My first encounter with The Big Man, other than a worn-out copy of a C-90 cassette tape of Born In The USA that my sister had, was in the Merrion Hotel, Dublin in 2004.

It was St. Patrick’s night and I was playing piano in a wine bar across from the hotel to an audience who seemed oblivious to my presence or any music whatsoever.
I had just finished singing The Boss’ ‘Secret Garden’ when I got a tap on the shoulder. I assumed it was another American tourist looking for something a little more, “Irishy, y’know for Patrick’s Day...” but towering over me was none other than Clarence Clemons himself.
I burst out laughing, but he stayed pretty deadpan, staring me down. Eventually a smile started, which developed into a laugh, baring the whitest set of delph I have ever seen. He asked me to join his table when I had finished my set.
Clarence was dating a girl at the time who was living in Ireland and had been spending a bit of time over here. I gave my number to his then manager, and told him if The Big Man needed anything while he was here, to call me.
The following morning his manager rang me looking for a photographer, a nice place for lunch and a recording studio. I had just started working in Jervis Lane Recording Studios, so I had that request boxed off. Nice first client to bring in.
I spent the next couple of days hanging out and recording a demo for Clarence’s girlfriend and arranged a photo-shoot for them. At this stage, word had got out that he was in town and I was getting a lot of texts from a plethora of over-zealous sax players and previously impossible-to-contact venue managers from around Dublin town.
I had a regular gig in Dermot Doran’s Voodoo Lounge on the quays, and I’d suggested to Clarence that he pop down and check out my band, The Holy Shakers. I had a feeling he would show up, but I didn’t count on him bringing his saxophone and playing the entire gig with us; plus another hour of soul and blues covers that myself and The Shakers were learning on the spot. There were a lot of Bodyform ad-like saxophone solos, let me tell ya. We gave him the nickname ‘Honeyboy’ which he liked, and it stuck.
The next day I was back in the studio recording The Big Man playing on songs I was working on for the The Holy Shakers record. We recorded about six songs, three of which made it on to the album.
Clarence was coming back and forth to Dublin every couple of months, and he’d always call to let me know when he was back. He invited me over to his place in Long Beach, Florida a couple of times. I never took him up on his offer.

A couple of years passed, where I didn’t hear from him much. He had married and divorced the girl he was seeing (which is Clarence all over). I didn’t see him again until The Boss brought The E-Street Band to the Odyssey Arena, Belfast in 2007.
Clarence had his own dressing-room, which he had converted into what looked like a makeshift fortune teller’s caravan. He would take your standard uninspiring dressing-room and cover it in Indian throws and rugs and fill it with an aroma of incense that could level a small elephant. It was very much The Big Man’s cave. His territory.
At this stage, I think he was starting to find touring really difficult. His back, hips and knees were in bad shape and he was playing on a stool for a lot of the gig. Still, his spirits were good.
The last time we hooked up it was during the run of the RDS E-Street shows in 2009. Clarence was staying in the Merrion Hotel, always under his alias Solomon King.
I’d like to say he was his usual larger-than-life self. However, Clarence was clearly suffering from a lot of pain and I could tell he wasn’t himself. He used to give his hotel rooms a similar make-over as his dressing-rooms, but this time it was just your normal posh hotel suite. The only thing out of the ordinary was the huge tank of oxygen beside his bed. On previous occasions, we had gone for a meal somewhere around Baggot Street. This time it didn’t happen as he was confined to bed. He played me some new stuff he was working on with his solo project Temple Of Soul, and I played him some of the stuff I was working on for Myna Birds. He told me to send on some tracks when they were ready and he would lay some sax down when he got back to Florida. We checked out some funny YouTube videos where he managed a few belly laughs. He showed me some photos of his son playing with Bruce in Sweden, which he was really proud of; an Aston Martin he was going to buy; and the latest lady in his life. I left the Merrion with another offer to come visit him in Florida when the tour finished. I was also quite depressed and worried about him.
Clarence’s nephew, singer-songwriter and fellow saxophonist Jake Clemons, was in Dublin last June on the last stop of a small European tour. He was opening up for us in Whelan’s, plus doing a couple of shows with The Frames. Jake was scheduled in for a recording session with me in my studio in Harold’s Cross, the Monday after his gigs finished. When he didn’t arrive that morning, I rang and got the terrible news that Clarence had had a stroke and his condition was critical...

People say you should never meet your heroes. Having been lucky or unlucky enough to have met a fair few people whose presence graced my bedroom walls back in Stillorgan when I was a kid, I can safely say there is an element of truth to that. Some were really sweet, others were people I could have done without meeting; better to have kept my memory of them safe as posters on a wall.
Clarence had his place on that bedroom wall of fame; that famous cover of ‘Born To Run’ with Scooter leaning on The Big Man. Over the past two weeks, I have been thinking a lot about that poster and about how surreal and unlikely it is that I ended up friends with Clarence Clemons from a chance encounter in a piano bar where I was a singing wallflower. I regret not taking him up on his offer to visit. I guess it was that Irish thing of not wanting to put anybody out. However, he was an unbelievably generous man, particularly with his time.
I don’t know why he took such an interest in me or the music I was making. I remember playing him ‘Underneath The Stars’ from the Shakers’ album, and he just laughed and played along and said, “Bruce ain’t gonna like this!” I was clearly doing my best Bruce Springsteen And The E-Street Band impression on that tune.
One thing is for sure – whatever they say about meeting heroes, I feel blessed and honoured to have spent some time with and gotten to know him, even just a little. Clarence ‘Honey Boy’ Clemons, Minister of Soul, Secretary of the Brotherhood. RIP Big Man.