Bruce Springsteen was entrusted with Clive Davis' final eulogy at the ceremony which took place yesterday in New York. Also making speeches were Alicia Keys, Dionne Warwick and Barry Manilow, three of the many artists whose careers have benefited from the great record company's work. Performances by Kenny G and Jennifer Hudson were heard. Below is the transcript of Springsteen's speech.
Clive Davis was the most humble person in the music industry (laughs). That's not exactly true. Clive was huge, grandiloquent, courageous and full of ideas, and he believed, believed, believed, believed with all his heart. He had a regal air and was born to direct… anything (in the original Springsteen plays with the meaning of the verb to run and with the title of his song: «He was born to run… everything», ed).
It was 1972, I was a twenty-two-year-old musician, half-artist, half-surfer who arrived in New York on the Lincoln Transit bus from Asbury Park. Two weeks earlier I had auditioned with the legendary John Hammond and the reception had been incredible, unthinkable, enthusiastic. “You have to play for Clive,” John told me. “I've had my successes and my failures, but Clive makes the final decisions.”
And so I came back after a couple of weeks. I arrive late in the morning with John at Clive's elegant office with nothing to lose but my whole world. Was I nervous? A little yes. As we took the elevator up to the floor I tried to convince myself: «I have nothing. Worst case scenario, I'll walk out of here with nothing, so I'll still have what I came in with.” It worked, more or less. We enter his office and, as soon as we cross the threshold, Clive goes around the desk, takes my hand in his and says: «John has told me a lot about you. I can't wait to hear you.” Very kind and welcoming.
I sit down and start strumming the guitar. I think I played him Growin' Up And Saint in the Citytwo songs that ended up on my first album. I finish and Clive smiles and simply says, “Welcome to Columbia Records.” And with those few words he changed my life. Forever. Since that day nothing has changed.
That day Clive showed a 22-year-old complete stranger the same warmth, kindness and respect that he would continue to show me, even after his success, for another 50 years. Nothing has ever changed his attitude. Clive was my main supporter at Columbia, encouraging me, promoting me, convincing the label to support me in every way possible. He was also a very sharp critic. When I gave him the first record he gave it back to me saying: «There's nothing in here that the radio can play! And you want to go on the radio, right?”. “Yes, I want to go.” I really wanted it.
And so he sent me home. I wrote Spirit in the Night And Blinded by the Light in my miserable little bohemian apartment near the beach. Those two songs completely changed the profile and perception of the album. Clive even went so far as to film himself reciting the lyrics of Blinded by the Lightas if it were the work of a Shakespeare from New Jersey. It was embarrassing, but he insisted on sending that video to Columbia offices across the country. Exhilarating.
For the rest of his long life, even when our professional relationship was coming to an end, he never missed a single one of my concerts in New York. He made sure to be at practically every important event in my career. Just a few months ago he came to see me at the Land of Hope and Dreams Tour in Newark. He was 94 years old and stood for three hours! Every time I saw it it always took me back to that golden moment. You know, the moment when, if you have talent and also luck on your side, an artist emerges if the right person is sitting on the other side of the desk listening to you. That person for me, today and forever, was Clive Davis.
With his passing, the world of which Clive was an extraordinary representative also vanished. It was the world of the great record producers: Berry Gordy, Ahmet Ertegun, Mo Ostin, Jerry Wexler, John Hammond, Jac Holzman. Men who defined, loved and supported the record industry from the seat they sat in behind that desk to the bottom rung of the industry. Clive changed the lives of many artists and performers. Not a day goes by while sitting on the large porch of my house, surrounded by my large cars, my large family, in front of my large garden, without Clive coming back to my mind.
He has led audiences to a tremendous amount of powerful and inspirational music. And he didn't just love music: he loved the people who created that music, even if they were complicated, even if they were pain in the ass. He loved them, deeply and forever. With his loyalty he made me understand that this was how he had always seen me too, and I reciprocated that affection. I have never felt anything but love from Clive.
So, today can a boy with a guitar still climb to the top floors of a New York office and find himself catapulted into the history of music? I don't know this. I don't know if those times still exist. But as someone who has made that journey, I can say that it was an incredible, indescribable and wonderful miracle. And for me that miracle will always have only one name: Clive Davis. Only love, Clive. Thank you.
