Chris Scott Wilson (audience) : Their stage presence had developed, each wearing an almost visible aura - now they looked like stars - and a showmanship which matched the exuberance of their startling music. The fee was up too - £285. Clapton was sporting what the Press called his "Greek God" hairdo, permed into a white approximation of Hendrix's afro, a satin shirt that shimmered in the lights and the first pair of white bell-bottoms I ever saw, and so tight he struggled to climb onto the stage with dignity. His Les Paul had been left at home and instead he coaxed the famous "woman tone" and controlled feedback from a psychedelic custom-painted Gibson SG Special. Like Jack, he had begun using two Marshall stacks and a split lead, and he was taking no prisoners. While his fingering remained delicate, he had taken to sawing across the strings with his right hand in grand gestures as he pumped out power chords, and instead of standing immobile during his solos, guitar at a seemingly precise 45 degree angle, now he was hunching and pushing back against his Marshalls, face contorted while behind him a roadie strained to keep the cabinets upright.
(Source : not known)