Sometimes it was a simple recitation of facts and sobriquets (“best-selling author!” or “Socrates of the Saxophone!”), other times Bruce would take a leaf out of the Stax-Volt treasury and get the audience to spell his name a la Otis: “‘C’ is for cool, which only a foolish man would dispute! ‘L’ is for lean and mean! ‘A’ is ‘cause he’s the ace of the saxophone!….”
Bruce and Clarence were Scooter and the Big Man, they were black and white, they were big and small. It was still a bold move in the early ’70s, especially in some parts of the country, to have an African-American in your band, much less one you danced with, rubbed butts with and engaged in a long soulful kiss with; the country was only a few years out of the Civil Rights movement and there are stories of gigs the band didn’t get and hotels they were told they weren’t welcome in.
Questo necrologio è bellissimo. Fatevi un regalo: leggetelo anche se non avete mai ascoltato una loro canzone, visto un loro concerto, appeso un loro poster. E non solo perché, in questo caso, non c’è regalo che basti a compensare quel che vi siete persi.