"G-L-O-R-I-O-U-S""G-L-O-R-I-O-U-S"
PATTI
SMITH
Gypsy Tea Room, Dallas
July 20, 2000
Last
time Patti set foot in Big D was 20 years ago at the infamous Longhorn Ballroom
(site of the Sex Pistols' Dallas debacle, among other noteworthy events). Since
then, she's gone through success, stardom, retirement, wife-and-motherhood (in
partnership with ex-MC5/Sonic's Rendezvous guitar demon Fred "Sonic" Smith --
some women will go to any lengths to avoid giving up their surname!), grief
and loss, and finally, in middle age, achieved transcendance.
No longer the gawky misfit who embraced poetry, Bohemianism, and rock'n'roll
as a way out of her humdrum New Joisey Catholic existence, she stands today
as a weathered but charismatic performer whose stage persona and creative thang
both flow from a deep, deep well of feeling and, uh, spirituality.
"We got into town yesterday and walked around everywhere," she tells the audience.
"There was not a soul around ANYWHERE." (Shades of Stones' "Get Off of My Cloud,"
anyone? Uh, Patti, this being Dallas, maybe they were out MAKING MONEY or somethin'
rather than hanging around Deep Ellum on a Wednesday afternoon.) "I was hoping
SOMEBODY would show up...maybe 30, 40, 50 people." She's too modest -- there
must be a coupla hundred of the faithful, old grayheads mixing with the multiple-body-piercing-and-tattoo
crowd, crammed between the Tea Room's bar and stage.
The evening had started with a strong psych vibe -- the smell of marijuana was
immediately discernable upon entering the hall, causing at least one former
adolescent reprobate to reflect on how simple life could be if one could only
have what one wants, and prior to Patti and band taking the stage, the sound
system provided Miles' "Kind of Blue" (Coltrane and Cannonball kicking out the
CEREBRAL jams) followed by Hendrix' "Electric Ladyland" to set the proper mood
of exploration. Throughout the show, there are back-projected images -- shades
of the Fillmore ca. '67 or something (they have the same thing at Fort Worth's
Ridglea Theater, which is one reason I'm dying to have my own band, the Occasionals,
play there).
The band hits hard with something driving and droney, Patti claiming center
stage with her young band, led by old comrade Lenny "Nuggets" Kaye, who's made
the transition from skinny rock'n'roll kid to skinny rock'n'roll old man rather
nicely and remains one of the most subtle, varied, and sensitive accompanists
a performer like Patti could hope for. He's also one of the toughest rhythm
guitarists you'll ever hear anywhere (the records only hint at his prowess),
a fact which almost makes up for the absence of Gary Rasmussen and Patti's son
Jackson (who, rumor has it, has inherited his late father's mojo on guitar),
whom I hoped against hope might turn up onstage in Dallas.
Patti declaims like a character from Joyce, or at least Van Morrison on "Astral
Weeks," roaring in her wrecked voice that still carries surprising power and
authority, her hands as expressive as her face and voice, now dancing around
her head, now clenched in rage or supplication, now raised above her head, palms
open, in a gesture of triumph and release which the crowd picks up on and mimics
every time. She undercuts the vibe between songs with her down-to-Earth patter,
repeatedly grinning and waving "Hey everybody!" like an eight-year-old rather
than the 50-something artist she is. (They respond every time with declarations
of love that would sound corny if I hadn't just witnessed the performance she
gave.)
She dons spectacles to read a poem from Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" while the band
builds a dense field of sound behind her, then picks up a bass clarinet to wail
like Ornette or Beefheart. You get the sense that this is the way it was in
some Bowery dive ca. '75, when it was just her and Lenny, no band, no records,
nothing but mystique and belief. A reggae-ish number (sorry, not a fan, dunno
many titles except the "hits") has the flavor of '70s NYC Fender janglers like
Television, the Voidoids, or even the, uh, Talking Heads. There's a preponderance
of slow songs in the middle of the set, but "the hits" are there in force too
to bring the energy level up when things start flagging -- "Dancing Barefoot"
(in a monstrously powerful version), "About a Boy" (her son or Cobain? YOU decide!!!),
"Because the Night" (the Springsteen-penned hit that was burning up the airwaves
when I first hit Texas back in '78, which my sweetie thought was a Natalie Merchant
song!), "Gung Ho" (about Ho Chi Minh, of course?), and the climactic, cathartic
"Rock and Roll Nigger" (a song about the young Michelangelo, 20-years-old, picking
up a hammer and chisel in his rage and pulling the body of a god out of a block
of stone instead of smashing someone's head; who else but La Smith would have
the sheer BALLS to mention Michelangelo, Jesus Christ, and Hendrix in the same
breath, "Outside of society..."). G-L-O-R-I-A indeed.
- Ken Shimamoto
