Eric Green could only ever have been the drummer;
                         he looked the part, he probably always looked the
                         part. Wispy thin, all in black, ageing, bearded, long
                         grey hair, gentle, polite, possibly a biker who'd
                         lost his way, but not his instincts, a rider who'd left
                         his Harley somewhere but couldn't remember where,
                         yet, with sticks or a brush in his hand, he knew exactly
                         where he was and he would always know his way
                          around a drum kit.
                         The only thing 'green' about Eric is his name; not only
                         has he 'knocked around' with some of the best and so
                         earned his dues, but he played magnificently.
                         I've no idea what his carbon footprint was, although he
                         was wearing a pair of soft baseball boot style trainers,
                         but he contributed significantly to global warming on
                         the night, and the kiln was all the better for it.  Just
                          maybe the playing space didn't give him enough
                          space to operate, just maybe Jim and Danny, occupying
                         the area just in front of his bass drum and practically
                          balancing on his hi hat, might have preferred more room
                         to breathe, more room to fit in the quiet warmth of their
                         acoustic guitars, but the drumming was always, cool,
                         classy, subtle and inventive.
                         It's not that he was noticeable because of the noise he
                         made, that wasn't what drew attention to him-that's not
                         what makes a good drummer.  It's not the volume that
                         matters but the quality, and Eric has it in spades, or
                         should that be brushes. He would try to add a different
                         fill in between verses, something new, a different pattern,
                         an echo to help with the syncopation, and he'd use the
                         cymbals as part of the rhythm, part of the percussion,
                         lightly, neatly, not just for showy climaxes-in fact showy
                         climaxes were just not part of his repertoire; If he could
                         bottle that empty dance hall brushing sound he could sell
                          it to other, lesser drummers and make a fortune.
                         Neil Dalton... Maverick Magazine

The Real Music Club, Sharpe's Pottery Centre Derbyshire. 7th July 2007