Have you ever felt strongly about the passing of a stranger?
I have never met the Big Man. I once stood ten feet in front of him for two hours, screaming along to "Badlands" and "Rosalita" with my Dad in the front row of a Bruce concert. He wore all black with rhinestones and had gold-painted fingernails. Unique guy, that one. This Saturday was the first time I'd ever cried after the death of a celebrity. Not long painful tears, but legitimate tears nontheless. Made it past the welling in the eyelids stage and into full-fledged streaming down the face.
The sweet sounds he made on the saxaphone have made me feel something potent down in my gut since I was a wee one bouncing around the back of my mom's Ford station wagon to Springsteen Greatest Hits casette. I grew up with Bruce and I grew up with the Big Man. I wasn't his friend, but Clarence sure was mine.
Sometimes all the usual pick-me-ups fail. So I turn to Clarence. When the blues start to border on the mean reds, I sneak out of the house and take to the highway at 70 mph, windows down, and "Jungleland" blaring. If I'm feeling especially buoyed by my secret ride (and the road's empty), I fling my arms out to my sides for just a moment as I fly downhill during that sax solo. I might listen to that song six times before finally turning back home. And, gosh darn if I don't always feel that I just did something so basically right with my time. That if I can feel that way just listening to a song, no doubt everything's going to turn out in the end.
Is there music that plays your heart to the beat (as Adele would say)? I got a list a mile long of tunage to tune my soul. For me though, this week is all about some quality time with good ole Clarence. You can check the "Jungleland" solo below, if you're so inclined. Skip to 4:15 if just want the Big Man and not all ten minutes of glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment