks ago has been a real bummer. Burt was one of our heroes here at MFL, so much so that no one could bring themselves to write the tribute. Looks like I drew the short straw…
If you grew up in the 1970s or ’80s Burt Reynolds was about as close to a vicarious favorite uncle as you could get. With his swagger, hairy chest and mustache, not to mention a varying assortment of ever-changing custom toupees, Reynolds dominated the box office through a series of increasingly Dixie-centric action films that featured fast cars, hot & spicy women and real stunts. If the plots were a little less than Mensa-level they were redeemed by Reynolds’ knowingly wry performances, bemusedly observing some of the more ridiculous antics in a self-depricatingly humorous way that rarely failed to connect with his audiences. All Burt had to do was let out one of those high, hyena-like laughs and you knew that he was having as much fun making the movie as you were watching it.
Reynolds had a very long career and was already a known, working actor in the 1960s and at the dawn of the ’70s, with prominent parts on TV in Riverboat and Gunsmoke leading to title roles on the short-lived police dramas Hawk and Dan August. Somewhat burdened by his physical resemblance to Marlon Brando in his early career it took his performance as a macho businessman on a rafting holiday gone horribly wrong in 1972’s Deliverance to sear a distinct screen identity into the national culture and catapult Reynolds to the top of the Hollywood A-list. That role cleverly exploited the limits of the self-styled man of action when faced with uncontrollable circumstances and the shifting nature of the alpha-male within a small group under siege. The film itself, directed by that keen observer of male codes and primitivism, John Boorman, has gone down as one of the all-time classics, if a grim one. As if to undercut the somberness of his career-defining role in Deliverance, Reynolds became equally famous that year for posing semi-nude on a bearskin rug in Cosmopolitan magazine. Although he never failed to mention how much he regretted the publicity stunt even in the last interviews of his life there is no doubt that it gave a major boost his overall popularity if not his standing as a serious actor (and if he regretted it so much why did he also put out a risqué paperback called “Hot Line” that featured him bottomless in a football jersey among other playful beefcake photos?). His Cosmo centerfold in all its hirsute glory became one of the most iconic and subversive images of the ’70s, right up there with Joe Namath posing in pantyhose.
That was always the yin-yang with Burt Reynolds. He was the ultimate crowd pleaser but yearned to be taken seriously, capable of expounding on his personal foibles in unvarnished detail and then prowling around a studio audience of middle-aged ladies like a sex panther. Beginning with White Lightning(1973) and then its sequel Gator (1976), the first film he directed, Reynolds perfected the reliable screen persona of a good old boy out to stick it to the man, one that drew on his southern roots and proved enormously appealing to moviegoers both above but especially below the Mason-Dixon line. This character and formula found its apotheosis in the immensely successful Smokey and the Bandit, which was second only to Star Wars in 1977 box office gross receipts. Smokey and the Bandit brilliantly tweaked the Reynolds man-of-action character with a more comic slapstick approach and fused it with a host of ’70s zeitgeist touchstones like trucker CB culture, contraband Coors beer, Jerry Reed’s killer theme song “Eastbound and Down,” a feisty young Sally Field and Burt’s black and gold T-top Trans Am all while being pursued by a fat, tan and uproariously foul Jackie Gleason. But enjoyable as his redneck gearhead protagonists were, Reynolds most interesting work was often in more challenging and uncategorizable movies, parts more in the Deliverance vein that were propelled by some inner hurt within Burt that he worked so hard to gloss over most of the time.
He was particularly productive with director Robert Aldrich, another keen observer of flawed macho behavior, with the morally ambiguous and very moody L.A. neo-noir Hustle (1975) and even better as the footballer behind bars in The Longest Yard(1974). His Paul “Wrecking” Crewe in Yard is one the best roles Burt ever had, funny, cocky, sensitive and rebellious in all the best ways, outwitting the guards and a corrupt warden by whipping his misfit cons into a cohesive football team and cleverly finessing a seemingly no-win situation. His background as a serious amateur ballplayer was put to good use again in Michael Ritchie’s Semi-Tough(1977) alongside Kris Kristofferson and Jill Clayburgh in a very funny and very ’70s send up of football, its wealthy patrons and the patently ridiculous self-realization craze of the time. Other notable films of this era are Hooper & The Cannonball Run, more antic action frolics helmed by Bandit director and Reynolds’ pal Hal Needham, the ace stuntman & his former housemate; and The End directed by Burt about a man with a terminal prognosis determined to end it all in ineffectively hilarious fashion with the unwanted and homicidally zealous aid of Burt’s frequent sidekick during this era, Dom DeLuise.
Despite the star-studded guilty pleasure success of Cannonball Run, Burt was essentially running both the car chase genre and his grinning good ol’ boy persona into the ground due to a series of weak sequels — Cannonball Run II, Smokey and the Bandit II & III — finally bottoming out with the poorly received Needham-helmed stock car farce Stroker Ace in 1983. He had ridden this particular wave as far as the public wanted it to go and it had broken. He had also tried diversifying his screen persona with relationship comedies like Paternity (1981) and the very good Starting Over (1979). And he also explored relatively humorless tough-as-nails cops in the Clint Eastwood vein in crime thrillers like Sharky’s Machine (1981) and Stick(1985), both of which he also directed, as well as the rather more tepid Heat (1985). But even though those films hold up well now for the most part the reception at the time was decidedly mixed. The public was suffering from Burt Reynolds fatigue.
Worse still for Burt he was injured during the making of the Prohibition period pic, City Heat(1984), in which he co-starred with Eastwood himself on something of a Hollywood macho man action star dream team. His laudible penchant for performing as many of his own stunts as the insurance companies would allow, which earned him tremendous respect from the stunt man community, boomeranged on him when he was accidentally hit in the face with a non-prop chair, shattering his jaw. His recuperation would see him drop a scary amount of weight, leading to ugly rumors, and a debilitating dependance on sleeping & pain pills, which unfortunately would recur later in life. But he came back strong on the small screen with an appealing homage to small-town life, Evening Shade (1990-94), which won Burt an Emmy. Better yet was his auteur director of smut Jack Horner, adult entertainment impresario and surrogate father figure to a group of misfits in the porn industry, in Paul Thomas Anderson’s epic Boogie Nights (1997). It was perhaps his best acting since the early to mid-1970s, a fully realized portrait of an honorable man with artistic leanings in a scuzzy business, a professional with X-rated standards who resists the move to cheap, plotless videotaped carnality performed by amateurs and serves as the protector and enabler of his porn family’s dreams. It was a stunningly rich performance with a palpable backstory that not only earned him an Oscar nomination but also newfound respect in the industry for his acting chops.
His bewildering reaction to the success of Boogie Nights illustrated the conflicts raging beneath the surface of this seemingly glib stud. Despite its critical success Burt disowned Boogie Nights, claiming never to have seen it straight through. He feuded with prodigy director Anderson, although it seemed like a one-sided grudge as Anderson was willing to cast him in his next picture, Magnolia. But Reynolds turned him down. It’s unclear whether Reynolds didn’t really understand Boogie Nights, not only one of the best films of the ’90s but certainly one of the best performances of his career, or simply found the end product distasteful. But, like his reaction to the Cosmo centerfold that came on the heels of his breakthrough in Deliverance, Reynolds seemed intent on undercutting one of his greatest successes with needless public second-guessing and airing his discontentments. It was as if within the man there was an unresolvable conflict between being taken seriously as an actor to earn the respect of his peers and the absolute need to subvert that potentially pretentious goal by treating so much of his work as a series of mistakes or purely mercenary undertakings, often even the good stuff. His loudly professed dislike of Boogie Nights cemented his reputation as a difficult star to work with and short-circuited his comeback. Perhaps it even cost his that year’s Oscar. Along with his epically complicated relationships with women, including Dinah Shore, Sally Field and Loni Anderson, it all pointed to a strangely restless and unsatisfiable soul.
But in his best work on the screen — and in hours of old talk show clips still viewable on You Tube — Burt channeled those deep waters into the pursuit of having the best possible time, inviting the audience along with him for the ride and letting them in on the jokes like a lucky passenger in that famous speeding black and gold Trans Am. His physicality and daring were perfectly suited to action romps but behind the mustache and hairy chest was also the deft touch of an expert light comedian, a nearly unique combination in such a macho dude perhaps only paralleled during that era by the sly Roger Moore in a suave English version (and with some echoes today in Ryan Reynolds’ impressively deft action-comedy performances). He successfully escaped the massive shadows of Brando and Eastwood to create an entirely unique screen persona, self-mocking but capable, tough but romantic, anti-establishment but with his own code of honor, always a faithful friend. He was, above all, an absolute charmer, as self-effacing and yet as confident in his excellence and good looks as a Southern 1970s Cary Grant, the cackling laugh substituting for Grant’s untraceable accent. Like Grant, he was massively complex in real life, often dissatisfied and full of self-doubt. But in front of the camera he was a master and a “natural” by way of hard work and experience. To ponder all the happiness Burt Reynolds leaves behind through his extraordinary and prolific career, the omnipresent drive-in movie and videotape/cable TV background for those of us who came of age in the ’70s and ’80s, is precisely why his passing leaves us so bereft. There are a ton of Burt Reynolds movies out there to continue to watch and enjoy. But to think that he will never make another, never laugh that hyena laugh again while he burns out and outfoxes the law is more than a little bit sad. It’s more like losing a wry older friend from childhood and a masculine role model than simply another movie star. But isn’t that the mark of this special man and his particular quality of stardom? Adios and via con dios, Burt — you were always a great amigo.
The only thing I can think to add is that she occupies the same hallowed place in American culture as other luminaries like B.B. King, Ray Charles and Michael Jackson, an elite group of seminal cross-cultural pop superstars, giants of entertainment in the second half of the 20th Century one and all. These are the special musicians and entertainers who bridged the gap between “black” and “white” music, in the process cross-pollinating the two for an even stronger hybrid that we recognize today as uniquely American popular music. Aretha, like those other greats who came before and after her, took from the past, put her own indelible stamp on it and left that as a foundation for succeeding artists to build upon, leaving us all the richer for it.
As if to nail that point home here she is in 2015 at the Kennedy Center Honors paying tribute to Carole King by singing the blockbuster hit “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” — causing Ms. King, the song’s author, to freak out in happiness, the first couple at the time to wipe tears from their eyes and the place to go nuts in general. That spellbinding Aretha magic in action, even at that late date.
The Queen of Soul is gone but the voice lives on. Long live the Queen.
First of all please note that this review is for the original formula of Givenchy Gentleman, which debuted way back in 1974, and not the recent reformulated 2017 release where the label actually reads “Gentleman Givenchy.” I haven’t tried that new, fruitier version so I can’t comment. What I can say is that original Givenchy Gentleman has become one of my favorites and a go-to in my rotation despite the fact that it’s approaching the 45th anniversary of its creation by Paul Leger. So much so that when I saw they were reshuffling it to the Les Parfums Mythiques category where old Givenchy frags are put out to pasture I bought several back-up bottles in case they decided to water it down.
While there is the usual waxing rhapsodic on fragrance forums about the vintage formulation, the modern iteration of Gentleman up until the shift over to Les Parfums Mythiques is still pure class (haven’t tried the LPM version but being so recently in production unlike, say, Xeyrus, I’m hopeful that they haven’t messed it up). From it’s distinctively simple “pharmacist”-style flaçon and spare modernist silver label with black Garamond lettering to the yellow-hued juice inside one immediately gets that “old school” vibe. But the fragrance itself, while certainly created a long time ago, remains timeless. Yes, it’s from the 1970s and yes its dominant note by far is patchouli. However, this is a cologne for people who only think they hate patchouli but have never smelled a well rendered, highly natural version of it. Along with Giorgio of Beverly Hills and the sadly discontinued Moods Uomo by Krizia, Gentleman has the best front and center patchouli note in the mass marketed fragrance business. But unlike Giorgio’s very forward honey-lime notes or the pervasive rose of Moods sweetening the deal, Gentleman’s patch is really both the soloist and the orchestra. Yes, there are the usual “woody aromatic” embellishments listed in the notes pyramid such as cedar and oakmoss but those seem faint to non-existent to my nose, as does the civet, which may have been phased out due to IFRA prohibitions. There is still a nice vetiver playing its part, a creamy orris root binding things together and some semi sweet-ish green spice notes likely from the listed tarragon, as well as a subtle rose note in the background. And the base definitely has a wonderfully long lasting leather note.
But again, this fragrance is all about the patchouli, which is both dirty and clean and goes on forever. When you first spray it on you may be alarmed — this Eau de Toilette is very concentrated — but hang in there for a minute and the fragrance instantly develops into an embracingly warm, inexpressibly elegant concoction cocooning you in pure masculine vibes. Continue reading →
Featuring an absoultely stunning dial that has aged to a deep chocolate brown, this Type 21 has all the sexy patina and wabi-sabi you could want in a military watch with loads of wrist appeal, not to mention terrific functionality.
Underneath the beautifully proportioned 38mm stainless steel screwed case is the fantastically engineered Valjoux caliber 235 hi-beat Flyback chronograph movement, still performing like a champ after all these years.
With its French Armée de l’Air Fin de Garantie service mark dating from 1979 this beautiful chocolate Dodane Type 21 has all the provenance any MilWatch enthusiast could need. And it’s offered at a fraction of the price of its Breguet Type 21 vintage brother. There’s no substitute for a genuine issued vintage military watch and, as the saying goes, they aren’t making any more of them. So get this amazing Dodane while you can!
Well, we’re Just about midway through a somewhat up and down June weather-wise but look what just flew in to brighten our day? Wait for it — another fantastic vintage chronograph! Yup, this newly available beauty is a very uncommon vintage Breitling reference 2115 GMT Chrono-Matic in Jumbo 47mm case (don’t faint –it wears great). This example dates from 1970, early on in the great Heuer-Breitling Chronomatic adventure that resulted in some of the most iconic and funky chronographs of the late 1960s and ’70s.
This 2115 features not only an automatic chrono with date with the characteristic crown-on-the-left but also a classic 24-hour hand complication with calibrated “plus/minus” rotating bezel for the calculation of a second timezone. I love a good GMT watch and design-wise this Breitling is one of the cooler and more ambitious ones ever made.
Not for the faint of wrist, this Breitling GMT is nonetheless well proportioned and is a fairly rare beast with a uniquely cool and funky layout — along with the 1809 Cosmonaute one of the nicest on a Chrono-Matic, in my opinion. Check out those great hands not to mention the extra long period original signed bracelet, which is rare as hen’s teeth!
Personally I feel that vintage Breitling could well be the “next big thing” in a year or two. In my opinion the brand’s heritage is undervalued and some real collector appreciation is overdue. Plus, so many other vintage brands are overhyped and — to be honest — underwhelming and overvalued. So if you’ve got the panache to pull off this bad boy you could do a lot worse than adding this beautiful, orange-accented two-timezone beast to your stable. It’s about as fun and funky as a vintage watch gets!
Ralph Lauren’s Polo is an old warhorse that still performs like a thoroughbred in its prime. Created way back in 1978, Polo escaped the trap that many of the other succeeding powerhouse Chypres like Antaeus, Salvador Dali and de la Renta’s Pour Loui fell into, that of a general lack of versatility due to their heavily nocturnal and overtly animalic natures, making them taboo in today’s more aromatically PC culture. No, Polo EDT is a cologne you can still spritz on happily in the morning after a shower despite its uhr-leathey nature. It is so wonderfully blended that the green notes easily balance out its more foreboding macho aspects, which to this nose simply summon up the active pleasures of the outdoors and the enjoyable time spent relaxing afterwards.
True there is nothing modern about Polo Green and the complaints about its old-mannish qualities are legion. But I have come to firmly believe as I’ve explored more and more men’s fragrances that trying a cologne once will never give you the full picture about whether it’s really going to work for you. You’ve got to revisit it even if you’re initially turned off and preferably let the juice in the bottle aerate after first use and then begin to macerate (I’ve come to also feel this is absolutely pivotal but more on that later). Much like a song you hear for the first time that does nothing for you but later becomes one of your favorites after repeat listenings, cologne can work its magic through repetition and familiarization. Such is the case with the initially intimidating Polo.
Polo definitely goes on strong at first spray with a veritable blast of soapy and astringent green notes like artemisia, juniper and pine, leavened by a very pleasantly smooth and slightly sweet lavender, all underpinned by what smells to me like a smoky, birch tar-like note. This last note is a harbinger of the heart of Polo, where the slightly harsh but exuberant green top notes give way to a classic patchouli-oakmoss-vetiver trinity that is blended into something warm and ultra-masculine but not too over the top. The base dries down into a rich tobacco-leather with a hint of woods and incense, one of the best in the game if not quite as on the nose as Bel Ami’s perfect imitation of leather. It’s comforting and yet stimulating, like pipe smoke in a leather lined study, as others have said before me (sometimes something’s a cliche because it’s true). Longevity is more than solid at around 8 hours and the ingredients in the current version still smell natural and very well blended, justifying the relatively steep price (about $85 retail for 4 oz, less on such reseller sights as Amazon and Fragrancenet).
It all boils down to an unimpeachably classic masculine fragrance, albeit definitely one from the old school (big props to its creator and longtime RL collaborator, Carlos Benaim). There is nothing unisex about Polo with zero aquatic notes and barely any sweetness — you can explore the endless list of Polo flankers for those effects — which is probably why so many young guys run screaming from it. I also admit to being nonplussed when I first tried it. It is definitely less initially user-friendly than the old school Fougères that I cut my teeth on like Paco Rabanne, Tsar and Lauder for Men. But the rewards are no less great than that classic trio and it is considerably more suited to everyday use than its near contemporaries on the Chypre scale like Aramis, Giorgio of Beverly Hills or Fahrenheit. So definitely a try before you buy — on skin not a paper strip — and preferably try several times over time to see if you don’t wind up loving it. That’s what happened to me and now I wear it at least once a week so long as there’s a hint of cool in the weather. If you’re going on a road trip, particularly somewhere rustic in the day with something country-sophisticated in the evening like a well turned out lodge, original Polo might end up being the only cologne you need to pack in your duffel.
It’s hard to believe there hasn’t been a comprehensive Eric Clapton biographical documentary until now. The legendary British guitarist has been a major part of the Rock firmament for well over 50 years yet we had to wait until 2017 before we got a full cinematic retrospective of Clapton’s rather amazing life and career. Thankfully, Lili Fini Zanuck’s Eric Clapton: Life in 12 Bars does its mythical subject justice, all the more so by humanizing the diffident guitar genius by delving into his troubled childhood and deep emotional troughs along with chronicling Slowhand’s blazing musical achievements.
Clocking in at a fairly long 2 hours, 13 minutes, Eric Clapton: Life in 12 Bars is definitely a conventional documentary and nothing groundbreaking in and of itself, tracing Clapton’s life in chronological fashion from his middle class upbringing in postwar Ripley, England, through his rise to superstardom and to the modern day. Thankfully, its exhaustive nature is much more illuminating than tedious, at least to a lifelong fan like myself. Clapton has always been a somewhat elusive character, both omnipresent in Rock culture and yet a bit opaque with a tendency to recede for long periods of time. Life in 12 Bars does an excellent job of filling in the major mysteries of his rather dramatic life.
Chief among them is the fact that Clapton found out at around age 9 that the woman he thought was his mother was actually his grandmother and that his real mother had abandoned him and fled to Canada after a brief war time fling led to his conception. This primal abandonment and subsequent rejection by his biological mother during his youth and adolescence — she had started an entirely new family in the following years — led to profound psychological scars, as well as intimacy issues. As so often is the case with a genius, though, this trauma also led to amazing artistic breakthroughs. After becoming obsessed with American Blues and R&B as a teenager, young Eric took to the guitar like a fish to water.
After flirting with graphic art at college, Clapton joined his first real band in 1962 at the age of 17. By 1963 he was in the Yardbirds as they starting their amazing run of Blues-inflected British pop, becoming one of the stalwarts of the British Invasion and one of its key innovators. Clapton left the Yardbirds in ’65 when he felt they were straying too far from their Blues roots for his liking, joining the more traditionalist John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers. While fruitful for Clapton’s evolution as a modern Blues guitar master, the relationship was short-lived and by late 1966 Clapton had teamed up with drummer Ginger Baker and bassist/voclaist Jack Bruce to form the ultimate power trio, Cream.
Cream, one of the earliest so-called “supergroups,” slowly built into a monstrously successful act, particularly once they crossed the Atlantic and began a string of mythical live shows in New York, San Francisco and across the United States. Clapton was also inspired by the emergence of another guitar legend upon the scene, Jimi Hendrix, perhaps the only true rival to Clapton in terms of pure technique (with apologies to Jimmy Page). This period was undoubtedly the high point of Clapton’s 1960s career, with both critical accolades and commercial success through his highly influential work as part of Cream, which for good or ill laid the groundwork for both Heavy Metal and the hard-edged Blooze music to come in the early 70s by bands like Deep Purple, Blue Cheer, Black Sabbath, et al.
However, all was not well in the band despite their massive success. Relentless touring and the deteriorating toxic relationship between Bruce and Baker led to a permanent rupture, with the band releasing their final album, the aptly named Goodbye, in 1970. After that, Clapton was off to the short-lived Blind Faith (“Cant Find My Way Home”), Delaney and Bonnie and Friends (“Let It Rain,” “After Midnight”) and as a super session man on all-time classics like George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” John Lennon’s “Cold Turkey” and “Go Back Home” by Stephen Stills, among many others.
The next key development for Clapton was the formation of Derek and the Dominos. The material for for their first album came largely from Clapton’s obsessive infatuation with George Harrison’s wife, Pattie Boyd. Despite the fact that Harrison was probably Clapton’s closest friend he pursued Boyd and essentially recorded Layla and Other Love Songs in an attempt to woo her away from the quiet Beatle. The title track and “Bellbottom Blues” were particularly raw expressions of unrequited love, as well as stone classics, and the whole double album is a remarkable artistic achievement that also featured key contributions from Duane Allman, a vital catalyst after Clapton and the Dominos suffered major creative blocks.
Bizarrely, despite its undeniable greatness the album failed in America due to the confusing pseudonym chosen for the band. Even more ominously, Derek and the Dominos proved to be a final zenith for the seemingly unstoppable Clapton for some time, as tragic events conspired to send him into a drug-fueled tailspin. First came the death of his guitar rival/soulmate Hendrix in September, 1970, shortly after the band had recorded a version of “Little Wing” as a tribute. By October, 1971 Duane Allman was also dead in a motorcycle accident (this fact is inexcplicably left out of 12 Bars). Perhaps worst of all, despite the passion of Layla, Pattie Boyd chose to remain with Harrison for the time being, adding to Clapton’s sense of hopeless desperation. After leading from the ramparts of the 1960s Rock revolution with ever-increasing influence, popularity and creative innovation, Clapton would drop out and spend the first several years of the 1970s as a heroin-addled hermit.
Of course, this is really only the first part of both the documentary and Clapton’s life story, albeit the most important and dynamic section of the film. 12 Bars goes on to recount Clapton’s struggles with both heroin and alcohol, his epically erratic comeback to live performance, his eventual rather hollow winning of Pattie Boyd as his wife (it didn’t last) and the tragic death of his young son Connor to a fall out the window of a New York skyscraper in 1991. I’m probably in the minority but there are a bit too many rather morbid home movies of his son set to “Tears In Heaven” for my taste after the scope of the loss has already been well established — and with the same images already seen immediately prior. No doubt this absolutely horrible loss was a key event in Clapton’s later life and a major turning point in his sobriety — not to mention the resulting song a massive hit for E.C and a ubiquitous Grammy-winning Unplugged performance. But it still seems like this section is padded out and the tragedy exploited in a somewhat unseemly and facile music video fashion.
Nevertheless, while it has its flaws Eric Clapton: Life in 12 Bars is a must-view for any serious Clapton fan and really anyone interested in the history of Rock ‘n Roll in general, particularly the lighting-fast developments of the British music scene in the 1960s. Along with the breadth of sorrows that the film lays bare in the man and his Herculean struggles to overcome them, which were only vaguely known by the general public, the documentary also makes clear by sheer accumulation the true scope of Slowhand’s importance. When dwelling on his solo output it has often been fashionable for Rock critics to render a verdict on Clapton’s work as somewhat disappointing, a bit of a Rock underachiever. But that narrow view fails to take into account the fevered vibrancy of his earlier work and the unsustainability of that pace, not to mention the multitude of his collaborations as a sideman and the undeniable quality of much of his later work in the 1970s, 80s, 90s and until the present day, even if what came after The Yardbirds, Cream and Derek and the Dominos was not quite as revelatory.
I think most of all what comes across is just how young Clapton was when he achieved immortality. By the time Layla was released in 1970 Clapton was all of 25 years old. It’s really no surprise then that he had not yet come to terms with his childhood emotional damage and was still somewhat stunted as a person even if he had already achieved world-conquering global stardom. The fact that he survived the perils of fame and his addictions to keep on recording great music and lived to become one of the grand old men of Rock at the current age of 72 is probably also just as remarkable considering the fate of so many of his contemporaries. In fact, Life in 12 Bars leads to one inescapable conclusion through its excellent exploration of a life literally defined by Rock and the Blues: Eric Clapton may not be God but he is somewhat surprisingly, based on his longevity, his collaborators and the overall quality of his output, the most important guitarist in the history of Rock ‘n Roll.
And just like that it’s February! Where does the time go? I can’t tell you that but I can tell you how to track it — with this absolutely gorgeous early 1970s Omega Seamaster “TV Case” chronograph featuring the amazing Lemania-derived caliber 1040 and a stunning metallic blue dial.
This fantastic Omega automatic chrono not only tells the time but also has complications for quickest date, constant seconds, 24-hour indicator and full chronograph functions for recording seconds, minutes via the characteristic orange-tipped “jet” center-mounted minute counter and 12-hour totalizer at “6.” This sexy beast also features a sunken dial that has aged to delightful purple-blue surrounded by a fixed Tachymeter scale protected by a mineral crystal, all in a large faceted rectangular case with wonderful sweeping lines that retains its original factory finish.
The TV Case Seamaster chrono is one of the more striking and distinctive designs that Omega came up with in the 1970s following the successes of their tonneau-cased Mark II & Mark III Speedmasters. If you’re looking for retro funk and terrific functionality with a stunning blue dial, you’ve found your watch. And when you look at how the prices of vintage mechanical chronos have skyrocketed in the past few years, the Omega Seamaster TV Case model in steel is a premium piece that still represents excellent value for money. Better pounce before these finally have their day in the sun!
We here at Man’s Fine Life are deeply saddened by the untimely passing of Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Tom Petty at the age of 66 after a cardiac arrest at his LA home on October 2. The Rolling Stone obituary is here.
Tom Petty was one of the best of the straight-ahead American rock ‘n rollers to come out of the 1970s, arguably forming a triumvirate with Bruce Springsteen and Bob Seger that spearheaded a rebirth of singer-songwriter rock with a gritty edge characterized by narrative lyrics about the common man and impeccably crafted tunes played by top notch bands. It’s easy to forget just what that meant at a time when it looked like conventional blues-based rock was on the wane due to the onslaught of Disco, Heavy Metal, Wus Rock (Firefall, Dan Fogelberg, Bread, et al) and Punk. But like Springsteen and the E Street Band and Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers recaptured traditional fans of rock and made legions of new ones with whole albums full of catchy singles suffused with the passion of the true believer in the redemptive power of Rock.
Petty and the Heartbreakers started off with a bang way back in 1976 when they had Top 40 hit with the sinuously assertive “Breakdown” and a very influential non-hit with the Byrds-inflected “American Girl” on their eponymous debut album (legend has it that people were calling up Roger McGuinn to see if it was his new single). With Petty’s oddly effecting trademark nasal delivery and 12-string Rickenbacker, Mike Campbell’s stinging lead guitar, Benmont Tench’s pivotal swirling organ adding uncommon depth and the rock solid rhythm section of the late Howie Epstein on bass and Stan Lynch on drums, the original lineup seemed to emerge as a finely tuned outfit from day one and never took their foot off the gas for the next few years. Their consistently excellent efforts culminated in one of the decade’s best albums, Damn the Torpedoes, in 1979. With such all-time classic as “Refugee,” “Don’t Do Me Like That,” “Here Comes My Girl” and “Breakdown,” Torpedoes was an artistic and commercial smash, going 3-times platinum with over three million in sales.
The band entered the 80s with two more fine releases — Hard Promises (1981) and Long AfterDark (1982)– that, while not as successful as Torpedoes, still solidified their rep as major hit makers and one of the most important acts around. Then came Southern Accents in 1983. A beautiful album with a very troubled recording process — Petty broke his hand badly punching a wall in frustration during the mix of the lead single “Rebels” — Southern Accents was originally conceived as something of a concept album by way of an exploration Petty’s “red neck” Florida roots. Other than a general thematic similarity the songs on Accents do not quite add up to a concept album, perhaps because it was trimmed down from a double LP. But it is beautifully produced, significant for its lyrical ambitions and ultimately lovely and artistically satisfying. It hit platinum and so was also successful commercially. But Petty considered it a noble failure and for him the album never quite lived up to the magnum opus that he had in his head when he conceived it.
Southern Accents and the strains of making it marked a true turning point and after that Petty and the band changed subtly but significantly, as if the reach for something grander and more profound had led instead to a sort of artistic burnout. After Petty’s rehab and recuperation from his self-inflicted wound, as well as drug issues which would continue to plague him in the years to come, the music became much simpler and more stripped down if no less radio friendly. On the full band’s Let Me UP (I’ve Had Enough) (1987) and Into the Great Wide Open(1991), as well as Petty’s smash solo album Full Moon Fever (1989), the narratives became more detached, the characters observed from a distance for the most part rather than from within their skins as had been the case on the band’s earlier material. The songs seem more programmatic, more LA and less Gainesville, and frankly, from an artistic standpoint, less interesting. There’s a less nuanced, less bluesy feel overall that sacrificed some complexity for a more universal “rock” sound, which ironically hasn’t aged as well as the earlier hits. If it marked a return to the basic pleasures of the straight-ahead 3-minute single the updated style clearly seemed to abandon much of the passionate involvement of the earlier 1970s music.
His work with the enjoyably light supergroup The Traveling Wilburys, where he teamed up with other legends like Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, George Harrison and ELO mastermind and super producer Jeff Lynne, to create one of the surprise hit albums of the late 1980s seemed to confirm that Petty was done taking things too seriously and suffering for his art. From here on out it would be all rock, no angst, jamming with friends, playing the hits live and just generally enjoying being one of the world’s most successful rock musicians. Petty evolved into a wryly funny wise old hand with hooded eyes and his trademark deadpan drawl, almost a different person from the strangely sharp featured, almost androgynous angry young rocker of the early days.
And who could blame him for that transition from hot blooded rebelliousness to satisfied professionalism? Taken in its entirety the music is still good and highly enjoyable in the later 80s and 90s. But that earlier stuff is where the magic still shines and resonates in a timeless way. Those first 9 years were a remarkable run and stand up with the creative output of pretty much any Rock artist of any era over that kind of sustained period of time. Of course there are probably fans who fall into the other camp and prefer the later, lighter stuff. But for me I’ll take the music up to and including Southern Accents as peak Petty. It’s the music I grew up with and the music I still reach for and play with pleasure.
Personal preferences aside, one thing’s for sure — Tom Petty was a great rocker and well deserving of his Hall of Fame status. He was a music giant who will be sorely missed and the world is poorer for his passing. But the gift of his music lives on as one of the real high water marks in Rock & Roll because Petty was one of the genuine originals in a genre where that’s about as rare as hen’s teeth. Godspeed, Tom, and thanks for the terrific tunes.
