Orson Clarke: Bass On High

by Rik Roe

July 4th 2013 will forever have a singular significant meaning and impact for many of us.

This day marks the loss of Mr. Orson Clarke.

A great man, renowned musician and bassist, family to some and friend to many, as well as being a Grand-master of memory-making.

The musical community in and around Montreal will sorely miss one of it’s premiere musical staples. Forever and undeniably honored as being a walking “Encyclopedia of Funk”, Orson was a veritable-Host, citing a music library-like knowledge of over 10,000 works (of which we often tested, and never found him wanting, in either playing, singing, humming or discussing the song’s and their arrangements).

Music was always a huge and heavy part of Orson’s life: his “Tao”, that complemented and complimented everything that made him dear to those that knew him, from near and far.

Those that shared his stage; bathed in the fun that he encapsulated in the “Funk”Orson relished and loved so much.

Those that were in the audience, caught and basked in the notes he laid down: those “LOW-low” notes that made you groove, move, bump, and grind.

The love of his craft and art, was and is proof by example. Passion, persistence, effort and practice. Orson always had goals and dreams, and passions a many. Such passions require a great drive, a great spirit, and a great heart.

Orson Clarke always had a big heart.

Having recently endured health issues, Orson’s big heart necessitated the incursion of a pacemaker, making him no less than what he was, but more than likely more.

Erstwhile known as a versatile, low-down funktastic bassgasm of a Bass player, Orson had a career that has seen him traverse the globe, sharing his “jams, licks, plunking and slapping riddims” that garnered him a wealth of experience. Experience that he was always more than eager to succinctly share with friends and fellow musicians. He could be seen and heard over the years, eager to stop and talk shop at the drop of a hat. Always accessible, always friendly.

He was a man of many likes, passions, loves and interests. Yet above all else, family and friends ruled his roost, and he made his home wherever he planted and rested his feet.

Talk of his children forever caused sparkles in his eyes, and he could never not smile when he spoke of them.

They are His proudest achievements. They are His prized accomplishments.

Friends were a close second, and he wore them proud on his sleeve. His time was wisely chosen and wisely shared; and he kept his circle tight, regardless of the enormous amount of people he knew. He reached out to those he could, and friends did the same back. Life is always busy, but you always remembered having had “Orson time”.

One of Orson’s special “thangs” was that he gave you a nickname that he saw fit, and cherished when you awarded him one. I called him Bear (from the french word Ourson, which is close enough to Orson), and he called me Bo (based on our Dukes of Hazzard driving, and yes, my hair). Those close to him all know their nicknames, and I am so proud to have been part of that fold.

My son’s notwithstanding, were awarded the honor of being “Tank” for our eldest son Erik (Orson saw no need to deviate from our nickname for him), to our youngest son Iain being called “Brains” from his likeness to his favorite character from the Thunderbirds, one of Orson’s many loved TV shows, of which there were sooooo many.

My wife Fiona, had the primary nickname of “Wife”. Simply put, she was straight up told that if I was gone too long, Orson would steal her from me, purely based on “cooking skills”, always said with a laugh. There was that humor of his, hidden in that big heart.

Also, fluent and vocal in all his interests, Orson would ardently discuss, debate and argue his opinions to a fault, yet forever have a smile reserved for the end of the breath. The joy of the game was in the art of the discussion, and the coloring of the articulate. From street talk, to high language, to cursing in Klingon, to TV rhetoric and comic book quotes, Orson always had you guessing whether he was being purely serious, or seriously “funning” with you. Charm, any which way you looked.

From discussions related to family and life, to cars and superheroes, and to one of his most renowned of passions, music, Orson could enchant you for endless talks that would stretch on and on and on, yet you were always interested in the words that would come next. For those that ever listened to the talk, knew that Orson walked the talk.

A Trans Am driving, Batman crazy, board-game playing funster, Orson could be found offstage consuming all these passions in bits and pieces. A big kid at heart, Orson never had an inner child. His inner child was on display for one and all to see.

The first of three regrets that I have, is that I met Orson so much later in life. I wish I had met him earlier and been able to get to know him as well as those that had and did.

My second regret is that I had to relearn to see some things through the eyes of the “inner child” that Orson partook in every day. This I learned from Orson, and this I will forever cherish.

My third and last regret, is that I/we cannot spend more time with “my other brother, my other son,  friend, buddy, Obi-Wan/Yoda-esque mentor, fellow string-player, comic book reading, sci-fi watching, b-movie quoting, foodie,muscle car gearhead driver, “Bootsy-loving” low down groovin and rockin’ and rollin’ drum blasting bassmaster, joking and smiling Lover-of-Life”.

This is an Orson-esque sentence, and a grammatically charged truth.

Orson’s bass may have always been  known as a low-note instrument, but like his head and Spirit, Orson carried it high.

And On-high.

Respect, and Thanks for the time, the memories, the laughs and the music.

You gave us the gift of friendship, I hope we gave it back as fully.

I am  looking forward to seeing you again.

Amen, Mr. Clarke.