I wish I could tell you how many times Jack and Eric and Ginger and I jammed like nut jobs in my old bedroom in my parent’s house when I was a kid. Hundreds, at least.

The three of them would be playing on my cassette deck and I’d be playing my Les Paul Deluxe through that big Peavy amp. You now, the one with the chorus built in?

I’d pop on the live half of Wheels of Fire and we would melt brains with that epic, marathon run through of Willie Dixon’s Spoonful. Then we’d blow the walls down with that hyper driven arrangement of Robert Johnson’s Crossroads. Then I’d swap out the tape and we would burn down what was left of the house on side one of Live Cream Volume 2. Deserted Cities of the Heart, White Room (still the highlight of everyone’s musical career), Politician, and finally the best version of Tales of Brave Ulysses ever imagined in this or any other universe.

I learned to play the guitar by stealing from Eric Clapton, that’s true, but I learned to write and arrange music by stealing from Jack Bruce. I’d like to say I learned to sing by stealing from Jack Bruce too, and I definitely tried, but I could never even get to the same planet.

I never met him. Sadly I never saw him play live either, but now that he’s passed away I feel like I’ve lost an old dear friend.

Rest in peace, Jack Bruce and thank you for a lifetime of music.