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During a tour in the 1980s, Eric Clapton played three consecutive nights at Seattle's Paramount Theater. I had camped out for tickets the night before they went on sale and it paid off. . .first in line netted me front row seats on all three nights.
Front row is great. Forget what you may have heard about "bad acoustics" that close. They were good enough and even if they had not been, there I was just 30 or so feet away from Eric (my friend and I had seats just to the right of center).
I waved at Eric a couple of times on the first night when I caught his eye scanning those seated in front of him. The second night, when I caught him looking at the people in the first few rows before him, I waved again. This time he gave me a brief smile as if to acknowledge that he remembered me from the previous night.
On night number three I managed to sneak a small 35mm camera inside(no
flash attachment. When the time came that he once again was checking out the crowd, his eyes went immediately to where I was seated. I think he expected me -- having seen me in the same location the previous two nights. I was ready. I waved again with my left hand and quickly held up the little camera which was nestled in my lap with my right hand. . .just high enough for him to see it. To my surprise, he smiled again but this time with just the slightest, almost undiscernable, nod of his head. Easing his way over a few feet to stand almost directly in front of me, he unleashed one of the most fiery and convoluted guitar solos that one can imagine. Head back, eyes closed, almost unconsciously tapping into that guitar universe where only he can go, the notes conceived in his mind and born through his fingers were riveting. I raised the camera and got off a quick exposure while he was bathed in blue light. The solo continued and I caught him "sneaking" a look at me to as if to see if I was photographing him and then he closed his eyes and lost himself again. I snapped a couple of other pictures.
Coming out of his tour de force, he once again "regained consciousness," and looked directly at me. I nodded my head and he knew I had my pictures.
No one caught me. I'm sure that only Eric, myself, and my friend knew what had transpired. Twenty years later, I still have the one photo that really turned out well.
What a night. . .what a star.
Front row is great. Forget what you may have heard about "bad acoustics" that close. They were good enough and even if they had not been, there I was just 30 or so feet away from Eric (my friend and I had seats just to the right of center).
I waved at Eric a couple of times on the first night when I caught his eye scanning those seated in front of him. The second night, when I caught him looking at the people in the first few rows before him, I waved again. This time he gave me a brief smile as if to acknowledge that he remembered me from the previous night.
On night number three I managed to sneak a small 35mm camera inside(no
flash attachment. When the time came that he once again was checking out the crowd, his eyes went immediately to where I was seated. I think he expected me -- having seen me in the same location the previous two nights. I was ready. I waved again with my left hand and quickly held up the little camera which was nestled in my lap with my right hand. . .just high enough for him to see it. To my surprise, he smiled again but this time with just the slightest, almost undiscernable, nod of his head. Easing his way over a few feet to stand almost directly in front of me, he unleashed one of the most fiery and convoluted guitar solos that one can imagine. Head back, eyes closed, almost unconsciously tapping into that guitar universe where only he can go, the notes conceived in his mind and born through his fingers were riveting. I raised the camera and got off a quick exposure while he was bathed in blue light. The solo continued and I caught him "sneaking" a look at me to as if to see if I was photographing him and then he closed his eyes and lost himself again. I snapped a couple of other pictures.
Coming out of his tour de force, he once again "regained consciousness," and looked directly at me. I nodded my head and he knew I had my pictures.
No one caught me. I'm sure that only Eric, myself, and my friend knew what had transpired. Twenty years later, I still have the one photo that really turned out well.
What a night. . .what a star.
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