Blind Faith
– Blind Faith
Here’s a band that was already legendary before their first rehearsal. Clapton fresh out of Cream, Steve Winwood a post-Traffic wunderkind, Ginger Baker still drumming like a jackhammer in a thunderstorm, and Ric Grech tossed into the mix like a peace offering. Blind Faith was supposed to be the Second Coming. What we got instead was a half-stoned prayer and a record that sounds like genius trying to take a nap.
Best of…
There’s brilliance here, but it’s scattered, fragile, unfinished. You can hear the seams, the tug-of-war between experimentation and exhaustion. Clapton wanted soul-searching, Winwood wanted to sing to the stars, Baker wanted to solo into oblivion. And somehow, they all got their way. What keeps the album standing is chemistry—not clean, not practiced, but volatile. When it locks in, it’s wild and loose and beautiful in that barely-held-together way that only a supergroup without a plan can be.
The record isn’t long—six tracks—and that might be its biggest mercy and blessing. It doesn’t overstay its welcome. It walks in, spills a drink, says something poetic, and stumbles back into the mist. Blind Faith is a one-shot wonder, not because they couldn’t have made more, but because they probably shouldn’t have.
Choice Tracks
Had to Cry Today
Right out of the gate, it’s heavy and ragged. Clapton’s guitar flirts with chaos while Winwood floats above with that spectral voice of his. There’s no hook, no chorus, just a build and release that feels like emotional exorcism.
Can’t Find My Way Home
Winwood’s finest moment on the record—maybe in his entire career. A ghost of a folk song, sung from some fogged-up memory of loss and drift. Clapton’s acoustic picking is so understated it borders on sacred.
Well All Right
A Buddy Holly cover retooled into swaggering blues-rock. It feels a little loose, but that’s the charm—everyone’s grinning through the verses. Clapton sounds like he’s enjoying himself, which on this album is rare enough to notice.
Presence of the Lord
Clapton takes lead vocals here, and while he’s no Winwood, there’s vulnerability in the delivery that hits hard. The organ break explodes out of nowhere like sunlight through stained glass. It’s gospel, blues, and psych tangled together.
Sea of Joy
Grech’s moment in the sun. It’s a strange track, part baroque, part jam-band freefall. The violin solo feels like it drifted in from a Renaissance fair, but it works, oddly. Another example of this band’s unpolished alchemy.
Do What You Like
This one’s the indulgent jam. Baker stretches out for a drum solo that outstays its welcome unless you’re heavily medicated or deeply nostalgic. But there are moments—Winwood’s keys especially—where it sounds like a séance in progress.