We note with sorrow the death of Clarence Clemons, soul of the E Street Band for forty years, who died Saturday after suffering a devastating stroke. His death will leave an awfully big hole in a great many hearts.
I got to know Clarence more than thirty years ago, when the E Street Band moved into Power Stations Studios in the spring of 1979 to begin work on the album The River. (At the time I was about six months into my eight-year stint there, and was still working as an electronic-maintenance tech, waiting for an opening in the recording staff.) The band camped out at the studio for more than a year, spending long hours every weekday recording, in all, 50 songs or so; by the end it felt as if the studio staff and the band (Bruce, the six sidemen, and the roadies, Doug and Mike) had become a big extended family.
As I remember it, on a typical day the band would filter in sometime in the late afternoon, to be on hand if they were needed for a take. Meanwhile, Bruce would prowl the studio, guitar in hand, writing or fine-tuning the day’s song. Often there’d be nothing to record until late in the evening, which meant long, restless hours for the players. Clarence liked to come back and hang out with us techs back in the maintenance shop, where the radio was always on, and where he could enjoy little recreational indulgences away from the watchful eye of the Boss. We were rather protective of our little geek-sanctum back there, but Clarence was always welcome.
Everything about Clarence Clemons was big: his Brobdingagian frame, his great, booming laugh, his dinner-plate-sized hands, his trademark thundering sound, and above all his enormous love of life, and his warm, generous heart. Though I hadn’t seen him for many years, it grieves me — as it does millions of others, all round the world — to hear that he is gone.
One Comment
Didn’t listen to Springsteen much, but when I did it was mainly to hear that sax. Saw the guy a few times in other venues – his lust for life apparent – even to a guy hiding out in the audience.
I’ll just offer the very tiniest bit (meaning it as a “hug” Malcolm). Saturday night a friend knew I liked that sax – she emailed me and included a link to a video. I have a bunch of older and “very close” neighbors (I’m the kid amongst a bunch of old-timey folks with only one thing in common).
But I had to hear that video. So round midnight, I turned my speakers up, hit that arrow thingie and hobbled off to piss. I sure wish the friend who’d emailed me had warned me that Lady Gaga’s music thumps.
The WWII folks thought we were under aerial bombardment. Three pulled the strings on their alarms – me being the kid – am responsible for checking the welfare of the neighbors and disengaging the perimeter security before the authorities go on full alert.
Thanks Emily. You too Mr. Clemons.