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R.I.P. Ginger Baker.

Speak for yourself. I always felt the Stones were a bad imitation of real blues. Cream took blues (like Crossroads) in another direction. Most of my compatriots were already deeply immersed in Muddy Waters, Leadbelly, Bessie Smith and the other "real" blues players and thought the Stones made bad copies of great songs. We also resented the idea that it took the "British Invasion" to popularize blues. It was already immensely popular with us.
Hey Ginger, gone three days and already you've started an argument! Good going man! RIP
 
RIP -

Night 2 MSG.

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He was the first drummer to make me notice drummers.

He said he used to play parties for years with just drum sticks before he could afford a proper drum kit.

Amazed he lasted longer than Jack, given his penchant for heroin.

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This. The man was by turns a complete A-hole, maniac, wild man, druggie, utterly unreliable, pretty much every negative one can imagine - and the absolute greatest artist. Truly a larger than life figure who rejected all boundaries, all norms, and had the talent to make any behavior an acceptable price to harness that talent. Today's corporatized music could use more like him, were G-d still making them. RIP to a legend whose like we may never see again.
 
Not meant as a "and I saw him" thing, but as a tribute...

Ginger Baker toured with Hawkwind (1980, iirc), a band I'd see each year they came to my city. Being a kid who'd seen nothing more than a few rock bands live, I saw this terribly underwhelming drum kit on stage. No double-kick, a ride, a crash and hi-hats. I wasn't going to enjoy this... oh no, the rest of the band have stopped playing and it's going to be a bum-dish-tish drum solo on that kit that looks like the one in the school music room.

When he was done, I got an education that talent and dedication to your craft hands-down beats lots of shiny props to hit (audibly and visually). There was only one thing I could do. Get a 5-string and a big amp. Have to compensate somehow.
 
A drummer friend of mine (illustrious and professional jazz drummer) ran into Ginger at a music store sometime in the early '90s. He first saw an old man quietly looking at gear, then realized who he was and gingerly (pun intended), very carefully approached him to say hello and "thank you." Ginger turned out be very kind with him, and they had a good, lengthy drum-centered conversation. I think as long as he felt respected, and the other person had a clue, he was fine. If my friend had said, "Hey everyone! Look who's here! Ginger Baker!! Next to John Bonham, the best drummer in heavy rock!", Ginger would have punched him.