Re: Patti - Meltdown - Horses - 25 June 2005

[Andrew F Wilson <andrewfwilson>]

Patti Smith
By Peter Aspden
Financial Times, 28 June 2005

Patti Smith's 1975 debut album Horses announced itself with a swagger
that brilliantly combined literary arrogance with rock and roll
attitude. It was encapsulated by Robert Mapplethorpe's iconic
photograph on the cover and the album's infamous and devastating
opening line: "Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine."

It was an inspired decision by Smith to perform the album in its
entirety for the first time as the climax to her Meltdown festival on
London's South Bank. Unlike the work of so many of her contemporaries,
Smith's spiky, savvy material endures. The taut, stripped-down sound
of her band is fashionably minimal; the songs are punchy and erudite.

And then there is Smith herself, in her late 50s and as compelling a
presence as ever. She delivered a lesson in stagecraft to her numerous
wannabe followers, twinning conviction with showmanship, and
earnestness with sharp humour.

When she threw down the mike stand and adopted rock star poses at the
front of the stage she crackled with aggression; minutes later, she
urged us maternally to make sure we got our teeth checked twice a
year. She wore the thin tie and ripped jeans uniform of the
Mapplethorpe photograph, and then complained that her new boots were
pinching her.

The transition between posturing and chattiness felt effortless. She
was relaxed and confident throughout, a woman with nothing to prove,
and yet she was so transported by the end of the evening that she
managed entirely to forget the album's final track, "Elegie". The
band, led by long-time collaborator Lenny Kaye and supplemented by
ex-Television guitarist Tom Verlaine, was tight and note-perfect.

The Festival Hall has acquired something of a reputation for historic
concerts, with Brian Wilson's emotionally charged Pet Sounds and Smile
reconstructions, and a memorable performance of Love's Forever Changes
by that band's frontman, Arthur Lee. But those occasions felt like
nostalgia.

Horses, by contrast, is still the most successful marriage ever of
rock and poetry - living proof that a delicate line and a stomping
riff can teach each other a thing or two.

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