June 19, 2011

• Clarence Clemons Has Left the Building

   The saxophonist as sideman is not new; Louis Prima had Sam Butera, Maceo was there for James Brown. And, from the late sixties until a couple of sad days ago, The Boss had Clarence Clemons. I cannot fathom Bruce Springsteen without the shadow of the Big Man Looming over him, that big fat sax sound about to roll over Bruce like a tidal wave. Clarence was more than a sideman to Springsteen, he was Beside-man, his powerful sound urging Bruce to sing louder, harder, better, or be drowned out. Clarence made Bruce the star he is. Had a saxophone been required at Jericho, it would have been Clarence that blew it.

  Terry was my good friend, and a musical snob. In his opinion, Springsteen was okay until he became an icon, one that Terry would trash with glee, pointing out unhip facts and playing me songs that Bruce had supposedly lifted lyrics or chord changes from. His circle of artsy friends were sure to keep a close eye on each other, looking for signs of pop sensibility that needed stifling.

  One night Terry came to my home unexpectedly. "Do you have 'Born To Run?" I affirmed that I did. "I don't have much time. Can we listen to 'Jungleland? I just have to hear Clarence's solo." I put it on, Terry sat there, eyes closed, enraptured when the sax solo started. As Clarence played the solo of his life, Terry alternately smiled, grimaced, and winced. As the last notes faded out across a desolate exurbia, Terry sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Thanks, man, but please! Do not tell anyone what I was here for. If my friends at work found out, they wouldn't let me forget this." I forget the exact words, I know they were cooler than that. Way cooler.

  Well, I never forgot, Terry. You left us last year, now when you see the big guy, ask him to play a little something. We'll be listening.

  • 5:49 am
  • 5 Comments