Chicapah In the middle of 1968 I received devastating news. Cream almighty was kaput. Outa here. Irreconcilable differences that had built up between the members of the hallowed trinity had led them to file for divorce. I and their enormous, worldwide family of fans were incredulous. How could such a talented, influential and adored group just decide to call it quits after only three albums? WTF? What had modern civilization come to? Who in blazes was next? The Beatles? (Perish the thought!) Didn’t Eric, Jack and Ginger know how important they were to my well-being? At that young age my naive teenage mind didn’t quite yet understand that all things, good and bad, eventually come to an end so I took this upsetting turn of events pretty hard. I mean, how dare they!

The only shred of consolation came with the announcement that Cream would run a victory lap via a farewell tour and release a final album in the first quarter of 1969 that would bring the show to an end with the appropriate title of “Goodbye.” I figured their gestures of kindness were better than nothing, somehow managed to garner a ticket to their Dallas appearance (they were consummate professionals that evening, putting on a superb show) and bought their last LP the day it hit the record bins. With such a strained internal situation other bands might’ve just mailed it in but, to their everlasting credit, the trio put together a combination of live and studio tracks that in many ways exemplifies everything that was extraordinary about them. I got the feeling that even though they couldn’t stand each other they truly loved their followers and supporters who’d made them superstars and this record could just as easily have been called “Thank You.”

The three concert cuts (taped on their last visit to the Forum in Los Angeles in October ’68) are presented first, granting further credence to my opinion that they knew their true contribution to the field of jazz music would be found in their introducing spontaneous improvisation to the rock & roll universe. Yes, I do realize that loosely-structured vamping was not completely uncommon in that day and age, especially in the offerings of trippy west coast groups like the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane, but I would never label their experimental noodlings as being jazz-related. What Cream was doing, on the other hand, was to actively and aggressively intertwine high-level individual musicianship from three separate minds into a united, instantaneously-combusting work of art on the spot every night, not unlike what jazz pioneers along the lines of Miles Davis and John Coltrane were into. The only difference was that Clapton, Bruce and Baker were utilizing loudly amplified guitar, bass and drums to fashion their craftwork but the fundamental idea was the same.

An energy-filled rendition of “I’m So Glad” kicks the disc off, showing that the marketing pukes at ATCO knew their much rawer, on-stage material was just as attractive to the record-buying public as their catchy hits. Eric’s attack on his guitar fretboard is ferocious, you’ll never hear a barnstorming bass presence like Jack’s anywhere else and Ginger proves that he was not simply a beat-keeper. He’s fully attuned to what the other two are playing and he augments every note they emit. Next is their rowdy, rude version of “Politician.” Bruce’s vocal is scathing and Clapton’s solo flows without a single interruption in continuity while Baker plays everything but a straight rhythm pattern. I’m sure they were acutely aware that this was their final go-round but you can’t tell it from these torrid performances. They sound like they’re still hell-bent on winning the audience over so they aren’t about to take a night off. “Sitting On Top of the World” is very much an average blues ballad but it benefits enormously from receiving the unconventional Cream treatment. Call these guys what you will but lazy or apathetic doesn’t apply. This number cooks with gas as they freely improvise over, under, around and through the song’s basic premise.

They graciously bow out with three studio concoctions as fine as anything that came before. Eric’s classic “Badge” is a bit of eclectic British pop, to be sure, but it’s delightfully charming nonetheless. The inimitable guitar riff that makes its grand entrance at the halfway point is what makes it stand out from the herd, bestowing upon it a timeless, distinct quality that endures. Jack’s “Doing That Scrapyard Thing” follows, an odd but boisterous tune that typifies his offbeat, creative point of view. Producer Felix Pappalardi’s Mellotron adds a cool texture to the track that brings the Beatles to mind and it’s quite foreign in comparison to anything else in their catalogue. Ginger’s aptly named “What a Bringdown” lowers the curtain on a phenomenal career. It’s a powerful, hard-driving song and one of his best. The 5/4 time signature lends it a jazzy air and the melee of wild sounds and exhortations in the later goings is a wonderful noise to behold.

The affable portrait complete with top hats, canes and shiny silver tuxedos that graces the album’s packaging demonstrated that the boys had adopted a self-effacing “it’s over so we might as well exit stage left with a few fancy steps and a grin” attitude about it all, making it difficult for me to stay mad at them. (I’ve even kept and preserved the full-sized “Farewell from the Cream” poster that came in the sleeve.) They came, they conquered and they departed, tattooing an indelible mark on music’s bicep while they were here. Few others can boast of such an accomplishment. To the novice, common sense would insist that a relatively short record consisting of six cuts, live and otherwise, would fall flat on its face no matter who made it. Wrong. “Goodbye” ended up as the #2 album in the USA and that should indicate just how popular this trio was in the late 60s. I guess their awesomeness is best demonstrated by the fact that there’s never been another guitar, bass and drums trio to match them since they disbanded over four decades ago. They were truly one of a kind and so is this record.