Cream’s third album, Wheels of Fire (released 8/9/68 UK), is one of those rare records that simultaneously encapsulates and transcends its time. The double LP comprised of both studio and live recordings is simultaneously a natural extension of the seminal power trio’s previous studio releases and an accurate representation of their growing reputation as a force of nature in concert.
Add in the eye-opening Martin Sharp cover art of silver foil design outside plus the pink/orange psychedelia inside (reminiscent of the cover of their previous LP Disraeli Gears) and the package in sum represents both the best and the worst aspects of the music business and its attendant culture of the late Sixties. The sky was most definitely not the limit fifty-five years ago; on the contrary, the impetus to push the envelope and stretch accepted boundaries on virtually every front was the least an aspiring artist could do.
And Cream had placed itself above the merely aspirational level by the very choice of the band’s name. A shortened version of the hackneyed phrase ‘cream of the crop,’ guitarist Eric Clapton, bassist Jack Bruce and drummer Ginger Baker were not so implicitly trading on their reputations within the professional ranks of British blues and jazz.
Indeed, the threesome sought to invent a new musical idiom by joining forces. And for all intents and purposes, they did, albeit one markedly different than they intended: the commercial breakthrough of the band in 1967 with “Sunshine of Your Love,” off the aforementioned sophomore LP, established the guitar riff as a viable foundation of song structure in and off itself. The popularity of the number also reasserted the often-simplistic structure as the ideal (?) jumping-off point for extended improvisation.
As documented on Wheels of Fire, Cream made the most of both options, for better and worse. But in doing so with their original material, as so imaginatively-produced by Felix Pappalardi, the group also confounded its most devout fans and its most lethal critics. The latter–who also played a number of instruments with the group in the studio–had supervised the previous year’s longplayer and would go on to form the heavy quartet Mountain, in very much the mold of Cream, with guitarist/vocalist/songwriter Leslie West.
The musician/producer/composer based his ambition not only on his (enlightening) experiences collaborating with Clapton, Bruce and Baker, but also on his observations of behind-the-scenes label machinations regarding Cream, specifically Atco Records executive Ahmet Ertegun’s drive to designate Slowhand the principal vocalist and focal point of what was originally devised as a democratic enterprise.
Those all-around efforts were for naught as the three-man powerhouse gained a life of its own, arguably in spite of itself. As included on the album’s second half–subtitled Live at the Fillmore when three tracks were recorded at the Winterland Ballroom— not only did extended collective jamming like that of “Spoonful” become its stock in trade, but the maintenance of at least some semblance of a balance of power, as in the recording studio, compelled individual spotlights such as Bruce’s harmonica workout titled “Traintime” and Baker’s drum solo “Toad.”
Meanwhile, in keeping with its earlier and more disciplined live performances, the best example of Cream’s undeniable intensity was also its most concise. Clapton’s rendition of blues icon Robert Johnson’s “Crossroads” contained what may be the most fiery guitar work he ever committed to record after leaving the employ of ‘The Godfather of British Blues,’ John Mayall.
EC’s contributions to the ‘In The Studio’ half of Wheels of Fire also consisted of blues material. Arranged in stripped-down fashion for the three-piece, covers of Howlin’ Wolf’s “Sitting on Top of the World” and Booker T. Jones/William Bell’s “Born Under A Bad Sign” stood in sharp contrast to the more esoteric likes of Bruce’s co-authorings of songs with lyricist Pete Brown and Baker’s similarly conceived, but markedly inferior efforts in collaboration with Mike Taylor.
The exotic likes of calliope, cello, viola and glockenspiel enhanced the Bruce/Brown tunes such as “As You Said,” but such embellishments were substitutes for substance on the Baker/Taylor numbers (except for “Those Were The Days,” as picturesque in its melody and words as it is at least partially propulsive in its musicianship). Mostly absent in the arrangements and performances are the oddly-distinctive vocal harmonies of early Cream such as those on “I Feel Free” and bluesman Skip James’ “I’m So Glad.”
An exception to that rule is the wailing of voices that precedes the titanic riff of “White Room.” Hearkening to Cream’s breakthrough tune of the year prior, the number also became a staple of Clapton’s solo repertoire on stage in subsequent years. Meanwhile, the unsung “Deserted Cities of the Heart” hints at the fleet, dense rock and roll, sans self-indulgence, that earmarked Cream’s self-composed output at its best. And both radiate the nightmarish air that pervades that songwriting team’s other two contributions here.
Savaged by Rolling Stone Magazine‘s Jann Wenner in his self-penned review (the ultimate effect of which caused Eric Clapton to second-guess his participation in the group), Wheels of Fire was nonetheless a phenomenal sales success, eventually becoming the world’s first platinum-selling double album.
But except for the swansong release of the group’s, deliberately titled Goodbye (plus multiple live sets and subsequent archive titles like the comprehensive box set of 1997 Those Were The Days), the album represented the end of Cream. With over a half-century hindsight, its achievements may not match the ambitions of the group that made it (with the savvy input of their technical and creative partners).
Still, there’s no question it captures a moment of time when the flashpoint of art and commerce never shone brighter. Little wonder the group’s reunion shows in 2005 didn’t even hold a candle to the farewell concert at the Royal Albert Hall in 1968, that took place just a little more than two years after their formation.