Last night, I was working late when the news broke about Clarence Clemons passing away. I already had a Clemons-related post about his most recent work ready to run but instead pushed that post back to pay tribute to the Big Man with the video of “Paradise by the C,” one of the rare instrumental songs in the Springsteen canon. I was going to leave it at that, as there are several excellent articles out there about Clemons, but I will share one memory. (The other Clemons-related post will run in a few days).
After I left work last night, I flipped around the New York radio stations to hear some songs by the E Street Band, finally hitting on one playing a block of songs that featured Clemons. When I got home and parked my car, I sat in the car with the engine off, listening to the radio play “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out” and “Backstreets.” But when the radio station began playing “Jungleland,” I had to turn it off because I could not hear that song so close to the news of the Big Man’s passing.
Like many people, “Jungleland” is one of the first things I think of when I think of Clemons. It is off Born to Run, my favorite album. The Born to Run LP is one of the few physical albums from my youth that I still own due to space limitations as I converted to CDs and then MP3s. Hopefully, my sister is not reading this post, as I obtained the album pictured at the top when I borrowed it from her more than three decades ago. The album has great music and that iconic cover of Bruce and Clarence that is a photo of human connection. As Springsteen once noted, “When you open [the album cover] up and see Clarence and me together, the album begins to work its magic.”
The album has been there for me through many periods of my life. While I was in school, I listened to “Born to Run” right before every exam to psych myself up. There were times when I was angry and played “Thunder Road” just to sing along to the line, “it’s a town full of losers, I’m pulling out of here to win.” If you cut me open and look at my soul, you will see every song from Born to Run embedded in there somewhere.
But the reason “Jungleland” stands out for me is because of a concert at Richfield Coliseum outside Cleveland in the early 1980s. It was the first large concert I ever attended, and it would ruin all future non-Springsteen concerts because nothing would ever come close. That night, I was in a transition period of my life from school to a new job, and I was unsure what lay ahead for me. Inside the coliseum, though, I was blown away by the E Street Band, and the moment that capped it all was the sax solo during “Jungleland.” As Clemons blew his horn, the lights hit the crowd and thousands of people stood in unison pumping their fists in time with the music. I know it is cliche and corny, but that one moment signifies the power of rock and roll to me, with a community of people bonding at once, feeling hope, resignation, fear, and defiance all together in our lives. My words cannot capture what I felt then or what I still feel thinking about those minutes. But that is the reason we need music — to capture those feelings we cannot describe in words.
And so, last night, I could not listen to “Jungleland,” knowing that the man who played the saxophone that night was now dead. Unfortunately, I have lost track of the close friends who were with me at the concert that night. Yet, Clemons and the band have stayed with me through the years. I had never met Clemons and did not know him personally, so it may be foolish to mourn someone others would label “a stranger” when there are so many good people who die every day. But my connection to Clemons is a bond with the human community where even in our differences, we remain connected. At least it was for that July night in Ohio, many years ago. And I still felt that connection with the man who died last night. Thank you Clarence.
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