Tag Archives: Patti Smith

The ‘Horses’ she rode in on

Patti Smith just won the National Book Award for her memoir, Just Kids. That’s big news around here.  I’ve been listening to her records for decades, ever since Horses baffled, intrigued, and captivated me a few weeks after its release,  and her recent live recording of The Coral Sea was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever heard. Maybe Just Kids will get the kind of retrospective fact-checking and deflation that Bob Dylan’s Chronicles received, but it’s a terrific record of an artist making her way in the world, assembling the pieces of her identity, and deciding just what it is she’s really good at.

Tagged , , , ,

Friday finds

Patti Smith’s new book, Just Kids, is a great read. I’ll talk about it at greater length in a few days, but what was described to me as a memoir of her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe turns out to be a self-portrait of Smith training herself to become an artist. Fascinating stuff. And how cool is it that Smith will be headlining a benefit show for New Brunswick’s durable Court Tavern?

Maybe the eBook isn’t the wave of the future after all.

Rebranding the Taliban.

The Shire imposes Net censorship.

Tagged , ,

Friday finds

the-lovers

Multimedia artist Zineb Sedira is drawn to transitional realms like the coast of Mauritania, where the rotting hulks of two discarded ships became “The Lovers.” Read more about Sedira’s work here.

Allen Ginsberg, Philip Glass, Patti Smith, and Michael Swanwick. And a solar eclipse.

Speaking of Swanwick, he has a new monograph coming out about the life and work of Hope Mirrlees, who will be remembered by Ballantine Adult Fantasy cultists as the author of Lud-in-the-Mist. As with his excellent study of James Branch Cabell, Swanwick’s Mirrlees book is being published by Henry Wessells in both a trade paperback edition and a sumptuous handmade hardcover with all kinds of artistic touches.   

Ron Silliman says this is “the saddest death-of-a-bookstore story ever.”

Quite a few well-chosen words from and with Jules Feiffer.

An excellent profile of filmmaker Costa Gavras, whose breakthrough political thriller Z has been re-released in a sparkling new print for its 40th anniversary. A few months ago, an even more powerful Costa Gavras thriller, Missing, was reissued by Criterion in a typically features-packed DVD edition.

A 24-issue comic book series based on Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? starts rolling in June. Judging from the four different covers created for the debut issue, the look of the comics will have as much to do with Blade Runner as PKD’s novel. 

“I’ve read a number of these books in their original English, but these covers make them seem new and strange. As far as I can recall, no Bob Shaw novel I ever came across featured a one-armed woman in her undies and a man in a wheelchair watching the moon explode. It seems like the sort of thing I’d remember.”

Take a virtual tour of the sensory overload that was that Bowery punk palace CBGB, complete with Hilly Kristal in his office. All that’s missing are the patrons, of course, and the occasional surprise left behind by Hilly’s pooch.

Raise a cookie to the 40th anniversary of Sesame Street and watch this performance of Me, Claudius on Monsterpiece Theater. Maybe you’d like to check out this new book about the show’s creation. Then head over to MetaFilter, which has compiled clips of career highlights for some of the Sesame Street cast members, including Sonia Manzano (Maria) appearing in bit parts in Death Wish and B.J. and the Bear, Roscoe Orman (Gordon) in a blaxploitation flick, and Cookie Monster’s pitch for Munchos.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

Deeper waters

He regards his empty hand, the indifferent sea. If he were to step out upon that sea, would he be swallowed like an insect or supported like a king . . . Might he remove his slippers and walk upon the waves amongst the tiny fishes and draw from the swell a symphony of moans and hisses . . .

The world would be a dimmer place without Patti Smith, but her place in it would shine much more brightly if she ditched the rock star routine. Of all the titles Smith has assumed — poet, Bob Dylan acolyte, bandleader, shaman — “poet” has always been the one that worked best. Her mission in life is not to do lame covers of “Gimme Shelter” and “Midnight Rider,” or try to recreate the raw excitement of her 1975 debut album, Horses, 30 years after the fact. Her mission is her poetry, and her new recording The Coral Sea is a reminder of just how commanding she can be when she steps onto a stage armed only with words.

The Coral Sea, the collection of linked prose poems Patti Smith published in 1996, was a remarkable book: a tribute to her lost friend Robert Mapplethorpe that was dreamy, angry, despairing and ecstatic all at once. Unlike the wobbly recordings that marked her mid-1990s return to performance, The Coral Sea showed the world that Smith’s muse had continued to develop during her long absence from the spotlight, burning bright with the William Blake influence that had always sustained her best writing, but with a fresh strength and focus to go with the bombast that will always be part of her work. The book was a gorgeous art-object in itself, thanks to the accompanying photographs (most of them by Mapplethorpe), but the words created the brightest images and the deepest shadows.

How should I be charged? Should I be charged for wanting so much, for wanting so much bounty, for wanting so much beauty? For re-arranging eyes? For being one with nothing?”

The Coral Sea captures two live performances by Smith, accompanied by Kevin Shields, the man behind My Bloody Valentine’s dense wall of sound. His settings might be called aggressive ambient music: tidal washes of noise that challenge and enhance Smith’s readings without overwhelming them. The second performance sounds more aggressive and assured, but both offer enough nuances and fresh discoveries to repay close attention. Simply put, The Coral Sea is Patti Smith’s most powerful recording since Horses.

I’m not dismissing her other 1970s band albums — there are good and even great things to be found on all of them. But Horses/Horses, the release that paired her seminal debut album with a live 2005 recreation, sounded forced and unconvincing. Comparing the two versions, it was hard to decide if Smith and her bandmates had grown past the material or diminished to the point that they could no longer reach it.

There are no such doubts with The Coral Sea. Like M, searching for the Southern Cross in the night sky, Patti Smith steps out onto the waters of her inspiration and goes exploring, held up by the sheer force of her artistry.

By a happy coincidence, I bought The Coral Sea during a time when I had Songs for Drella, Lou Reed and John Cale’s tribute to Andy Warhol, on more-or-less continuous play on my car stereo. Both records are passionate, loving tributes to artists I had considered to be lightweights, if not outright phonies; both records are collaborations that tower above the recent individual works of their co-creators; both records, produced by consummately serious artists, forced me to reconsider my opinion of two men I’d thought of as fundamentally unserious.  

Oh yes — both records are also wonderful, captivating, multilayered works that demand and repay multiple listenings. So to all involved I say, thank you for the challenge.

Tagged , , , , , , ,