Springsteen Challenge Day 22: Favorite Big Man Sax Solo

I miss the Big Man.  Clarence Clemons was truly the foil to Bruce’s spastic rocker – tall, imposing, happy-go-lucky, a guy who had some issues with alcohol and drugs from time to time, where Bruce was the brooding, energetic guy who only occasionally had a beer, and has long maintained he’d never touched any drugs.  My fiancée (at the time.  She’s my wife now) texted me in 2011 and said, “Clarence died.”  My wife doesn’t like Bruce, and other than Clarence being the only full time E Street Band member who is black, she wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a two-person lineup.  But, she sent me that two-word text, and it sent my night through a search for the quintessential Clarence sax solo.

I listened to several songs, and I realized that Clarence’s sax solos mean one thing: strong, soaring notes, the power of his horn.  Bruce knows the power of Clarence, his horn, and what it means to the E Street Band.  After he died, Bruce offered the role of the E Street’s saxophonist to Clarence’s nephew, Jake Clemons.  He eased Jake into the role, allowing him time to learn the songs, get the beats that Clarence used to hit each time, and make it possible for the fans to accept him in that role.  Of course, it wouldn’t be that role.  Clarence’s place on stage isn’t occupied by a horn anymore, and to back up Jake, Bruce brought in the Miami horns to provide the depth of sound.  There will never be another Big Man, and that’s the way it has to be.

The night I learned Clarence died, I listened to “Outlaw Pete” – this song isn’t one a lot of people like.  I thoroughly enjoy it, and it has one of those grand, sweeping Clarence solos, where he sets the stage, leaping from the line “He moved to the edge and dug his spurs deep into his Pony’s side…” to paint an ethereal image, like the hawk riding the desert updraft.  It always amazes me how the music can make someone see images.  I saw the vast canyon of painted rock, the deep oranges of the clay sand, and the stark and vivid cerulean with wispy brushstrokes of white.

I listened to Tenth Avenue Freeze Out – the live version, just to hear those interactions with Bruce and Clarence, and that moment of “the Big Man joined the band!” when Clarence hits the blatting notes signifying his entrance to the song and the E Street Band.  And, of course, I love that version of the song, anyway.

Last, right before bed, I put my vinyl copy of Born to Run on, and listened to Jungleland.  There’s no sax solo quite like Clarence’s on Jungleland.  It brings the song from the highs to the lows, and sets the stage for the coda – beneath the city, the two hearts beating.

This is what Clarence meant to the E Street Band.  He was the earthen base to the band.  While Max kept the big beat, Stevie was the partner in crime, Garry held the bassline, Patti provided the falsetto, Bruce was the ringleader, and Danny/Roy kept the drone of the Phil Spector wall of sound going, Clarence played the part of the music that always made you cry.  The saxophone can do that to you.  It’s a blues instrument, and Bruce is a blues rocker.  The E Street Band knows how to make you cry and make you love; Clarence “Big Man” Clemons could do that just by filling his lungs and expelling the air through his saxophone.  And, on Jungleland, you feel the defeated, rainy, noir-ish night that Bruce wanted.  You feel the culmination of the song, the album, and the stories.  You feel the end of the evening, as the Rat’s own dream guns him down.  That’s what I love about Clarence Clemons. And that’s what I miss the most about the Big Man.

Tomorrow’s topic: Favorite Little Steven guitar solo.  Just a heads up: I’m going to cheat on this one slightly.