By James Montgomery
Clarence Clemons was affectionately known as “The Big Man,” probably because, well, he was a big man. Standing six-feet, four-inches tall — and nearly just as wide — he towered over Bruce Springsteen, the E Street Band, and whomever else he shared the stage with during his five-decade career, casting a shadow as formidable as it was striking (it’s no wonder Bruce decided to lean on him, like some sort of lamppost, on the cover of 1975′s Born To Run).
But his physical size only told part of the story. Because Clemons was also a massive talent, a saxophonist as adept at filing an arena with his booming solos as he was providing a rock-solid backbone to Springsteen’s churning, yearning rock. He was the Big Man because everything ran through him, because he was capable of both taking the lead (like on “Jungleland”) and laying back in the cut (like on “10th Avenue Freeze Out,” where his presence definitely shapes the song, but at no point overshadows its other components), and because of the tones he charmed from his sax … crisp and clear-eyed, grandiose yet gritty, big yet decidedly blue-collar (just like he was), no one played like Clarence did. And when he died on Saturday at the age of 69 after complications from a stroke he suffered last week, not only did we lose a mountain of a man, but an icon as well.
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