Jazz drummer-composer-pioneer Kenny Clarke has been warmly embraced by Lady Paris and seems little inclined to be free of her. He has structured "a fulfilling life," he says, in the seven years since he left the frenetic New York City scene to live in Paris.

In many ways he is a new man.

Clarke appears satisfied with his lot; he does well, he feels well, and he looks happy. A smile seldom left his face during a recent few hours of conversation.

He is something of a celebrity in Paris, particularly so in St. Germain, the students' quarter. And he's most accessible to his admirers.

People of all kinds waved, shouted greetings, or stopped to speak with "Kennee" at a sidewalk cafe facing Club St. Germain, the night club where the Clarke group appears six nights a week, to the delight of Parisian jazz fans and visiting tourists.

First an African engaged the drummer in conversation about his work problems. A little later, a svelte, well-formed young woman slowed down for a "hallo" before continuing on her undulating way.

Another passer-by paused, whispered something into Clarke's ear and apparently amused him; both men smiled, shook hands, and the man took a seat at another table.

A French musician stopped to question Clarke about a forthcoming recording session and then inquired where the drummer planned to spend his next four-week vacation.

It all struck a familiar chord.

The scene was out of a typical Warner Bros. picture, vintage 1930s, when the show-business celebrity or champion boxer or top-level hood or successful trial lawyer returns to "the old neighborhood," usually on New York City's lower east side. The only difference was the locale-and that the people treat Klook this way all the time.

"It would take a terribly exceptional opportunity to get me away from here," the drummer said. "I'd like to return to New York for a visit-and probably will later this year-but certainly won't stay on permanently. Why should I? I have what I want. Besides, I've spent too much time and effort creating something here."

He paused and then explained: "Recently I brought my son over and have enrolled him in school. This is a good environment in which to grow up. It's relaxed and real. The French understand the human being. Problems are discussed. Americans don't take the time."

Clarke said he feels that the family structure in France is sounder than in the United States.

"There's a closeness," he said. "When someone in the French family unit goes wrong, he's not rejected. All the members of the family try to find the reasons for it so that they can help straighten things out." Living among the French, Clarke said, one comes to terms with oneself and is better able to deal with situations and with people. Each person one meets is given "the benefit of the doubt"; the hand of friendship is extended.

"I try to be a good person," he said. "I mind my business, but when it comes to my professional life, I take care of business."

The conversation changed course. Familiar names and places in jazz were mentioned, and Clarke warmed to the subject closest to his heart.

"The new generation of American musicians is killing jazz," the 49-year-old musician declared. "The richness in the music is fast disappearing. I question the ambition of the younger jazzmen; their level of musicianship is far lower than what was common when I was breaking in."

It is Clarke's opinion that there is an unsettling feeling and undue aggression in the "new" music he has heard on recently released U.S. recordings. What is more, he said, he finds much of the "new" music "formless, empty and meaningless."

"Of course, I'd rather say nice things about today's