I went into Eric Clapton’s Rocket Arena show with the kind of last-minute spontaneity that often leads to mixed experiences. We grabbed upper-deck tickets the morning of the concert for just $10—a steal, but also a clue that we’d be watching the show from way up in the rafters. By the time we climbed to our seats, I realized just how high up we really were. From our perch, Clapton looked like a tiny figure surrounded by glowing amps, and even though the Rocket Arena’s sound system carried every note clearly, there’s no denying that the physical distance shaped the night. It was a pretty good show overall, but not one of those unforgettable, life-changing concerts you dream about when a rock legend comes to town.
Part of that has to do with the length. For a classic rock headliner of Clapton’s caliber, I expected a marathon of guitar heroics, but the set clocked in at under two hours. There was very little banter—just Clapton and his band working through three distinct segments: a tight electric opening, an intimate acoustic middle, and a blues-driven electric finale. If you wanted an evening of endless solos and extended jams, you might have walked away a bit underfed. But if you came for a concise, expertly played trip through some of the greatest songs in blues-rock history, Clapton delivered with quiet authority.
The Setlist
Part 1: Electric
White Room
Key to the Highway
I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man
Sunshine of Your Love
Part 2: Acoustic
Bell Bottom Blues
Kind Hearted Woman Blues
Golden Ring
Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out
Layla
Can’t Find My Way Home
Tears in Heaven
Part 3: Electric
Tell the Truth
Old Love
Cross Road Blues
Little Queen of Spades
Cocaine
Encore:
Before You Accuse Me
Opening Sparks: A Brief Electric Jolt
Clapton wasted no time reminding everyone why his guitar tone remains one of the most recognizable in rock history. The show kicked off with a muscular “White Room,” Cream’s psychedelic warhorse still sounding ominous and fresh nearly six decades after its release. Even from the nosebleeds, the interplay between Clapton’s bending notes and the band’s slow-building crescendo sent a shiver through the crowd.
“Key to the Highway,” a Big Bill Broonzy blues standard that Clapton has carried with him through various bands and eras, followed with an easy shuffle. Here, his guitar phrasing was clean and conversational, more about feel than flash. “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man” gave the set its first real growl, a reminder of Clapton’s deep debt to Muddy Waters and the Chicago blues tradition. The first electric segment wrapped with “Sunshine of Your Love,” the Cream anthem that still inspires air-guitar across generations. The crowd roared as soon as the iconic riff emerged, and while Clapton no longer chases the frenzied solos of his youth, he infused the song with a slow, simmering power that felt earned and mature.
A Quiet Middle: Acoustic Reflection
After a brief break to swap instruments and reset the stage, Clapton settled into the acoustic portion of the evening, which turned out to be the most surprising and rewarding part of the show. Opening with “Bell Bottom Blues,” he stripped the Derek and the Dominos classic of its electric anguish, replacing it with a warm, almost wistful intimacy. His voice—aged, yes, but still smooth and expressive—carried the lyric’s pleading heartache beautifully.
“Kind Hearted Woman Blues,” a Robert Johnson tune Clapton has recorded many times, felt like a quiet tribute to the Delta bluesman who continues to loom large over his career. “Golden Ring” and “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out” kept the mood intimate, showcasing Clapton’s enduring love for early blues and ragtime-inflected melodies.
Then came the acoustic centerpiece: “Layla.” Longtime fans know that Clapton has performed this song in both raging electric and tender acoustic forms over the years. Tonight he chose the subdued Unplugged-style version, letting the melody breathe and allowing the audience to savor every aching chord. Even from way up in the cheap seats, it was a goosebumps moment.
“Can’t Find My Way Home,” originally a Blind Faith song sung by Steve Winwood, was an unexpected treat. Clapton took the lead vocal himself, giving the ballad a gentle, almost weary touch. And of course, “Tears in Heaven” followed, still heartbreaking decades after its creation. The Rocket Arena grew noticeably still, with thousands of fans holding their breath as Clapton quietly revisited the song he wrote for his late son. The intimacy of this acoustic set, even in a cavernous arena, was remarkable.
Back to the Blues: Electric Firepower
The third and final set returned to full electric power. “Tell the Truth,” another Derek and the Dominos standout, kicked things off with a soulful groove, Clapton trading sharp licks with his backing band. “Old Love,” a slower blues burner, allowed him to stretch out with a series of tasteful, emotionally charged solos.
“Cross Road Blues,” Robert Johnson’s most famous composition and a signature song for Clapton since his Cream days, brought the energy level back to a boil. His playing here was crisp and fiery, a reminder that even at 80 years old, he can still conjure flashes of the ferocity that earned him the nickname “God” in the late 1960s. “Little Queen of Spades,” a blues epic that often serves as a vehicle for band introductions, featured extended keyboard and guitar interplay, drawing cheers as each musician took a turn.
The main set closed with “Cocaine,” the J.J. Cale tune that Clapton turned into a swaggering hit in the late ’70s. The crowd responded instantly to its driving riff, standing and singing along as the arena briefly transformed into a late-night blues club. After a quick exit and a few minutes of stomping applause, Clapton returned for a single encore: “Before You Accuse Me,” a Bo Diddley classic that sent everyone home with a final taste of good-time blues.
Sound, Band, and Atmosphere
From my vantage point way up in the upper deck, I expected to lose some of the nuance, but Rocket Arena’s acoustics surprised me. Clapton’s guitar cut through cleanly, and the mix balanced his solos with the warm Hammond organ and steady rhythm section. His band, as always, was a group of seasoned pros, providing a tight but unobtrusive backdrop. They knew when to stay out of the way and when to push Clapton to dig a little deeper.
The crowd skewed older—no surprise for a classic rock legend—but there were also plenty of younger fans, many likely brought by parents eager to pass down the blues torch. People were respectful, enthusiastic, and clearly aware they were witnessing a master at work, even if the show’s brevity left some murmuring on the way out.
Reflections on a Short Night
If there was one nagging disappointment, it was the runtime. With a short opening set from The Wallflowers, the entire concert wrapped in just under 2 hours and 45 minutes total, with Clapton only playing about an hour and 35 minutes. For a living legend with a deep catalog stretching back to the Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, and Derek and the Dominos—not to mention a solo career packed with hits—it felt a bit stingy. There were glaring omissions (“Wonderful Tonight,” “I Shot the Sheriff,” “Forever Man,” to name a few), and while the acoustic set was exquisite, it also contributed to the sense that the night was more about craft than spectacle.
That said, there’s something to be said for economy. Clapton didn’t waste time on filler or unnecessary chatter. He came to play, and he played beautifully. At 80, he’s earned the right to structure his shows however he pleases, and there was an understated dignity in the way he let the music speak for itself.
Final Thoughts
From my $10 perch high above the floor, I experienced Eric Clapton as both legend and mortal. The man who once ignited Cream’s improvisational fireworks now favors restraint, tone, and phrasing over pyrotechnics. The show may not have been a life-changing event, and it certainly wasn’t the marathon some fans might have hoped for, but it was still a chance to hear one of the greatest guitarists of all time doing what he does best.
As I walked out of Rocket Arena, I thought about how many nights Clapton has stood under the lights, bending strings and chasing the perfect note. Maybe that’s why the show felt both short and complete. For Clapton, every performance is another stop on a long road that began with the blues and continues, gracefully, on his own terms. For those of us who paid ten bucks for the privilege of being in the room, it was worth every penny.