Cream is as fresh as ever at London reunion concert

The rumors were flying fast coming into Monday’s reunion here of rock’s original supergroup, Cream, at Royal Albert Hall, the same place where guitarist Eric Clapton, bassist Jack Bruce and drummer Ginger Baker bid fans farewell 37 years ago.

The reunion, consisting of just four shows, would never happen, one music-biz denizen declared a night earlier, because he’d heard that former antagonists Bruce and Baker were back at each other’s throats during rehearsals. In a pub, word was that Bruce was too ill to participate. A record store clerk said with certainty that Baker had such a severe case of arthritis that his arms might actually drop off were he to play.

The trio did nothing to quell such wild speculation by invoking a total publicity blackout, refusing all questions on their motivations for coming together again or their thoughts on whether Cream will play again after Friday’s show.

Not surprisingly, the sense of relief was palpable from the 8,000-strong opening-night crowd when Clapton, almost schoolboyish with his new cowlick haircut, Bruce, robust despite his liver transplant in 2003, and Baker, gaunt as ever but sporting a full complement of limbs, strolled on stage.

They received a huge standing ovation even before they plunged into their signature version of bluesman Skip James’ joyous “I’m Glad.”

To shake off all that rust, they followed “I’m Glad” with more blues, Willie Dixon’s “Spoonful” and Robert Johnson’s “Outside Woman Blues.”

That strange Cream thing happens to the basic 12-bar simplicities. Clapton and Bruce play at one another like two soloists, sometimes entangled, sometimes entwined.

They sing weird harmonies too, while Baker holds the beat yet flicks in tantalizing variations on snare and cymbals. Essentially, they complicate it without losing it.

Mostly, that is.

This is an improvising band that insists on the right to go off the rails. But on their first night back, these veterans applied professional discipline. In particular, Clapton reined back his solos, shaping them with elegant power rather than chasing every hare that got loose in his head.

Their blues foundation established, they careened away from roots material. The first eccentric departure: Baker’s growling musical monologue, “Pressed Rat and Warthog,” a surreal tale of two shopkeepers who sell “atonal apples, amplified heat.”

Although that number is more farce than feast, the notoriously irascible drummer seemed in good spirits. He even leaned over once for a cheery word with Bruce, his temperamental nemesis. In the ‘60s, they had fistfights on stage, feuding that sometimes reduced Clapton to tears.

Soon Bruce’s songs started asserting themselves. They are a whole different bag of snakes. Not blues, not pop for sure. Not jazz for that matter, but utterly individual and hard to absorb.

Sometimes, however, Bruce’s songwriting clicked. “We’re Going Wrong” drifts in a haze of psychedelic regret. “White Room” survives as a big, lurching classic of desperate love.

And, crucially, beyond moments when Bruce transcended the esoteric, Clapton’s writing was developing fast: “Badge” (which he wrote with George Harrison) remains a pungent combination of hard-edged verses and rolling guitar passages, while the inevitable encore, “Sunshine of Your Love,” flexes its muscular riffs with unquenchable conviction.

Cream played for two hours, no stamina issues evident. Baker closed the set proper with his solo, “Toad,” light and creative, his compositional approach still an example to his peers.

After that, they stood together, arms around shoulders, smiling broadly, taking endless bows.

An ecstatic ovation came from the two generations present: fans in their 50s and 60s who had lived Cream’s music in their youth, and teens who had grown up amid their parents’ passion and came to share it.

In line before the show, Charlie Reimann, 55, from Pasadena, said he and his partner had flown in because “we love the blues, and Cream are the blues magnified a thousand times.”

Ahead of him, James Barnaville, 18, from Cardiff, Wales, said, “They’re a fantastic, inspiring fusion of blues and jazz and rock.”

British rock writer Hugh Fielder, 57, who attended Cream’s farewell concert on Nov. 26, 1968, voiced the question on many fans’ minds: “Can they live up to my expectations?”

Two hours later, Fielder said they had. “It was good to hear all the things I’d half-forgotten.... And it’s interesting to see them play without antagonism; it destroyed them, and yet it was the spur that drove them on.”

Henk Buss, 52, of Haarlem, Holland, who spent money he and his wife had been saving to buy a new car on tickets for all four shows, said, “They were as good as ever. At first ... they were a bit hesitant. But then the old magic grabbed hold of them. I’m looking forward to the next three concerts.”

What’s looming beyond that is anyone’s guess.

According to some behind-the-scenes participants, there will be a live DVD but not a CD. Probably. A U.S. tour is out of the question -- in all likelihood. Because they have no intention of ever playing together again. Unless they change their mind. In other words, no comment.