Baked and Bruised is Better than Bland
Posted by Pete Robbins on Oct 8th 2019
Drummer Ginger Baker, best known for his work with Eric Clapton and Jack Bruce in Cream, died over the weekend. He was, by all accounts, a combative, ornery, substance-addicted, mean-spirted sonofabitch. There was no question that he was talented, but his battles with band members and other drummers alike, along with multiple wives, reinforced just how hard he was to deal with.
Baker moved to Africa in 1999, where he lived on an isolated rural compound, and gained some notoriety among those who were not already aware of him through the 2012 documentary ”Beware of Mr. Baker,” in which the title subject did the following: broke the filmmaker’s nose with his cane; humiliated and insulted him repeatedly; and insisted that none of his former bandmates be included in the film.
Of course, as the Washington Post reported, filmmaker Jay Bulger – he of the broken nose – was something of a kindred spirit. His initial entreaty to the drummer included the absolute lie that he’d been commissioned by Rolling to write about him (to his credit – RS later published his piece about Baker). Before that happened, he’d run up a debt of thousands of dollars while living with Baker, and later convinced others to invest in his film.
I haven’t seen the documentary. I’ve ready enough about Baker and reviews of the film to know that while I might enjoy it, there are likely better ways to spend a rare two hours of screen time. Nevertheless, through interviews with Bulger I’ve learned an incredible life lesson – the power of taking the experience for its merits and reveling in the absurdity and uniqueness of the situation.
As Bulger said when it appeared that his movie would not be made: “Worst-case scenario, I could say I went and lived with Ginger Baker.”
Indeed, even if he’d had no product in the end, he would’ve had one of those “deathbed stories.” You know, the crazy stuff that you’ll remember semi-fondly forever, even if it wasn’t particularly enjoyable or comfortable at the time. Now that I’ve written hundreds of articles about fishing, and even though I still write just about every day, if I miss a few opportunities to publish it won’t be the end of the world, as long as in those articles’ places I have some of the adventures and experiences and accomplishments that make life worth living. I want more float plane rides, travels with Amerindians through remote rapids, and days on the water with the unforgettable characters who populate our sport.
I don’t necessarily want to have my nose broken, or be subjected to a barrage of insults, but if that’s the price to pay for living the story – instead of just getting the story – I can live with the consequences.
As I pass the midpoint of my life, this is the lesson I’m trying to remember: If forced to choose, take the option that’ll generate the best memory over an easy paycheck.
