Spread the Social Love:

The Lowdown: Interview with Patti Smith

"I like life, I like the work of man, and I like all the possibilities; of a new book to read, or a new movie, or new music, new children."

by Lydyloo, July 6th, 2012 and has been Read 3542 times.
Last Edited by: Chris MUG5 Maguire July 6th, 2012.

Last week in Wales, proto-punk goddess Patti Smith performed at her sold-out gig in support of her eleventh studio album, Banga. She is a poet, singer, artist, worker, and has over the past four decades helped to revolutionise the way we think about and understand poetry, music and performance. And it was on the 26 June, before her performance at Cardiff’s Coal Exchange, that I met with her.

I discovered I’d be interviewing Patti Smith – someone who has rarely given interviews in recent years – little over an hour before we met. In what felt like no time at all I was being led through black curtains, closed doors and behind the stage that she would soon perform on. There I was introduced to the rock icon, quietly sat behind a door signing t-shirts for her fans because, she said, “They like this kind of thing.”

Hardly stopping to shake my hand, and without my asking, she said I could place my dictaphone on the table. As I sat across from Patti we talked about Wales for a while, and her connection to it; her ancestors who were shepherds, whose history and precise location she was still trying to pin down. It was a conversation she extended to her audience hours later as she told them “I don’t know what town to claim. I guess I gotta claim the whole fucking country.”

WATCH // 'Because the Night'

As we began to chat, it became impossible not to warm to her given her lack of pretence, and how grounded she seemed. A gold cross hung from her neck, she had made plaits in her hair, and wore jeans on which she’d drawn a peace sign, among other patterns, with a black marker. And, similarly, onstage her performance was unfettered by grandiose or a sense of superiority. It was more about connectivity with those in front of her, and paying homage to life and the environment; amplified through the speakers as she shouted out “We salute you, Mother.”

Despite the immediacy, improvisation and sense of apocalypse one can expect from a Patti Smith performance, and despite being labelled a genius by her own peers, what is discernable – from what you are about to read, and more generally – is that she shies away from the reverence bestowed upon her. She is both humble and humbling.

This is my time with Patti Smith.

Lydia Hughes: It was back in 2007 that you released your last record, Twelve. Why did you decide that now was the right time to release Banga?
Patti Smith: Well, the last album I did of original material was in 2004, which was Trampin’, which was a very political album. A lot of it was sort of inspired by the actions of the Bush administration. Radio Baghdad, of course, because I was opposed to the Bush administration going into Iraq, and it was in some ways a very angry album. And it reflects the loss of my parents, and my feelings about our political situation.

And then between that I had a lot of art exhibits. I was developing my photographs and very more involved in the visual arts, and finishing my book that I had promised Robert Mapplethorpe. And that occupied a lot of my time.

And touring. My kids were still young after my husband died and I was careful to tour around their school schedules, and now that they grew I was able to travel more. So I did a lot of touring and gathering up new ideas.

And when Just Kids came out it was very successful and I toured the book, so I was very involved in many things and it was just…it was time. I mean, finally I had a lot of ideas, a lot of new songs, a lot of things to share. And, happily, this album is not fettered by grief. There are political overtones because [I’m] very concerned about our environment; and those are the political overtones of the record. I’m very happy now; I’m healthy; my kids are grown.

Lydia Hughes: And they’re actually on the album as well, aren’t they?
Patti Smith: Yes. Jackson plays a lot of guitar on the record. He plays the solo on ‘Maria’ and a lot of guitar. And Jackson and Jesse and I do the Neil Young song together, live.

I’ve never let myself be pressured by the music business, or by career choices. I just do what I think is right in terms of the work.

Lydia Hughes: I was interested in that as your last song choice, actually. You said you wanted the ending of the record to be like a breaking dawn, and then you heard Neil Young’s song and that fitted the bill…
Patti Smith: Yes, I mean ‘Constantine’s Dream’ is an improvisation that is centred around art versus nature and, actually, the exploits of man versus nature. And it ends quite darkly with Columbus having a dream of an environmental apocalypse. And I really didn’t wanna end my album so darkly. So I thought I would write something that, as you said, would feel like, after so much darkness, dawn broke. And I happened to hear ‘After The Gold Rush’ in a café and I thought, you know, it was the right type of language, the right sentiment; having hope, but also a cautionary tale. So I decided I would sing Neil’s song because he had written what I had wanted to say.

LISTEN // 'Maria'

Lydia Hughes: Over time, despite being affiliated with various collectives like St Mark’s Poetry Project, you’ve always managed to present yourself as someone who is individualistic in their approach to poetry and music. What do you think doing a cover like ‘After The Gold Rush’ does to that individualistic image?
Patti Smith: I mean, I just do my work, you know. I don’t really identify with any particular trends. I don’t feel any kind of pressure in that way. I’ve never let myself be pressured by the music business, or by career choices. I just do what I think is right in terms of the work.

For me the most important thing is the work and doing good work. And whether or not it’s the right choice for, you know, perpetuating one’s career or not, for me I’m always trying to do something that hopefully is inspiring or insightful, and that I can be proud of.

There’s no real attempt to set myself apart, it’s just that I don’t run by any rules. It’s the same as I don’t have a religion but I go to church. I go to churches all the time. I went into the church yesterday in Wolverhampton. They have a church that was built in the tenth century, you know, to light candles, to reflect, and to say a prayer. But I’m not fettered by any type of religion. I just proceed the way I wish. So I think I’m just free.



Lydia Hughes: Banga, it does feel like a very spiritual album. And you’re even considered as someone who has manifested the image of the poet as a privileged seer. Would you agree with that?
Patti Smith: I mean, that’s really flattering…but I mean certainly, Arthur Rimbaud, that was Arthur Rimbaud’s whole philosophy when he was quite young. You know, people like Jim Morrison or Allen Ginsberg or William Blake, I think that this is in a way a stance that people have taken or a calling that people have. I don’t really think of things on those terms because I’m not self-analytical. I do my work, and my main preoccupation is whether its good work and worthy work.

And in terms of, you know, what one might call me; William Burroughs said I was shamanistic, someone else might say something else, and these things are wondrous things and flattering, but for myself I operate purely in just delivering the work the best that I can. And really its up to other people to analyse what I’m doing because I’m not very analytical.

Lydia Hughes: ‘This Is The Girl’ is written about Amy Winehouse. Why did you feel the need to write this?
Patti Smith: I was very sad when she died. For quite a while I was concerned with her in a parental way. As a fellow artist, she has such an important voice, and unique. She was gifted. She had a comprehension of jazz and R&B, and a very modern spin on her delivery. And I admired her.

But also she’s the same age as my children, and I was concerned for her health and welfare because even though I don’t know her it seemed like even from afar, and even after you filter out all kinds of gossip and untrue things, that she was heading towards trouble. And I did worry about her. From a distance I used to think perhaps if I could meet her maybe I could talk to her about taking better care of herself, but I never got the opportunity to do that.

LISTEN // 'This is the Girl'

So I felt very badly when she died. And I wrote a little poem for her not expecting to write a song. It just came out. I just wrote a little poem. But I was working on the poem in Electric Lady when we were finishing our album and my bass player, Tony Shanahan, had written some new music and he wanted me to hear it. And, truthfully, I was only half-listening to it; he was playing it for me on like a boom box or something. I was working on my poem and then I realised that his music and my poem were a perfect marriage. The cadence was the same, the feel was the same, and just like that I could sing it. And so we decided because it was so natural to just go in and record it. We were all at the studio, and we just recorded it, very simply. So I didn’t really set out to write a song it just happened.

Some songs happen like that to me. They’re like little gifts, because they just come without labour. You know I wrote this little poem, the music appeared, and we recorded it very simply. So it’s a nice little song.

For me, one difference is that I’m not a musician who also has a poetic streak, or writes poetry. I definitely started as a poet.

Lydia Hughes: Do you consider Banga, or any of your other records, to be your autobiography?
Patti Smith: I write all the words to all our records, so they don’t stand as autobiography but they are always a reflection of the things I’m concerned about, what I’m reading, the people who we lose, you know. On 'Horses' it was Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison, on 'Trampin’' ‘Mother Rose’ I wrote when my mother died. You know, on this record, I knew Maria Schneider in the 70s, and I wrote a song for her called ‘Maria’.

My studies, you know, what books I’m reading; on 'Horses' I was reading Peter Reich’s Book of Dreams, and that’s reflected in ‘Birdland’. You can go through each record and see what I’m reading. I was reading The Revelations when we did Easter, and that’s reflected in a song like ‘Seven Ways of Going,’ a lot of Rimbaud, which is reflected in the song ‘Easter’. And when I was seeing Fred, my future husband, the songs that reflected my love for him, which was ‘Because The Night,’ ‘Frederick,’ ‘Dancing Barefoot’; three important songs to us that all reflect Fred. So there are some obviously personal things, those are the three songs to Fred. ‘We Three’ I wrote at CBGB’s when I was seeing Tom Verlaine. But most of my songs seem to reflect ideas or some piece of little visionary bit. ‘April Fool,’ I was reading The Overcoat by Gogol. There’s bits about Gogol’s life in that song, and of course he was born of April Fools’ Day. So I’m consistent in the way that I make records. Probably the most personal record is Gone Again. Almost all of the songs on Gone Again reflect the loss of my husband. Very painful album. So...

You know, in terms of autobiography, one can say that if this record reveals anything, one thing it reveals – I think by the sound of my voice and its energy – is that I’m doing good. I’m happy, healthy, and well engaged in many ideas, and enthusiastic about the good and bad in the world, and being involved in environmental concerns, but also studying art and poetry.



I like life, I like the work of man, and I like all the possibilities; of a new book to read, or a new movie, or new music, new children.

Lydia Hughes: You’re obviously hugely invested in poetry. So when you take something like poetry, which is considered a ‘high’ art form, and merge it with rock, the ‘common denominator’ art, how do you reconcile it?
Patti Smith: Many people have done this, I mean…Jim Morrison. Grace Slick, when you look at the songs of Jefferson Airplane. The 60’s, late 60s, were filled with poetry. Jimi Hendrix, his songs reeked of poetry, and Bob Dylan, of course, one of our great poet-songwriters. There’s nothing unusual about that. For me, one difference is that I’m not a musician who also has a poetic streak, or writes poetry. I definitely started as a poet.

I’ve been writing poetry since I was quite young. And my language, because of my energy…I was in my early 20s – tremendous energy – trying to read poetry got boring for me, tedious. It just wasn’t enough. And, you know, I was a child of rock and roll. I was born after World War II and saw the whole evolution of rock and roll. I’d loved rock and roll. I completely embraced it. So rock and roll gave me the freedom and a field, an energetic field, in which to present my poetry. So that might be a slight difference from others.

But I still, even after all these years – that was like four decades ago – I wrote “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine” when I was 20, which was 45 years ago. But I still understand her. I still feel like that, you know. I still can access that. But on the other hand I’ve been a widow, I’ve had children who are grown, I’ve lived as the citizen as well as the artist, so I have a broader scope. And still, you know, I wrote ‘Banga’ as one chord. Its about as common denominator as you can get. Its still in my blood to play feedback on an electric guitar and kick my amplifier if its acting up.

On the same hand, I’m still aspiring to write, as you said, in the realm of poetry; the highest way I can express myself.

LISTEN // 'Banga'

Lydia Hughes: You’ve spoken about a few of your influences already, but to what extent did Gregory Corso and the other Beat writers influence you?
Patti Smith: I really didn’t read the Beat poets when I was younger. I was really deeply into the Irish poets, and I was into Yeats, and I was into Dylan Thomas, and I was into the French poets, and deeply into Rimbaud. I didn’t really embrace the Beat poets until I knew them as my friends. I came to New York with Robert [Mapplethorpe] when I was about 22, and I met all of these people; William Burroughs, Gregory [Corso], and Allen Ginsberg. And they were my mentors and friends, and they were my friends till they died. You know, I read all of their work, and they influenced certain things.

The Wild Boys by William Burroughs influenced a lot of the language in Land. Johnny is sort of an extension of his Johnny in The Wild Boys. And later years I came to really appreciate Allen’s poetry. I studied a lot of Allen’s poetry, and performed a lot of Allen’s poetry. And Gregory taught me a lot about performing, ‘cause Gregory did not like to be bored. And I had to be on my toes if I was going to perform or read in front of Gregory ‘cause he liked action.

So I learned different things from each of them but, more than that, I learned how to conduct myself. Allen: politically but also charitably. I did a lot of benefits with Allen for the Tibetan Buddhists, for political causes, for the anti-war movement. William really taught me about keeping one’s name clean, not doing anything that’s not true to yourself. And to make the right choices, and to build your name so that maybe you wont make so much money now, or maybe you’ll have to turn down things that could have given you more fortune or fame, but in the long run those things might taint your credibility. And so I learned a lot about conducting myself from William.

Each one of them I learned something from; not just in terms of work but as a human being. Allen just embraced humanity. I’ve sat with Allen at book signings where he would sit for like six hours where a couple of thousand people wanted their book signed and he signed every one with a smile. And so I learned really something unexpected from all of them. A good teacher teaches you more than learning or even mystical or high knowledge. A good teacher will teach you something about being a more holistic human being, being like Jesus. He was the greatest teacher of all. In the end, what did he say? Throw out everything else, but here’s just one thing: love one another. If we just did that the world would be fine.

Photo credit: Richard Pak