Link (http://www.nj.com/news/index.ssf/2011/06/clarence_clemons_dies.html)

Clarence Clemons — the Big Man with the big horn — died today of complications from a stroke he suffered last weekend. He was 69 years old.

He was the spirit of the E Street Band, and the oaken staff that Bruce Springsteen leaned on. There have been many charismatic figures in the band, but none had the personal gravity of Clarence Clemons, the group’s Bunyanesque saxophonist.

Springsteen himself acknowledged this, always introducing Clemons last at concerts and adopting a reverential attitude uncommon among rock stars. It’s Clemons’ big shoulder that Springsteen was looking over lovingly on the famous cover of his "Born to Run" album. As his bandleader beamed at him, Clemons, black-hatted and bold, turned toward the camera and blew his sax.

Clemons seemed to be a character out of a storybook — or better yet, a widescreen movie about the triumph of a romantic gang of rock ’n’ roll renegades. Wildly popular among fans of the E Street Band, he was the sort of larger-than-life figure to whom legends accrued. Recognizing this, Clemons and Springsteen did much to play up those legends: "Big Man: Real Life and Tall Tales," Clemons’ 2009 autobiography written with Don Reo, combined genuine reflections with fiction in an attempt to capture the mythical quality of the musician.

Springsteen’s oft-told story of his initial meeting with Clemons felt Biblical: with a lightning storm raging outside, the Big Man tore the door off an Asbury Park club, strode onstage, and made magic. (Springsteen would later immortalize this meeting in "Tenth Avenue Freeze-out," a song on "Born to Run.")

Was this embellished? Most likely. But reality never seemed quite big enough to accommodate Clarence Clemons.

"Mere facts," wrote Bruce Springsteen in the preface to Clemons’ book, "will never plumb the mysteries of the Big Man."

Born in Norfolk, Va., Clemons was the son of a Baptist minister who had no love for raucous rock ’n’ roll. But at the age of 9, his family gave young Clarence an alto saxophone — and soon he discovered his lung power was formidable.



By young adulthood, he excelled at music and athletics and earned a football scholarship to the University of Maryland Eastern Shore. Injuries suffered in a car accident prevented the young lineman from trying out for the Cleveland Browns. From then on, Clemons dedicated himself to his horn.

Clemons called his instrument "a vehicle to move my spirit around."

"I don’t think it’s only my saxophone," Clemons told All Access Magazine in 2008, "it’s who I am. My spiritual guide … told me that my purpose in life was to bring joy into the world. He didn’t know about my music, he didn’t know who I was. He saw my heart, he saw my soul, and he saw my determination for this life."

On the tenor saxophone, Clemons developed a style that was considerably more than the sum of his influences: party-ready King Curtis, brassy Junior Walker, skronking Earl Bostic. Clemons could be tough, raspy and percussive, but as a carrier of melody, his shoulders were broad.

After playing with a number of Asbury Park outfits in the early ’70s, Clemons joined the as-yet-unnamed E Street Band in 1972. Along with bassist Gary Tallent, drummer Vini Lopez, organist Danny Federici, pianist Dave Sancious and Springsteen himself, Clemons was an original member of the group.

He was also the oldest, and it’s no exaggeration to suggest he was often treated as the in-house big brother. His saxophone became a pillar of the E Street sound, and helped anchor Springsteen’s storytelling in blues, jazz and gospel traditions.

"That night we first stood together," said Springsteen of Clemons during his Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction speech in 1999, "I looked over at C and it looked like his head reached into the clouds. And I felt like a mere mortal scurrying upon the earth, you know. But he always lifted me up. Way, way, way up. Together we told a story of the possibilities of friendship, a story older than the ones that I was writing and a story I could never have told without him at my side."

Clemons’ solos on songs like "Jungleland" and "Born to Run" were quintessential rock ’n’ roll sax rides — things of beauty and drama unmatched by efforts of thousands of imitators. But Clemons also took his support role seriously. On "Spirit in the Night," his graceful passages were part of a thick tapestry of sound. On "Hungry Heart," the E Street Band’s first Top 10 hit, his baritone sax tugged at the bottom of the track like taffy on the sole of a sneaker.




That wasn’t the only time Clemons swapped his trademark tenor for a baritone. In the early ’70s, he kept another tool in his shed: a lilting soprano saxophone; on more recent tours, he covered the top end with a pennywhistle. Reeds weren’t all he did — with the E Street Band, Clemons also proved himself an able percussionist and an enthusiastic backing vocalist, too.

With his instantly identifiable tone and passion for all varieties of popular music, Clemons was often in demand as a session musician. When E Street activities slowed in the ’80s and ’90s, Clemons had no difficulty finding work. He played on scores of records, including Aretha Franklin’s "Who’s Zooming Who," Twisted Sister’s "Come Out and Play" and Roy Orbison’s comeback "King of Hearts." In 1989, he joined the inaugural version of Ringo Starr’s All-Starr Band, where his charismatic stage presence and playful attitude fit in perfectly.

When Lady Gaga attempted to resurrect the glory of ’80s stadium rock on her recent album "Born This Way," she called in Clemons.

"The universe is there to give you what you want," Clemons told All Access about his multifaceted success. "You just need to be there to get it."

Clemons also released five solo albums under his own name. "Hero," a 1985 set produced by Narada Michael Walden, gave him a hit duet (with Jackson Browne): "You’re a Friend of Mine," a song, ironically, about the relationship between Clemons and Springsteen. Even on his solo sets, the sax player could not elude the shadow of the Boss.

For two years, Clemons operated Big Man’s West, a rock venue in Red Bank that became something of a clubhouse for the E Street team and affiliated acts. Springsteen himself appeared at Big Man’s close to 20 times. Although the club closed its doors for good in 1983 for financial reasons, its existence helped revive the Shore sound. Many of the musicians who’d rock the Garden State (and beyond) during the late ’80s took the stage at Big Man’s, including Jon Bon Jovi and John Eddie.

Stone Pony founder Butch Pielka warned the saxophonist about the perils of running a rock club.

"He offered me some advice in the beginning, like, ‘Get out of the business,’ " Clemons told The Star-Ledger this year. "My accountant agreed with him: ‘Just consider that you had a party for two and a half years, and invited all your friends, and you picked up the tab.’ That’s what it was like."

Clemons’ celebrity never quite faded. But in recent years, a series of debilitating ailments kept him out of the limelight. The Big Man was felled by multiple spinal surgeries and knee replacements. Undeterred, he continued to blow from his wheelchair. ("He’s always on time, he’s always in pain," wrote Don Reo in "Big Man.")

The musician lived long enough to see "Who Do I Think I Am?," a documentary about his life, air at the Paramount Theatre in his beloved Asbury Park this April. Hobbled by his health problems, he nevertheless took the stage at the Paramount and answered questions and signed autographs, smiling all the while.

Under the stagelights, surrounded by those who loved him, Clemons was in his element. Pushing 70, he rehabbed hard, hoping for a chance to join the E Street Band on tour in 2012.

He told Rolling Stone magazine in February that as long as he had a mouth, a brain and a pair of hands, he would keep on playing. Nobody who saw Clemons perform would ever have doubted it: his dedication was total. The saxophone was a conduit for his spirit, he assured us, and that spirit was a colossus.

Far beyond the boardwalks of Asbury Park, those big notes will keep echoing.

Oh no!!! God bless you, Clarence - praying for a full, speedy recovery!!!

Best wishes to Clarence Clemons for a full and speedy recovery.

I hope Clemons can play the sax again.

Has anyone heard any updates on his condition?

Nope. I hope that in this case, no news is good news.

Same here. He's been with Bruce almost from the start, hasn't he?

Yeah, pretty much. Almost 40 years!

The E Street lineup has mostly remained intact, though they lost Danny Federici to cancer a few years ago. :(

Plus, Steve Van Zandt left but then he came back, if I remember correctly.

Yep. That's the "mostly" I've referred to. ;) They've added members over the years, but other than Federici and Van Zandt I don't think they've lost any since the Born To Run era.

When did Patti come on the scene?

knVbfhmME1g

Not gonna lie. This one hurts. Rest in peace, Big Man. :(

Monika, Patti joined during the Born In The U.S.A. era. 1984ish.

Awful news. I was really hoping he would be able to make a full recovery.

:rip:

:rip: Clarence Clemons

So, so sad. He was such a cool cat. :rip: Big Man!!!

Not gonna lie. This one hurts. Rest in peace, Big Man. :(

Monika, Patti joined during the Born In The U.S.A. era. 1984ish.

Thanks, Brad!!

Bruce Springsteen said of Clarence: Clarence lived a wonderful life. He carried within him a love of people that made them love him. He created a wondrous and extended family. He loved the saxophone, loved our fans and gave everything he had every night he stepped on stage. His loss is immeasurable and we are honored and thankful to have known him and had the opportunity to stand beside him for nearly forty years. He was my great friend, my partner, and with Clarence at my side, my band and I were able to tell a story far deeper than those simply contained in our music. His life, his memory, and his love will live on in that story and in our band.

I watched a piece on him on tv earlier. What an amazing talent and nice man. Very sad. R.I.P. Clarence Clemons

r i p you will be missed

Not gonna lie. This one hurts. Rest in peace, Big Man. :(

Monika, Patti joined during the Born In The U.S.A. era. 1984ish.

What will The E Street Band be like now?

Is Bruce Springsteen devistated?

Link (http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/bruce-springsteens-eulogy-for-clarence-clemons-20110629)

Bruce Springsteen has released the text of the eulogy that he delivered at the funeral of Clarence Clemons on June 21st at Royal Poinciana Chapel in Palm Beach, Florida. He also performed an acoustic version of "10th Avenue Freeze-Out" and ended the ceremony by performing "You're A Friend Of Mine" with Jackson Browne and members of The E Street Band. "This is a slightly revised version of the eulogy I delivered for Clarence at his memorial," says Springsteen. "I’d like to thank all our fans and friends who have comforted us over the past difficult weeks."

I’ve been sitting here listening to everyone talk about Clarence and staring at that photo of the two of us right there. It’s a picture of Scooter and The Big Man, people who we were sometimes. As you can see in this particular photo, Clarence is admiring his muscles and I’m pretending to be nonchalant while leaning upon him. I leaned on Clarence a lot; I made a career out of it in some ways.

Those of us who shared Clarence’s life, shared with him his love and his confusion. Though "C" mellowed with age, he was always a wild and unpredictable ride. Today I see his sons Nicky, Chuck, Christopher and Jarod sitting here and I see in them the reflection of a lot of C’s qualities. I see his light, his darkness, his sweetness, his roughness, his gentleness, his anger, his brilliance, his handsomeness, and his goodness. But, as you boys know your pop was a not a day at the beach. "C" lived a life where he did what he wanted to do and he let the chips, human and otherwise, fall where they may. Like a lot of us your pop was capable of great magic and also of making quite an amazing mess. This was just the nature of your daddy and my beautiful friend. Clarence’s unconditional love, which was very real, came with a lot of conditions. Your pop was a major project and always a work in progress. "C" never approached anything linearly, life never proceeded in a straight line. He never went A… B…. C…. D. It was always A… J…. C…. Z… Q… I….! That was the way Clarence lived and made his way through the world. I know that can lead to a lot of confusion and hurt, but your father also carried a lot of love with him, and I know he loved each of you very very dearly.



It took a village to take care of Clarence Clemons. Tina, I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for taking care of my friend, for loving him. Victoria, you’ve been a loving, kind and caring wife to Clarence and you made a huge difference in his life at a time when the going was not always easy. To all of "C’s" vast support network, names too numerous to mention, you know who you are and we thank you. Your rewards await you at the pearly gates. My pal was a tough act but he brought things into your life that were unique and when he turned on that love light, it illuminated your world. I was lucky enough to stand in that light for almost 40 years, near Clarence’s heart, in the Temple of Soul.

So a little bit of history: from the early days when Clarence and I traveled together, we’d pull up to the evenings lodgings and within minutes "C" would transform his room into a world of his own. Out came the colored scarves to be draped over the lamps, the scented candles, the incense, the patchouli oil, the herbs, the music, the day would be banished, entertainment would come and go, and Clarence the Shaman would reign and work his magic night, after night. Clarence’s ability to enjoy Clarence was incredible. By 69, he’d had a good run, because he’d already lived about 10 lives, 690 years in the life of an average man. Every night, in every place, the magic came flying out of C’s suitcase. As soon as success allowed, his dressing room would take on the same trappings as his hotel room until a visit there was like a trip to a sovereign nation that had just struck huge oil reserves. "C" always knew how to live. Long before Prince was out of his diapers, an air of raunchy mysticism ruled in the Big Man’s world. I’d wander in from my dressing room, which contained several fine couches and some athletic lockers, and wonder what I was doing wrong! Somewhere along the way all of this was christened the Temple of Soul; and "C" presided smilingly over its secrets, and its pleasures. Being allowed admittance to the Temple’s wonders was a lovely thing.


As a young child my son Sam became enchanted with the Big Man… no surprise. To a child Clarence was a towering fairy tale figure, out of some very exotic storybook. He was a dreadlocked giant, with great hands and a deep mellifluous voice sugared with kindness and regard. And… to Sammy, who was just a little white boy, he was deeply and mysteriously black. In Sammy’s eyes, "C" must have appeared as all of the African continent, shot through with American cool, rolled into one welcoming and loving figure. So… Sammy decided to pass on my work shirts and became fascinated by Clarence’s suits and his royal robes. He declined a seat in dad’s van and opted for "C’s" stretch limousine, sitting by his side on the slow cruise to the show. He decided dinner in front of the hometown locker just wouldn’t do, and he’d saunter up the hall and disappear into the Temple of Soul.

Of course, also enchanted was Sam’s dad, from the first time I saw my pal striding out of the shadows of a half empty bar in Asbury Park, a path opening up before him; here comes my brother, here comes my sax man, my inspiration, my partner, my lifelong friend. Standing next to Clarence was like standing next to the baddest ass on the planet. You were proud, you were strong, you were excited and laughing with what might happen, with what together, you might be able to do. You felt like no matter what the day or the night brought, nothing was going to touch you. Clarence could be fragile but he also emanated power and safety, and in some funny way we became each other’s protectors; I think perhaps I protected "C" from a world where it still wasn’t so easy to be big and black. Racism was ever present and over the years together, we saw it. Clarence’s celebrity and size did not make him immune. I think perhaps "C" protected me from a world where it wasn’t always so easy to be an insecure, weird and skinny white boy either. But, standing together we were badass, on any given night, on our turf, some of the baddest asses on the planet. We were united, we were strong, we were righteous, we were unmovable, we were funny, we were corny as hell and as serious as death itself. And we were coming to your town to shake you and to wake you up. Together, we told an older, richer story about the possibilities of friendship that transcended those I’d written in my songs and in my music. Clarence carried it in his heart. It was a story where the Scooter and the Big Man not only busted the city in half, but we kicked ass and remade the city, shaping it into the kind of place where our friendship would not be such an anomaly. And that… that’s what I’m gonna miss. The chance to renew that vow and double down on that story on a nightly basis, because that is something, that is the thing that we did together… the two of us. Clarence was big, and he made me feel, and think, and love, and dream big. How big was the Big Man? Too ****ing big to die. And that’s just the facts. You can put it on his grave stone, you can tattoo it over your heart. Accept it… it’s the New World.

Clarence doesn’t leave the E Street Band when he dies. He leaves when we die.

So, I’ll miss my friend, his sax, the force of nature his sound was, his glory, his foolishness, his accomplishments, his face, his hands, his humor, his skin, his noise, his confusion, his power, his peace. But his love and his story, the story that he gave me, that he whispered in my ear, that he allowed me to tell… and that he gave to you… is gonna carry on. I’m no mystic, but the undertow, the mystery and power of Clarence and my friendship leads me to believe we must have stood together in other, older times, along other rivers, in other cities, in other fields, doing our modest version of god’s work… work that’s still unfinished. So I won’t say goodbye to my brother, I’ll simply say, see you in the next life, further on up the road, where we will once again pick up that work, and get it done.

Big Man, thank you for your kindness, your strength, your dedication, your work, your story. Thanks for the miracle… and for letting a little white boy slip through the side door of the Temple of Soul.

SO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN… ALWAYS LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST. LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE MASTER OF DISASTER, the BIG KAHUNA, the MAN WITH A PHD IN SAXUAL HEALING, the DUKE OF PADUCAH, the KING OF THE WORLD, LOOK OUT OBAMA! THE NEXT BLACK PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES EVEN THOUGH HE’S DEAD… YOU WISH YOU COULD BE LIKE HIM BUT YOU CAN’T! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST MAN YOU’VE EVER SEEN!... GIVE ME A C-L-A-R-E-N-C-E. WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! … amen.

I’m gonna leave you today with a quote from the Big Man himself, which he shared on the plane ride home from Buffalo, the last show of the last tour. As we celebrated in the front cabin congratulating one another and telling tales of the many epic shows, rocking nights and good times we’d shared, "C" sat quietly, taking it all in, then he raised his glass, smiled and said to all gathered, "This could be the start of something big."

Love you, "C".

'He brought the E Street Band the power of friendship, redemptive love and inclusion,' says Browne


Link (http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/jackson-browne-bob-weir-tom-morello-and-more-pay-tribute-to-clarence-clemons-20110622)

When E Street Band saxophonist Clarence Clemons passed away Saturday, he left millions of fans mourning his presence. But he also left many friends and musical admirers. Rolling Stone spoke to several of them – "Stormin'" Norman Seldin of the Joyful Noyze (one of Clemons' first bandleaders), Bob Weir (who, with the Grateful Dead, played with Clemons several times), Gary U.S. Bonds (who collaborated with Clemons on Bonds' two early Eighties comeback discs Dedication and On the Line), Jackson Browne (who collaborated with Clemons on 1985's "You're a Friend of Mine"), Rage Against the Machine's Tom Morello (who played with the E Street Band several times) and Alto Reed (Bob Seger's sax sideman and friend of Clemons) – about Clemons' larger-than-life persona, his continuous generosity and that sound.

Jackson Browne


I just spoke to him a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't spoken to him in a really long time, and I didn't realize how he was doing. [His death] was a shock. He was so powerful and vibrant. He was the last person you'd think would succumb to a physical ailment. He told me he was on the new Lady Gaga record and how much he admired her and how great it was to be on her record. He told me what a hard-working professional she was. He was so complimentary of her.

I met Clarence when I met the rest of the band. Bruce and I were doing a show together back in the early days. The first time I saw them on stage was at the Roxy in L.A. I still remember when they did "10th Avenue Freeze-Out" and they did this dramatic reenactment of the night Clarence joined the band. It was in this small club that completely accentuated his size. He was so much bigger than the other guys in the band. It was like the heavens opening, or like the sun coming over the mountain. He was such a towering presence but there was also so much love.

He brought the E Street Band the power of friendship, redemptive love and inclusion. He did for one generation – well, several generations now – of American kids what Richard Pryor did. He broke down racial barriers and made it about inclusion. He performed that service just like Pryor did.

He was such a generous guy and he had this enormous smile. I remember going backstage to his dressing room at one of their shows and he called it the Temple of Love. Or maybe it was the Temple of Soul. I think it even said that on the door. There were incense and fabric and all these lights. It really WAS like a temple.

Doing "You're a Friend of Mine" was such a thrill for me to be asked. It probably wasn't a song that was appropriate to have Bruce on. Maybe that would've been too obvious. But I was happy to be on that record. We shot the video at a house in Hollywood. Videos are usually pretty arduous, but this was fun to hang out with Clarence and [Clemons' longtime friend] Narada Michael Walden.

I know what it's like when someone really crucial to a band leaves; I'm thinking of when David Lindley left my band. You can't really find someone to take that place, so you move in another direction. It's gonna be really interesting to see what they do. It'll be interesting to see how those songs get played without Clarence.

NEXT: Stormin' Norman Seldin


I first met Clarence when the Joyful Noyze were playing at a club at the Asbury Park Circle, I think it was in the very late Sixties. There were about 150 people, a decent crowd, when he came in one night and asked if he could sit in. We played King Curtis' "Soul Serenade." We played it for about 10 minutes, but we could've played it for 35. The crowd was stunned. I'm a total R&B guy, we had a drummer that was as funk as you could get. Clarence was exactly what I wanted. Afterwards, my drummer looked up at me and said, "You're going to do this, aren't you?" I said, "Clarence, you wanna work with this band?" He said, "Are you serious?" And he was an instant fit.

There were no black players in white bands back then. Promoters tried to get me to drop him. They said they'd give me the work back if we canceled him. I lost about $30,000 worth of work, which in 1970 and 1971 was a lot of money. If I didn't show up with him, it would've been fine. But I said, "There's no the Joyful Noyze without Clarence Clemons, period." I never told Clarence. I didn't have the heart to tell a man that.


Bruce came to watch us about three or four times in the early Seventies. I knew something was going on – I knew Clarence was talking to him after we played. Clarence said, "Would you like [if I joined Bruce]?" I said, "No." But it was none of my business. People have to live their lives.

But he never forgot me. When we were at the Garden last year, Clarence invited my wife and I to New York. He paid for our rooms and everything. We had a moment alone backstage, I asked how he was doing. "I'm not, man," he said. "Every part of my body is shot." He said, "God'll get me through this – I'll do a great show for you and I can't let you and Bruce my band and my fans down. But I'm hurting. I have to use a golf cart to get to the stage." It was not what I was used to looking at.

The next day, he went on Jon Stewart. About four minutes into the show, Clarence said, "I owe Norman Seldin everything." It broke me down. Chills went up my spine. He was trying to pay me back all the time. But Clarence was always trying to give something to somebody. The guy wouldn't turn somebody down for a nickel if he only had a nickel in his own pocket. That's the way he always was.

NEXT: Tom Morello

I always felt kinship with Clarence because it sometimes seemed like he and I were the only two black guys in the arena at Bruce Springsteen shows. We laughed about that once or twice.

In my encounters with him, he couldn't have been more gracious. The first time I played with the E Street Band was in Anaheim, California in 2008. Bruce had changed the key of "The Ghost of Tom Joad" before the show from what I had practiced, so it was going to be hard for me to sing. I didn't know what I was going to do. But when I walked on stage, Clarence made me feel right at home instantly, like, "This is going to be okay. Welcome, friend, to our stage." That was pretty awesome.

The last time I saw him might have been at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame show in October 2009. At the time, he had some health problems with his knees, his back, but he sat there, looking absolutely regal and badass with that big cape, wide-brim hat and that beautiful smile. I was just like ‘Dude, you are a bad man' and he just laughed with that deep, resonant laugh.

When he played, you could hear both the fact that he's a bad man and a sweet soul. That came through in every breath he took through the sax. He was clearly channeling a lot of goodness through that saxophone. On the songs he wasn't playing saxophone, he'd be there playing that cowbell with a grin that could swallow the arena. He's like, "I am happy to be rocking you. I'll do it with a cowbell, with a tambourine, or with my surprisingly resonant and beautiful bass voice."

The composition of the E Street Band was as important as the notes that were played. Seeing the two best friends there, a black guy and a white guy, made a very strong statement. And through the Eighties, when Michael Jackson was one of the only African-American guys on MTV, there was also Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band with Clarence. He was very important for so many reasons beyond his musical contributions to that band.

From the apocryphal lightning storm entrance to that club in Asbury Park where he met Bruce in the early Seventies to having a smash hit on the pop charts the week that he passed, that's a pretty solid career right there. Well done, Clarence. You went out on top.

NEXT: Bob Weir


Clarence was an old pal, a soulful bro. He was a good hang. Back in the late Eighties and early Nineties, he was living out here in Marin County. He didn't have any commitments to the E Street Band. He was in moving-on mode, and he, Jerry and I were mixed it up a bit. We were dropping by clubs like Sweetwater and sitting in with various bands. Jerry and I were both single at that time, and Clarence suggested the three of us move in together and have a bachelor pad. Jerry and I almost went for it. It would've been a lot of fun, but I don't think anyone would have survived [Laughs]. Jerry was in good shape, but we were doing a little drinking.

Clarence was always up for playing and always a delight to play with. He had that power and authority. He was a big guy with a lot of lung power, and he really made his sax honk. But he was also real flexible. He could play tenderly, and he could play country and make it stick. There was a period when he sat in with the Dead, and that was where we got to know him. We'd do the R&B and blues stuff together, like "Little Red Rooster" and a version of Willie Dixon's "The Same Thing." I have a feeling he was shooting for a role in that band. Jerry and I would've gone for it, but I'm not sure everyone else would. In the Dead back then, anyone had veto power, and a couple of the guys hated saxophones. Had it not been for a couple of objections, Clarence might've ended up in the Dead.

The last time he sat in with me was at a Furthur show in April, in Boca Raton. He seemed a bit frail. He showed up at the gig in a wheelchair. But he walked on and managed to stand up, and he just ****ing wailed. We played "Turn on Your Lovelight" and one or two others, and he blew everybody away. I miss him, but I'm always going to hear him. Whenever I play "Lovelight," I'll hear him.

NEXT: Alto Reed


I started playing saxophone with Bob Seger in late 1972 – about the same time Clarence started playing with Bruce. Both Bruce and Bob gave each of us similar positions of "sidekick" that developed over the years. And because Bob and Bruce were very aware of each other, I like to think Clarence helped me have a front-and-center position in Bob's band. Having someone else out there doing what I do that helped validate me in that role in the band.

Bruce constantly referred to Clarence as "the Big Man," which really helped create this bigger than life persona. Add that to the fact that he was a great musician – a great saxophonist and melodist and somebody with an extraordinary tone – and you had a match made in heaven.

His playing came from deep within. The way he made the saxophone resonate was almost supernatural. When he played, you heard every ounce of his soul.

We've lost a great musician and a great performer. But a huge part of Rock and Roll has moved on to the next arena, so he's in good company. I send angels Clarence's way to guide him home to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Heaven.

NEXT: Gary U.S. Bonds

Clarence and I were both from Norfolk, Virginia, but we didn't become close until my comeback album, Dedication [in 1980], which I recorded with Bruce and the boys. Clarence was my big soul brother. He was fun to hang around with, partly because nobody bothered you when you were with him!

But he was a gentle giant, a very easygoing man. He'd do anything for you that he possibly could. He certainly helped me a lot, especially those albums of mine he played on. It was fantastic amount of time and effort he put into it to make sure it was right for me. I appreciate him for that.

I never found anybody that can play like Clarence or even sounds close to it. Once you hear his sax, you know exactly who it is. He put a lot of air into it, and out came this big, booming sound. It wasn't a lot of notes played. He could take one note and it would reverberate throughout the whole record, just hanging on one note. Totally amazing.

I talked to him two or three weeks ago. He said he was living down in Florida, enjoying the sunshine. I said "Well, don't enjoy it too much – you already got your sun tan. You got that years ago," and he laughed. He was having a great time down there, just enjoying life, relaxing. He met a lot of friends down there. He had something going with the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood, Florida, which was giving him an opportunity to get out and play and get some music.

Even though [the E Street Band] are great musicians, he had that sound that made everything possible. You're going to be listening for it every time you see them now. It's going to be hard to overcome that, I'm sure.