Bad Scooter searching for his groove
Seem like the whole world's walking pretty
And you can't find the room to move
-Bruce Springsteen Tenth Avenue Freeze Out
Its always difficult to find the appropriate things to say when summing up a legendary career/life as that of Clarence Clemons. I personally am reminded of some wonderful stories, particularly that of a friends experience at the E-Streets weeklong residency in 1973 at Oliver's in Boston, MA (which was long before Jan Landau famously "saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen"). But I recently read what JT, who authored the an extremely nice 6 month long 101 song Bruce Springsteen countdown from his home in Perth Australia, had to say about the death of Clarence Clemons, and it summed things up far better than I ever could:
Fuck.
There's one thing that I've learned this week and that is preparing for the inevitable doesn't make the inevitable seem any easier when it occurs. Massive strokes like the one suffered by Clarence Clemons don't turn into miraculous recoveries. Sure, you hope and pray that for once the inevitable conclusion is never reached, but deep down you know that isn't going to be the case. As such, today we say goodbye forever to the 'Big Man', Clarence Clemons.
It's hard to articulate the feelings you have when you lose someone you only know through their work. I've never met Clarence Clemons and never saw him perform, yet I'm filled with sadness. It isn't the sadness that one gets when a death comes as a complete and utter shock, just the sadness that is felt when one of your heroes has breathed their last, final breath. The sadness in knowing that the man will never get to play on stage with one of the greatest rock and roll bands, the sadness in knowing that one of the world's greatest rock and roll bands will never get to play again with the man who helped them get to where they are. No matter how many more concerts the remainder of the E Street Band play, history has already judged them. They have nothing left to prove, and Clarence Clemons is a massive reason as to why the legacy of the E Street Band is secure.
And what's that legacy? Well, it's the legacy of countless concerts giving every last breath each of the band members had to ensure that every single person in the room was changed. That every person in the room walked out at the end of the night knowing that they were better than when they walked in. That the hard-earned money they spent to see the show wasn't wasted on costume changes or fancy light shows which distracted from the music... it was spent on a band which night-in, night-out gave you pure rock and roll. At the moment, I can't help but talk about the life of the Big Man in terms of his life with the E Street Band. Because the two go hand in hand. Without Clarence, it can't be the E Street Band. They may have the same name, and the faces may be the same (for the most part), but without Clarence Clemons, it won't be the same. It can't be the same. And we wouldn't ever want it to be the same.
When the Big Man was on, it was heavenly. There's countless songs which have his imprint left on them... three of which are coming to me at the moment. There's the epic theatricality of 'Jungleland'. The sad but melodic solo in 'Drive All Night', then there's the playful burst which makes 'Janey Don't You Lose Heart' just that little bit greater than it honestly should be.
We lost Danny Federici in 2008 and that hit me like a tonne of bricks. I was sure he was going to survive, I thought he was going to get better. But then I woke up one morning and found out he was gone. That was tough to take, just as Clarence Clemons' death is. I'd heard he was on the mend. I heard he was getting better. Even though I knew the possibility of that happening was remote (to say the least), I just wished the rumours to be true. Wishes like that don't get granted too often.
But the Big Man's now in peace at least. He'll be up there somewhere, sax draped around his neck, walking freely like he hasn't walked in years. The strains on his body will be gone but the same old smile will be there for all to see, and when he raises that saxophone to his lips, we'll finally get to say that Clarence's saxophone is the music that's played in heaven.
R.I.P
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