The King of the Universe, the Big Kahuna, the Prince of the City, the Duke of Paducah — also known as the Big Man, Clarence Clemons, began his 40 year friendship and musical association with Bruce Springsteen in September of 1971 in Asbury Park, New Jersey. The Bruce Springsteen Band was playing at the Student Prince over on Kingsley Avenue, and Clarence was appearing with Norman Seldin and the Joyful Noyze a few blocks away at the Wonder Bar on Asbury Avenue.
As the legend has been told over the years, the door to the club "lifted off and blew off down the street as a large shadow of a man stepped into the back room beside the band." Was it King Curtis? Was it Junior Walker? "He walked to the stage and said, 'I wanna play with you.' What could I say? I said 'sure.'"
This was the moment when "We made that change uptown and the Big Man joined the band" as commemorated in "Tenth Avenue Freeze-out," the song consistently referred to by Bruce as "the story of the band."
A less colorful (although likely more factually correct) version of that story would relate that Clarence simply strolled a few blocks down the street and around the corner to see what the competition was up to. Some people insist that the door did, indeed, get blown off its hinges due to a storm in the area that night. But what did happen was that Clarence and Bruce met for the first time — although they had traveled in the same New Jersey musical circles for a while — and Clarence was invited to play with the band. He didn't formally join forces with Bruce until almost a year — and many surprise guest appearances by Bruce Springsteen with the Joyful Noyze — later, as they embarked on tour for the first time in the late fall of 1972 and then in support of Greetings from Asbury Park. (At the time, Norman Seldin and the Joyful Noyze was more successful, and more lucrative, than the Bruce Springsteen Band, and as related in Clarence's autobiography, Big Man, his departure from the Joyful Noyze was termed "a big mistake.")
"Without Scooter, there is no Big Man" —Clarence Clemons, from Big Man
Clarence became "The Big Man," back in the day when everybody in the band had a nickname. He became known for his fashion flair, rivaling his compatriot Miami Steve Van Zandt on the other side of the stage. ("Back when this was a band that wore hats!") The white suit, the red suit, the hats, the ties, the scarves... it all became part and parcel of the legend, down to the dreadlocks he grew later and the majestic cape he wore on the Working on a Dream tour.
Clarence was the onstage foil, the straight man, the counterpart. He became larger than he already was in real life, a superhero whose reputation was reinforced by the endless stream of superlatives attached to his name when Bruce introduced the band every night. "King of the world — master of the universe — do I have to say his name?" The introductions became a much-anticipated, treasured part of the live show, working their way through the entire band, applause growing as the audience knew what came next. Sometimes it was a simple recitation of facts and sobriquets ("best-selling author!" or "Socrates of the Saxophone!"), other times Bruce would take a leaf out of the Stax-Volt treasury and get the audience to spell his name a la Otis: "'C' is for cool, which only a foolish man would dispute! 'L' is for lean and mean! 'A' is 'cause he's the ace of the saxophone!...."
Bruce and Clarence were Scooter and the Big Man, they were black and white, they were big and small. It was still a bold move in the early '70s, especially in some parts of the country, to have an African-American in your band, much less one you danced with, rubbed butts with and engaged in a long soulful kiss with; the country was only a few years out of the Civil Rights movement and there are stories of gigs the band didn't get and hotels they were told they weren't welcome in. But the pairing would become iconic, forever commemorated in Eric Meola's now-legendary cover photo for Born to Run; 34 years later, the world was greeted with the almost identical image as the E Street Band began their set during halftime at the Super Bowl in 2009.
This was in addition to Clarence's active participation, or at least invocation, in the gamut of stories Bruce told onstage. It was Clarence who walked through the woods with Bruce to find the gypsy woman, or it was Clarence that gave him the directions to find God to ask him whether he should be a writer or a lawyer. It was Clarence with whom Bruce drove through the wind and the snow and the tornado, the car falling apart, until the radio broke. It was Clarence in the forest when they were visited by Little Melvin and the Invaders in the spaceship. Clarence was there when Bruce and Steve sat on the porch trying to get up their nerve to talk to Pretty Flamingo, and it was Clarence on the park bench showing off the pictures of his son. He was front and center with Bruce exhorting the crowd after they played their respective solos during "Badlands." He was the anchor of his side of the stage and during the general admission shows of recent years, his side of the pit filled up first.
Clarence's horn solidified the soul in E Street. Bruce recruited Clarence to complete the final tracks of the Greetings from Asbury Park album and then to join the band and head out on tour. "Rosalita" or "Growin' Up" would be unthinkable now without Clarence's role. The saxophone as played by Clarence Clemons soon became a trademark of the Springsteen sound, culminating with its classic role in the Born to Run album. And what a role that would be: what would become the trademark solo in "Thunder Road"; the intro and backbeat to the band's own folk tale, "Tenth Avenue Freeze-out"; the clarion call in "Born to Run"; and the now-legendary, haunting wail in "Jungleland," which would become Clarence's signature solo. On the cover, there they were: Scooter and the Big Man, Soul Brother Number One and his most loyal disciple.
While the sax was present in three key solos on Darkness on the Edge of Town and showed up on several places on Born in the U.S.A., it was on The River that the sax was practically everywhere: "The Ties That Bind." "Sherry Darling." "Independence Day." "Out in the Street." The main riff to "Cadillac Ranch," the heartbreaking solo on "Drive All Night," even the carnal underpinnings in the background of "Ramrod." Additionally, who could forget the original composition created and named just for him: "Paradise by the 'C'," a highlight of live shows in the '70s and on the Live: 1975/85 box set for those who couldn't be there to see it in person.
As befitting the master of the universe, Clarence had other interests as well: he was a rock club owner (Big Man's West in Red Bank); an actor, with recurring roles on TV shows (from Nash Bridges to The Wire) and some movie work (notably in Scorcese's New York, New York). He also had a small but notable solo career, reaching #18 on the charts with "You're a Friend of Mine." He toured in the first incarnation of Ringo Starr’s All-Star Band and sat in with the Grateful Dead several times. His session work ranged from Aretha Franklin's comeback hit "Freeway of Love" to his most recent work with Lady Gaga.
In recent years, Clarence’s instrument played a key role in modern classics such as "Land of Hope and Dreams," "My City of Ruins" and "Long Walk Home," each number demonstrating that the saxophone remained at the core of the E Street Band sound. Plus, if he wasn't playing the horn during the show, the Big Man made key contributions on backing vocals or on maracas, tambourine, chimes, and penny whistle. His vocal spotlight in "Out in the Street" and his verse of "If I Should Fall Behind" reminded us that there was power in the voice, not just in the horn. And if he wasn't doing any of those things, Clarence was far from idle: He danced. He smiled. He clapped. He shook his butt. He was an always somewhat mysterious, somewhat beatific, always smiling presence in the band.
Even when his mobility had decreased, his presence on the E Street stage remained as large as ever. He strolled on last before Bruce, always to loud and enthusiastic applause, and when his knees couldn't walk up the steps to the stage any longer, Bruce had an elevator installed for him. Sometimes the Big Man would need a break from standing, and rather than just have a chair or a stool, he was provided with an ornate, golden throne, illuminated from underneath. It seemed only right and fitting.
As long as we tell the stories, as long as we play the songs, as long as we remember, the Big Man will always be with us.
—Caryn Rose and Glenn Radecki, June 18, 2011
—Photographs by Michael Zorn (1, 4, 9), A.M. Saddler (2, 3, 6), Bob Zimmerman (5), Guy Aceto (7), and Joseph Quever (8, 10).
As the legend has been told over the years, the door to the club "lifted off and blew off down the street as a large shadow of a man stepped into the back room beside the band." Was it King Curtis? Was it Junior Walker? "He walked to the stage and said, 'I wanna play with you.' What could I say? I said 'sure.'"
This was the moment when "We made that change uptown and the Big Man joined the band" as commemorated in "Tenth Avenue Freeze-out," the song consistently referred to by Bruce as "the story of the band."
A less colorful (although likely more factually correct) version of that story would relate that Clarence simply strolled a few blocks down the street and around the corner to see what the competition was up to. Some people insist that the door did, indeed, get blown off its hinges due to a storm in the area that night. But what did happen was that Clarence and Bruce met for the first time — although they had traveled in the same New Jersey musical circles for a while — and Clarence was invited to play with the band. He didn't formally join forces with Bruce until almost a year — and many surprise guest appearances by Bruce Springsteen with the Joyful Noyze — later, as they embarked on tour for the first time in the late fall of 1972 and then in support of Greetings from Asbury Park. (At the time, Norman Seldin and the Joyful Noyze was more successful, and more lucrative, than the Bruce Springsteen Band, and as related in Clarence's autobiography, Big Man, his departure from the Joyful Noyze was termed "a big mistake.")"Without Scooter, there is no Big Man" —Clarence Clemons, from Big Man
Clarence became "The Big Man," back in the day when everybody in the band had a nickname. He became known for his fashion flair, rivaling his compatriot Miami Steve Van Zandt on the other side of the stage. ("Back when this was a band that wore hats!") The white suit, the red suit, the hats, the ties, the scarves... it all became part and parcel of the legend, down to the dreadlocks he grew later and the majestic cape he wore on the Working on a Dream tour.
Clarence was the onstage foil, the straight man, the counterpart. He became larger than he already was in real life, a superhero whose reputation was reinforced by the endless stream of superlatives attached to his name when Bruce introduced the band every night. "King of the world — master of the universe — do I have to say his name?" The introductions became a much-anticipated, treasured part of the live show, working their way through the entire band, applause growing as the audience knew what came next. Sometimes it was a simple recitation of facts and sobriquets ("best-selling author!" or "Socrates of the Saxophone!"), other times Bruce would take a leaf out of the Stax-Volt treasury and get the audience to spell his name a la Otis: "'C' is for cool, which only a foolish man would dispute! 'L' is for lean and mean! 'A' is 'cause he's the ace of the saxophone!...."
Bruce and Clarence were Scooter and the Big Man, they were black and white, they were big and small. It was still a bold move in the early '70s, especially in some parts of the country, to have an African-American in your band, much less one you danced with, rubbed butts with and engaged in a long soulful kiss with; the country was only a few years out of the Civil Rights movement and there are stories of gigs the band didn't get and hotels they were told they weren't welcome in. But the pairing would become iconic, forever commemorated in Eric Meola's now-legendary cover photo for Born to Run; 34 years later, the world was greeted with the almost identical image as the E Street Band began their set during halftime at the Super Bowl in 2009.This was in addition to Clarence's active participation, or at least invocation, in the gamut of stories Bruce told onstage. It was Clarence who walked through the woods with Bruce to find the gypsy woman, or it was Clarence that gave him the directions to find God to ask him whether he should be a writer or a lawyer. It was Clarence with whom Bruce drove through the wind and the snow and the tornado, the car falling apart, until the radio broke. It was Clarence in the forest when they were visited by Little Melvin and the Invaders in the spaceship. Clarence was there when Bruce and Steve sat on the porch trying to get up their nerve to talk to Pretty Flamingo, and it was Clarence on the park bench showing off the pictures of his son. He was front and center with Bruce exhorting the crowd after they played their respective solos during "Badlands." He was the anchor of his side of the stage and during the general admission shows of recent years, his side of the pit filled up first.
Clarence's horn solidified the soul in E Street. Bruce recruited Clarence to complete the final tracks of the Greetings from Asbury Park album and then to join the band and head out on tour. "Rosalita" or "Growin' Up" would be unthinkable now without Clarence's role. The saxophone as played by Clarence Clemons soon became a trademark of the Springsteen sound, culminating with its classic role in the Born to Run album. And what a role that would be: what would become the trademark solo in "Thunder Road"; the intro and backbeat to the band's own folk tale, "Tenth Avenue Freeze-out"; the clarion call in "Born to Run"; and the now-legendary, haunting wail in "Jungleland," which would become Clarence's signature solo. On the cover, there they were: Scooter and the Big Man, Soul Brother Number One and his most loyal disciple.While the sax was present in three key solos on Darkness on the Edge of Town and showed up on several places on Born in the U.S.A., it was on The River that the sax was practically everywhere: "The Ties That Bind." "Sherry Darling." "Independence Day." "Out in the Street." The main riff to "Cadillac Ranch," the heartbreaking solo on "Drive All Night," even the carnal underpinnings in the background of "Ramrod." Additionally, who could forget the original composition created and named just for him: "Paradise by the 'C'," a highlight of live shows in the '70s and on the Live: 1975/85 box set for those who couldn't be there to see it in person.As befitting the master of the universe, Clarence had other interests as well: he was a rock club owner (Big Man's West in Red Bank); an actor, with recurring roles on TV shows (from Nash Bridges to The Wire) and some movie work (notably in Scorcese's New York, New York). He also had a small but notable solo career, reaching #18 on the charts with "You're a Friend of Mine." He toured in the first incarnation of Ringo Starr’s All-Star Band and sat in with the Grateful Dead several times. His session work ranged from Aretha Franklin's comeback hit "Freeway of Love" to his most recent work with Lady Gaga.
In recent years, Clarence’s instrument played a key role in modern classics such as "Land of Hope and Dreams," "My City of Ruins" and "Long Walk Home," each number demonstrating that the saxophone remained at the core of the E Street Band sound. Plus, if he wasn't playing the horn during the show, the Big Man made key contributions on backing vocals or on maracas, tambourine, chimes, and penny whistle. His vocal spotlight in "Out in the Street" and his verse of "If I Should Fall Behind" reminded us that there was power in the voice, not just in the horn. And if he wasn't doing any of those things, Clarence was far from idle: He danced. He smiled. He clapped. He shook his butt. He was an always somewhat mysterious, somewhat beatific, always smiling presence in the band.Even when his mobility had decreased, his presence on the E Street stage remained as large as ever. He strolled on last before Bruce, always to loud and enthusiastic applause, and when his knees couldn't walk up the steps to the stage any longer, Bruce had an elevator installed for him. Sometimes the Big Man would need a break from standing, and rather than just have a chair or a stool, he was provided with an ornate, golden throne, illuminated from underneath. It seemed only right and fitting.As long as we tell the stories, as long as we play the songs, as long as we remember, the Big Man will always be with us.
—Caryn Rose and Glenn Radecki, June 18, 2011
—Photographs by Michael Zorn (1, 4, 9), A.M. Saddler (2, 3, 6), Bob Zimmerman (5), Guy Aceto (7), and Joseph Quever (8, 10).
