Big Man
Big Man by Clarence Clemons and Don Reo Little, Brown HK$271
I am a Clarence Clemons virgin. That is to say, until now I had never heard of the Big Man. In his native US, the Big Man is a superstar, a leading saxophonist who has played with Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band for more than 30 years.
A giant of a man (hence the nickname), Clemons hails from Virginia, the grandson of a Southern Baptist preacher who grew up surrounded by gospel music. The gift of a saxophone from his father changed the nine-year-old's life. While out performing with the wonderfully named Norman Seldin & The Joyful Noyze in New Jersey, the African-American musician came across Springsteen, and the rest ... Since then Clemons' world has consisted not only of making music with Springsteen and other artists, but also working as an actor and scriptwriter in movies, meeting the rich and famous and marrying numerous wives. He exists in a whirlwind of luxury hotels, beach houses and Lear jets. He is attended by a gaggle of doctors, masseurs and occasionally Don Reo.
Their years of friendship have allowed Reo (a television executive behind the famous M.A.S.H. series) to help put together one of the strangest biographies I've read. It's one of the most enjoyable too.
The book is a jumbled collection of short stories, some real, others fantasised or part-real, that is, shaped by Clemons' experiences, acquaintances, thoughts and odd encounters. It is broadly chronological and held together in short chapters. It is also constructed with the kind of taut prose you closely associate with great 20th-century American novelists.
Big Man is crammed with delightful, almost surreal scenes featuring Norman Mailer, Bob Dylan, Ringo Starr and Fidel Castro, among others. In each case Clemons apparently met these men, in one form or another, but not (necessarily) in the (frequent bar) scenes in which they are set.
In the chapter The Legend of Havana, for example, Reo reconstructs a meeting featuring the Cuban leader, gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson and Clemons at the president's mansion.
'Hunter Thompson had been quietly refilling his glass for an hour, and now Fidel Castro was drunk,' Reo begins. 'Clarence knew this was an excellent time to challenge El Presidente to a game of [pool].' When Reo's fictionalised Thompson goes on to spike the president's bodyguard's drink, the whole scene melts into fantastic absurdity, which is inventive and highly entertaining.
Among the many other bizarre scenes are Clemons sharing beers with novelist Mailer; a (presumably fictional) account of his arduous training to 'ride the waves' in Hawaii; his marriage to his 29-year-old Russian wife; and sharing a log cabin with Dylan and a friend during a freak storm.
Occasionally Reo pushes it too far, eulogising his friend too much and pouring almost adolescent glory over him.
Much of the work assumes you know which TV star is which and which band member died when; or know all of Springsteen's songs. Clemons makes it clear he is not going into detail on the sex, drugs and rock'n'roll associated with a 'traditional' autobiography - but he and Reo have achieved something unique and unforgettable all the same.
