# 1920   Clarence Clemons (with Jackson Browne) -                           YOU'RE  A  FRIEND  OF  MINE

Hero, Columbia Records, 1985                                  BILLBOARD CHART ACHIEVEMENTS:                                       Mainstream Rock:  # 16                                       Hot 100 Singles:  # 18                                                                      Adult Contemporary:  # 21                                  Top Ten at MATT RADIO

Flip over your vinyl copy of Born to Run and there's Clarence Clemons, the Big Man.  The mighty saxophonist has been a crucial part of Bruce Springsteen's music ever since joining the E Street Band in 1971.  Whether kissing Bruce on the lips or letting his horn soar on the memorable solos from “Bobbie Jean” and “Thunder Road,” Clemons is both the Boss’ loyal lieutenant and custodian of E Street’s soul.  But now that he’s got his own band - the appropriately named Temple of Soul – how does he fare as the man in charge?

“I’m a good boss,” says the 61-year-old Clemons.  “It’s a matter of who you choose to work with.  I’ll take a guy who isn’t the greatest musician but loves what he’s doing over a guy who is a virtuoso and don’t give a damn.  I’m very fortunate to be associated with the best of humanity with the two bands I play in.  It’s great to be a great musician, but being a great person is more important.”

Clemons’ good humor suggests he won’t be restructuring his organization anytime soon.  And in building the Temple of Soul, he has certainly surrounded himself with great people – eight of them, in fact, including two keyboardists and a violinist.  With the addition of the four-man Uptown Horns on his new album Live at Asbury Park, it makes for quite a mob onstage.  They're all there to get the party started, he says.

“I don’t care if there are five people in the audience or 100,000.  I’ll always give 110 percent.  With Bruce, we've got lots of onstage space to move around.  With the Temple of Soul, we haven't got much, but we’re more agile!”

When not dodging one another, the Temple of Soul guys play the sweaty, horn-heavy R&B that once throbbed in every bar along the Jersey shore.  Holding it down is the distinctive wail belonging to Clemons’ horn, which he's come to call "Jerome." Whether letting rip on Springsteen’s “Small Things” or breaking down into sobs on “Livin’ Without You,” Jerome is a passionate dude.  The Temple makes music that should tickle both jam band fans and R&B buffs.  At some points - especially during the rowdy curtain-raiser “Washington Bond” - there’s a distinctly Latin flavor, provided by John Colby’s piano and Tomas Diaz’s percussive forays.

Clemons relocated to Florida six years ago.  He says that's the reason he now sounds like he’s throwing a salsa party on E Street.  In search of sunnier climes and great fishing, he discovered the power of the Cuban rhythms and the festive nature of Caribbean culture.

“That’s what the Temple of Soul is about,” Clemons enthuses.  “It’s a rock n’ roll fanatic from New Jersey who moves to South Beach, where there’s a strong Latin influence.  I wanted to combine Latin music’s energy level with rock n’ roll.  It’s like Park Avenue meeting South Beach!”

After getting some R&R and reeling in lots of fish during Springsteen's down time, Clemons went on the hunt for some new blood to play with.  The materials he gathered to erect his Temple wound up including more than just an ensemble of musicians.

“To meet all the local players, I started a Thursday night jam session at a little club in West Palm Beach,” says the saxophonist. “Then one day I was driving down the street and saw this sandwich stand called Serious Barbecue.  It was the best barbecue I ever had.  So I had this guy hook his little stand up to the back of his truck and pull it to the club.  We had barbecue in the parking lot and a blues jam inside!  I had some great guys come through.  We jammed on these free-form blues, and the smell of barbecue would be coming through the place.  It was wonderful!”

It’s certainly a change from 1971, when Clemons was the hungry musician looking for work, gigging with Norman Seldin & the Joyful Noise and listening to their singer bend his ear about a local wunderkind called Bruce.  The first meeting between the Big Man and the scrawny Springsteen became the stuff of music legend.  Clemons’ memory of that fateful day comes complete with a dark and stormy night and club doors blown off hinges.  When the dust had settled and the music started, however, a brilliant partnership was born.

“I’ll never forget the first note we played,” Clemons remembered.  “I looked at him, he looked at me, and I knew that this was what I was supposed to do.  The whole vision of what I’m doing right now passed before my eyes.”

It wasn’t the first musical epiphany he experienced.  Growing up as part of a Southern Baptist family in Virginia, young Clarence first realized the power of music in church, where the threat of damnation in his grandfather’s sermons was countered by the sweet release offered by the choir.

“He’d just stand there screaming about hellfire and brimstone,” laughs Clemons at the memory.  “We’d be scared to go outside because we thought the devil was gonna get us.  But the music taught you love and brought joy to the people.  I used to leave church thinking, ‘Wow!  I feel great!’  Not because of what my grandfather said but because of what the music did for me.  So I thought, ‘Man!  This is what I want to do!  I want to make music that makes people feel really good!’”

Then rock n’ roll came along.  All across the country, record needles were worn down to stubs playing 45's by Elvis Presley and Clemons’ hero King Curtis, whose tenor sax was responsible for some of soul music's funkiest instrumentals.  Clemons’ preacher granddad, alas, wasn’t having any of it.

“There was no rock n’ roll in my grandfather’s house,” says Clemons.  “No.  None.  Never.  One Sunday morning my uncle, who played piano for the church choir, was playing some blues riffs.  My grandfather came tearing out of his room with his shirt off!  I said, 'What did Uncle Herman play that got my grandfather so crazy?'  I’d never seen him without his shirt on.

“Those blues chord changes woke me up to something lying dormant inside me.  My uncle bought me a King Curtis album and my life changed.  I saw Elvis Presley shaking it on TV and I thought, 'I can do this.'  I started to work with the horn and it became a part of me.”

Whether squawking with the Coasters or backing Aretha Franklin on her sublime ‘60's hits, Clemons considered Curtis' horn to be as expressive as any singer.  Clarence found his own musical voice via his sax, Jerome.  “Jerome embodies what the horn is,” he laughs when asked about the name.  “Jerome is a rough guy; he’s big and he’s mean as hell, but a sweet, sweet, sweet person.  Very sensitive and deep.  But don’t get on his wrong side.  You don’t cross Jerome, you know?”

Live in Asbury Park is a perfect place to hear the many moods of Clemons’ alter ego.  Jerome is big and roaring and impossible to ignore, where Clarence himself is big and gentle and self-effacing.  Both personas leap out of the disc's music.

Clemons has come a long way from his humble Virginia beginnings.  He even got to play with Aretha on “Freeway of Love.”  At 61, he feels like he’s only getting riper with the years.

“The older you get, the wiser you’re supposed to get,” he reports.  “The wiser you get, the more you know how to handle things.  These days I can do an energetic three-hour show without killing myself like I used to.  It’s about being smart about yourself, using your time wisely.”

Admitting that what he learned during his brief career as a football player has helped him survive many a marathon Springsteen show, Clemons touts the power of steady exercise.  “You’ve really got to be in shape, so I work out everyday.  I feel better than I've ever felt in my life.  My music is better, and I’m getting stronger.

“[Over the years] I’ve been addicted to some things that weren’t good for me.  Finally I've found an addiction that’s going to help my life.  It’s called the gym.  I'm a poster boy for the gray foxes.  Get off them canes, get out of that wheelchair, get in the gym, start working out... you’ll find your life coming back!”


source:  C. Bottomley & Jim Macnie, vh1.com, Jan. 20, 2003