“How is he still alive?” A baffled voice could be heard among the muttering crowd that walked out of Manhattan’s Film Forum. Judging from the question, it was clear this person had just seen the 2012 documentary Beware of Mr. Baker, which at that point had attracted sold-out crowds for weeks. There appeared to be no logical answer, so the only proper response was silence.
Heroin, cocaine, alcohol, cigarettes, and hostility towards the human race is usually a combination that leads to a brief existence. Ginger Baker defied reality. In the 2005 biography Cream by Dave Thompson, Cream bassist Jack Bruce stated “I’m sure that a lot of people came to see Cream to see if Ginger would die.” Bruce added that some would go so far as to shout “You gonna die tonight, Ginger?!” Approximately half a century after that grim inquiry, on October 6th, 2019, it actually happened. Peter Edward “Ginger” Baker passed away at the inexplicable age of 80.
Baker was nothing if not consistent. He was an angry young man, then an angry old man. Good thing he took up drumming. Having a volcanic temper turns out to be an advantage when your profession requires you to hit something relentlessly. Perhaps the greatest drummer of his generation, it’s difficult to think of anyone else who could’ve performed with the Graham Bond Organization, Fela Kuti, Hawkwind, and Public Image Ltd.
Considering himself a jazz musician, he was one of countless artists influenced by the John Coltrane Quartet of the ‘60s. During his time with Cream and Blind Faith, Baker served as the bridge between jazz titans like Coltrane’s drummer Elvin Jones and drummers from the world of hard rock/heavy metal (a genre he despised) such as Alex Van Halen, Black Sabbath’s Bill Ward, Queen’s Roger Taylor, and Rush’s Neil Peart. The brief explosive outro to 1978’s “Wheel in the Sky” from Journey is identical to the ending of 1967’s “Sunshine of Your Love” by Cream, where Baker suddenly shifts the tempo, leading the band in bashing everlastingly as the song fades out. His impact was expansive enough to also include alternative/post-punk bands Jane’s Addiction, Killing Joke, The Lords of the New Church, and Public Image Ltd, particularly the tribal aspect of his playing.
The latter group had him perform on the majority of 1986’s Album. Ginger Baker and John Lydon were an inspired pairing, the ginger misanthropist and the ginger provocateur. Oddly enough, one of the few songs he didn’t play on was “Rise.” It features jazz legend Tony Williams and has Lydon repeatedly screaming “ANGER IS AN ENERGY!” like a jolly lunatic. Baker was the embodiment of that chant. Rage can wear you out, but not if pandemonium is your default setting.
Based on the title, you’d think Blind Faith’s “Do What You Like,” from their 1969 debut/swan song, would be another song that summarized him, but the lyrics (written by Baker) tell a different story, one that surprisingly expresses a strong sense of community, albeit a hedonistic one. “Get together, break some bread, yes together, that’s what I said.” Not exactly Joni Mitchell. However, it shows that even Ginger Baker, of all people, got swept up in the utopian hippie idealism of the time, an era lamented by the Eagles on 1976’s “Hotel California,” specifically the lyric “We haven’t had that spirit here since 1969.” During Baker’s long stretches of bitter isolation as an older man, it’s possible he might’ve agreed with that sentiment.
“Do What You Like” mainly features him showing off with a lengthy drum solo, and the band somnambulantly chanting the title of the song as if they were in a cult, much like the Coltrane Quartet on 1965’s “A Love Supreme, Part 1: Acknowledgement.” Elvin Jones, who had performed on it, was profiled for Life magazine in 1970. The writer Albert Goldman (best known for his infamous 1988 biography The Lives of John Lennon) played “Do What You Like” for Jones to get his reaction. Baker’s hero responded “Nothing’s happenin’. Cat’s got delusions of grandeur with no grounds. They should make him an astronaut and lose his ass.”
Thankfully, NASA never followed up on that. But it did lead to a friendly “drum battle” between Jones and Baker in 1971 at the Lyceum Theatre in London, which included a version of “Do What You Like” that stretched on for 32 minutes. For those in attendance, it was likely feast or famine. One man’s astonishment over witnessing two of the 20th century’s greatest drummers duke it out, is another man’s exceptionally long bathroom break.
What gets lost amidst the (mostly self-imposed) madness is how innovative Baker was. On Blind Faith’s eerie pysch-folk soul “Can’t Find My Way Home,” he includes a cymbal crash after every verse. Each time, it gives the song a sudden jolt, intensifying the haunted, dusky rustic atmosphere. “Can’t Find My Way Home” ends with Baker making the cymbal sound as if it’s sizzling, conjuring the image of smoke signals rising into the setting sun.
Due to the contributions of Baker, as well as contemporaries like Brian Jones, Syd Barrett, Jimi Hendrix, Laura Nyro, George Harrison, Lou Reed, Arthur Lee, John Cale, Grace Slick, Rod Argent and many others from the ‘60s, rock’n’roll sounded more exotic, sophisticated, and strange. During his time with Cream, he played glockenspiel, tubular bells and other instruments not normally associated with popular music. At the beginning of 1968’s “White Room,” the combination of gothic castle howling guitars and violas with Baker’s regal use of tympani sound like the dramatic opening credits of a ‘60s Hammer horror film. (Beware of Mr. Baker should’ve been the title of a Hammer production.) It made for a sinister commencement to the classic album Wheels of Fire.
“Deserted Cities of the Heart,” also from Wheels of Fire, has a kaleidoscopic wasteland ambience. It features despondent cello and viola from Bruce and producer Felix Pappalardi, Eric Clapton’s stinging, phantasmagoric blues guitar that fuses the American South with South Asia, and the galloping drums of Baker, who provides the song its manic drive. They somehow managed to make grief-stricken lyrics such as “There’s no retreat from time that’s died” sound heroic, like a battle cry.
That particular lyric had new meaning when Bruce sang it during the 2005 Cream reunion at Madison Square Garden, as he, Baker, and Clapton confronted their past. Other than a few shows earlier that year in London, and their induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1993, Cream hadn’t performed since 1968. It had been a sort of homecoming for them, since a large amount of their catalogue was recorded on the Upper West Side at Atlantic Studios, which was located approximately 30 blocks from the Garden. In 1967, Clapton picked up his first wah-wah pedal at the world-renowned Manny’s Music, near Times Square, which he used for “Tales of Brave Ulysses.”
My friends and I had seats behind the stage, hovering above the band, close enough to actually see them. Bruce had survived a near fatal liver transplant two years before, and upon first glance appeared worn and depleted. Baker, the wild-eyed, mythical character who inspired a legion of madmen drummers, looked more like a scowling grandfather sitting on a lawn chair than an indispensable figure in the evolution of rock’n’roll.
Appearances can be deceiving. They (along with Clapton) performed at their peak for two hours. Bruce sang and played the bass with the vitality of a man with first-hand knowledge that existence is finite. You could feel the euphoria of the crowd at certain moments, like the pause in “Badge,” when 20,000 people anticipated Clapton’s opalescent arpeggios, where it sounds as if Shangri-la is materializing. Or the beginning of “Tales of Brave Ulysses,” with Bruce’s ominous opening bassline, followed by the lyrics Richard Burton could’ve easily recited “You thought the leaden winter would bring you down forever/But you rode upon a steamer to the violence of the sun.” Another highlight was seeing Baker recreate “Toad,” one of rock’n’roll’s first drum solos. It’s a rare experience to witness living history that close, and that loud. A decade and a half later, Clapton is now the last man standing.
The bell tolls for us all. Even Ginger Baker.