Jack Bruce was widely revered in the late Sixties and early Seventies for his work as one-third of the first supergroup, Cream.

“hen I started reading the music papers, their annual readers’ polls invariably found Jack Bruce at the top of the bass section. So much so that he even won the Melody Maker poll in 1972 – four years after they had broken up.

At the ceremony, held at The Oval cricket grouond (hard to imagine that now), Bruce performed an impromptu jam session with members of Dutch progsters Focus.

Throughout the early-to-mid 1970s, it was a two-horse race between Bruce and Chris Squire, who I shall come to in due course, albeit with some reluctance owing to a lifelong aversion to Yes.

I don’t know if Cream were the first “power trio” but they set the standard for bands like Rush and Taste, Budgie and ZZ Top, and of course the Jimi Hendrix Experience. 

Most power trios started life as a showcase for their virtuoso guitarist – Clapton, Gallagher, Lifeson, Bourge and Jimi – but Cream were an equal-opportunities trio, in which all three were lead instruments.

At a time when Clapton was routinely regarded as “God”, bassist Bruce and drummer Ginger Baker – exceptional musicians in their own right – could lay claim to making up a holy trinity.

At school in my early teens Cream were rarely off the common room record player and this song – Badge – was a particular favourite, showcasing Bruce’s bass playing at its finest.

It was written by Clapton with his friend George Harrison (who plays rhythm guitar, credited as “L’angelo Misterioso”) and was originally untitled, until Clapton looked at the Beatle’s scrawled lyrics and misread the word “bridge” for Badge. True story. 

When Clapton sings “Then I told you ’bout our kid, now he’s married to Mabel” in the middle, Sixth Formers would sometimes pick up a cricket bat or tennis racquet, jump on to a table, and mime the chiming guitar riff that follows that lengthy pause.

So ubiquitous was this move that I vividly recall it being acted out in the public-school TV drama Good And Bad At Games, written by William Boyd (now one of my favourite authors).

So grab your bat (or racquet), move fragile objects off the table, and get ready…