once likened Eric Clapton to sex: "When it's good, it's very, very good. When it's bad, it's still alright." If my sex life ever gets as dull as 'Behind the Sun', I'm joining a monastery.
, Eric's music biz mates had gathered round to rescue him from the pit of heroin addiction. A dozen years on and his record company, realising Eric had delivered a stinker, sent Phil Collins to rescue him and this record from the pit of mundane middle-aged mediocrity.
Collins - the only one of the old farts generation with any commercial standing at the time - fulfilled his brief, to a degree, by adding some heavier drums and production gloss. But none of that can hide the tiredness of the material and the performance.
Amid the torpid sludge there are a few lighter moments. Forever Man is a decent, if typical mid-period Clapton pop song, while the old favourite 'Same Old Blues' gets a loving if uninspired workout.
At the other end of the scale, on 'She's Waiting' Eric sounds like an old lady burdened with several bags of shopping - struggling to carry not very much. And the flat, pointless cover of 'Knock On Wood' is nothing less than an admission of defeat.
Eric, who turned 40 the year this was released, must have approached this record the way many 40-somethings approach their jobs - not because they love it, but because it's their living, and they're too young to retire but too old to learn another trade.