Patti Smith

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From Simon Schama’s new Financial Times profile of Patti Smith, a quick look at her as a political animal, and one who is greatly disappointed with the “good Republican” Barack Obama:

In 1980 she married Fred ‘Sonic’ Smith of MC5, took a more political turn and wrote with him, ‘People Have the Power.’ Politics didn’t come naturally to her, she says, but she had worked for Robert Kennedy’s senatorial campaign. When he was assassinated, she withdrew from the political world and it took the more activist Fred to quicken those combative political instincts. ‘In my usual way I consulted Blake and the Bible. ‘The meek shall inherit the earth.’ I certainly got that.’ Becoming interested in St Francis and making an informal pilgrimage to Assisi, she thought it something of a miracle when a pope came along who adopted the name and, apparently, the social evangelism that went with it. ‘They said there would never be a Jesuit pope nor a Franciscan one. Now they have both.’

Every so often the old fury of ‘Radio Baghdad‘ comes back. She remembers with quiet contempt a virtual conspiracy of media silence when a protest rally against the Iraq war, a hundred thousand strong, received barely any coverage. Though she rejoiced at the election of an African-American to the White House, like millions of others on the left she has not forgiven him for keeping Guantánamo open and prosecuting the war in Afghanistan. ‘To me he’s just like a good Republican.’ The ‘celebrity-driven, materialist’ culture saddens her, especially when she sees ‘three-year-olds being comforted by cellphones and video games instead of being told stories.’ The ongoing destruction of the environment fills her with yet more bleak sorrow. With a little sigh she returns to Blake. ‘More than ever as I get older I can feel what it takes to be him – a casualty of the industrial revolution while he sits at home hand-colouring prints of shepherds.’

But then, she says, resolutely, pushing back the gloom, ‘I am still a very optimistic person. I continue to do work with joy.’ The Beethoven strain comes through. The first opera she saw was Fidelio, a work so perfectly fitted to her temperament that she wanted to make a film of it. ‘I know the opening shots. I am Leonore/Fidelio, with waist-length hair. I pick up the scissors and cut it.'”•

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Smith, in 1979, singing Debby Boone’s hit, “You Light Up My Life,” on children’s show Kids Are People Too. She’s accompanied on piano by the song’s composer, Joseph Brooks, who would commit suicide in 2011 after being charged with serial sex crimes. A little more than two years later, Brooks’ son Nicholas was convicted of murdering his girlfriend.

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Patti Smith in 1978 visiting Mike Douglas to allegedly promote her book, Babel. Mike doesn’t approve of her looks. She didn’t have to put up with that crap in Penthouse. The host and guest surprisingly spend time discussing Muhammad Ali losing to Leon Spinks. Smith was apparently friends with Ali.

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A couple of punks and writers, Nick Tosches and Patti Smith, got together in 1976 as the former interviewed the latter for Penthouse, that classy journal published by Bob Guccione. An excerpt:

Penthouse: 

Has the women’s movement had anything to do with your growth as a poet?

Patti Smith: 

No. I remember getting totally pissed off the first time I got a letter that started off with ‘Dear Ms. Smith.’ A word like Ms. is really bullshit. Vowels are the most illuminated letters in the alphabet. Vowels are the colors and souls of poetry and speech. And these assholes take the only fuckin’ vowel out of the word Miss. So what do they have left? Ms. It sounds like a sick bumblebee, it sounds frigid. I mean, who the hell would ever want to stick his hand up the dress of somebody who goes around calling herself something like Ms.? It’s all so stupid.

I don’t like answering to other people’s philosophies. I don’t have any philosophy, I just believe in stuff. Either I believe in something or I don’t. Like, I believe in the Rolling Stones but not in the Dave Clark Five. There’s nothing philosophic about it. Whenever I’m linked with a movement, it pisses me off. I like who I am. I always liked who I was and I always loved men. The only time I ever feel fucked around by men is when I fight with a guy or when a guy ditches me. And that’s got nothing to do with women’s lib. That has to do with being ditched.

I don’t feel exploited by pictures of naked broads. I like that stuff. It’s a bad photograph or the girl’s ugly, then that pisses me off. Shit, I think bodies are great.

Every time I say the word pussy at a poetry reading, some idiot broad rises and has a fit. ‘What’s your definition of pussy, sister?’ I dunno, it’s a slang term. If I wanna say pussy, I’ll say pussy. If I wanna say nigger, I’ll say nigger. If somebody wants to call me a cracker bitch, that’s cool. It’s all part of being American. But all these tight-assed movements are fucking up our slang, and that eats it.

Penthouse: 

Do you have many encounters with groupies?

Patti Smith: 

Yeah, but they’re almost always girls. They’re usually pretty young, too. They try to act heavy and come on like leather. I always act as if they’re real cool. I never go anyplace with them. They bring me drugs and poetry and black leather gloves and stuff like that. It’s pretty funny. I don’t really know what they want. I mean, I think they’re actually straight girls.

The guys that I get, they’re always such great losers. Really pimply faced fuck-ups with thick glasses, but a lot of heart, y’know? My heart really goes out for those kids ’cause I can still taste what it feels like to be sixteen and totally fucked up. I remember everything. And I figure if I came out of it okay, then these kids are going to be okay, too. They just need to be told that they’re going to be okay, that’s all.”

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From Mike Douglas’ talk show. The above photo is a Mapplethorpe, of course.

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"Very soon I began seeing her byline in the rock papers, the major intellectual conduits of youth at that time." (Image by Klaus Hiltscher.)

The opening of “The Mother Courage of Rock,” Luc Sante’s appraisal of Patti Smith in the New York Review of Books:

“I first heard of Patti Smith in 1971, when I was seventeen. The occasion was an unsigned half-column item in the New York Flyer, a short-lived local supplement toRolling Stone, marking the single performance of Cowboy Mouth, a play she cowrote and costarred in with Sam Shepard, and it was possibly her first appearance in the press. What caught my eye and made me save the clipping—besides the accompanying photo of her in a striped jersey, looking vulnerable—was her boast, ‘I’m one of the best poets in rock and roll.’ At the time, I didn’t just think I was the best poet in rock and roll; I thought I was the only one, for all that my practice consisted solely of playing ‘Sister Ray’ by the Velvet Underground very loud on the stereo and filling notebook pages with drivel that naturally fell into the song’s meter. (I later discovered that I was just one of hundreds, maybe thousands, of teenagers around the world doing essentially the same thing.)

Very soon I began seeing her byline in the rock papers, the major intellectual conduits of youth at that time. Her contributions were not ordinary. She reviewed a Lotte Lenya anthology for Rolling Stone (‘[She] lays the queen’s cards on the table and plays them with kisses and spit and a ribbon round her throat’). She wrote a half-page letter to the editors of Crawdaddy contrasting that magazine’s praise for assorted mediocrities with the true neglected stars out in the world:

Best of everything there was
and everything there is to come
is often undocumented.
Lost in the cosmos of time.
On the subway I saw the most beautiful girl.
In an unknown pool hall I saw the greatest shot in history.
A nameless blonde boy in a mohair sweater.
A drawing in a Paris alleyway. Second only to Dubuffet.

Creem devoted four pages to a portfolio of her poems (‘Christ died for somebodies sins/but not mine/melting in a pot of thieves/wild card up the sleeve/thick heart of stone/my sins my own…’—if this sounds familiar, you expect the next line to be ‘they belong to me,’ but it’s not there yet).”

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Patti Smith singing “You Light Up My Life” on Kids Are People Too, 1980s:

Lotte Lenye, “Mack the Knife,” 1962:

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