Uncut UK – October 2019

76 • UNCUT • OCTOBER 2019

peoplewouldrathermeshutuporthinkit’snotmyplace.I canhear

themthinking,‘Whydon’tyoujustplayrock’n’roll?’ButI didn’tenter

rock’n’rolltosay,‘Hey,brothersandsisters,putyourhandstogether.’

I alwaysfeltthatrock’n’rollwasa forumforspiritualissues,political

issues,revolutionaryissues,greatfun,image.It encompassesit all.”

Smith’sstatusgrowsdailybeyondbeinga musician,photographer

andartist.Sheis nolongercontentwithcastingspells– shedemands

action,tryingtoresurrectwhathappenedinthe’60s,thenexus

whereartmeetsrevolution.“IcanrelatetoThomasPaine,”she

explains.“WhenhewroteCommonSense, hewastryingtostir

peopleup,getthemthinking.I alsowanttounderstandMartin

LutherKingandGandhi.I wantedtounderstandhowoneperson,

onehumanbeingcouldrallymillionsand topple a colonial power.

Iwantedtoseewhathisprocesswas.”

NEWYORKAND

SANFRANCISCO, 2007

S

MITHhastravelleda considerabledistance– creatively

speaking– sinceHorses. In2005,shereceivedtheOrdredes

ArtesetdesLettresfromtheFrenchministryofculture;two

yearslater,shewasawardeda placeintheRockAndRollHallOf

Fame.Thesetwoawards,inparticular,underscorethediversitythat

encapsulatesheruniquerole.Ononehand,shecanbefoundcurating

theMeltdownFestival– andreadingherepicelegyforRobert

Mapplethorpe,TheCoralSea, accompaniedbyMyBloodyValentine’s

KevinShields– orplayinga valedictoryshowatCBGB’sclosingnight.

Ontheother,theresheis ontheprestigiousNewYorkTimesbestseller

listforJustKids, hermemoiraboutherlifewithMapplethorpe.

“PeoplerespondtotheworkthatI do,”shesays.“ButI wouldn’t

wantpeopletothinkthatmakesmeofanyspecialilk.If peopleseem

nervous,I domybest,unlessI’mreallywipedout,tohelpthemfeel

lessnervousbecause...oncetheygottoknowme,theywouldfind

out I’m just... who I am. I’m consciousofmygiftsandI’mreallyglad

I’mmyself,butI’mnota goddessand

I’mnota geniusandI’mnota great

eacheroranythinglikethat.”

Thereis verylittleoftheplayful,

kittenishPattiSmiththelasttimewe

peaklaterthatyear.Withherlong,

bedraggledhairandgrannyglasses,

shefullyembracestheroleoforacle,

ageandelderstateswoman.Shehas

ntensifiedherroleoftruth seeker,

ravellingtofindwhat

s realandwhatis a dream,andin

heenddecidingthatthereis little

differencebetweenthetwo.The

ruthis notoutthere,it’sin here,

heseemstoindicate.

“I’mprettyresilient.I findevery

dayfascinating.It’sworthliving

usttosee,watchmykidsgrow,

reada newbook.Tolookatthesky,

thechangesinweather.Inthemost

difficultoftimes,I’mjusthappytobealive.I thinkthat’sbecauseI

appreciatebeingalive.I thinkthat’swheremystrengthlies.I’veseen

a lotofpeoplenotmakeit,andthatjustmakesmeunderstandallthe

morehowpreciouslifeis,andI’mdeterminedtomakethebestofit.

“Asforwhat’sahead,”shemuses,“I’vealwayssaidmyrelationship

torock’n’rollis likemilitaryduty.I feellikethere’sallkindsofthings

thatI canbedoing.I feelsomewhatrecruitedthesedaysforcertain

things,andI’mhappytobeaboard,butif I feelthatit’stimeforthis

particularsoldiertofadeaway,I willfadeaway,intootherthingsthat

I do.I wouldbeveryhappytospendtherestofmylifewritingand

painting.I’mnotata lossforhowtocommunicatemyideas.ButI still

feelthatmybandandI havethingslefttosay.Andif I getthe sense

thatI’vecompletedmytourofduty,thenI’llmoveon.”

Shegathersupherbagofbooks,andslipsherjacketoverher

shoulders.Sheturns before she reaches the door, and I swear,

Isee her salute.

PATTI SMITH

MANNY CARABEL/WIREIMAGE; HAL HOROWITZ/WIREIMAGE

“SOMEDREAMSAREN’T

DREAMSATALL...”

A previewofPattiSmith’snewmemoir,

YearOf TheMonkey

I

N2016,PattiSmithfound

herselfhavingbreakfast

onemorningattheWow

CaféonSanDiego’sOcean

BeachPier.Overcoffeeand

cinnamontoast,sheruminatedon

a numberofsymbolsandportents

shehadrecentlyencountered.

Mysterioushotelsigns,discarded

candywrappers,yellowed

newspaperclippings,a tie-dyed

GratefulDeadT-shirt

emblazonedwith

JerryGarcia’sface.

Theseauguries

coincidedwithmore

earthlyconcerns:

thefrailhealthof

twodearfriends,the

formerBlueÖyster

Cultproducerand

managerSandy

Pearlmanandthe

playwrightSam

Shepard.Weighing

upallthese

elements,mystical

orotherwise,during

herbreakfast,Smith

wistfullyintuitsa

deeperpurpose:

“Cyclesofdeathandresurrection,

butnotalwaysin thewaywe

imagine,”shewritesin herlatest

memoir,YearOfTheMonkey.

Smith’sfirstmemoir,JustKids,

wasanelegyfortheartistRobert

Mapplethorpe,withwhomshe’d

livedandworkedduringthe’70s.

Itsfollow-up,M Tra in, addedup

toanelegy,too,forSmith’slate

husband,Fred“Sonic”Smith,. Likeits

predecessors,YearOfTheMonkey

feelslikea loveletter– thistimeto

PearlmanandShepard,whosepaths

convergedwithSmith’sin 1971.

ButSmith’sworkhasbeenfreighted

bydeathfromtheoutset– “Where

yougoingwiththatgunin your

hand?” sheaskedonherdebutsingle,

a coverof“HeyJoe”,whileHorses

containedin memoriamstoJim

MorrisonandJimiHendrix.Hermost

recentrunofalbums,recordedwith

the Sidewalk Collective, are elegies to

FrenchpoetsAntoninArtaud,Arthur

RimbaudandRenéDaumal.

ForSmith,thewayswetreatthe

deadarea markofhowweregard

theliving.Butthelivingarenotalways

asobligingasthedead.InYearOfThe

Monkey, Smith’scadgesa liftfroma

youngcouplewhoaredrivingtoSan

Francisco– whoinsistonnotalkingon

theroute.Thenthereis Cammy,with

her car boot fullofpickingjars,who

won’tstoptalking.

Andthereis Ernest,

maybeMexican,

maybeRussian;his

eyeskeptchanging

kea moodring,

rompuregrey

o thecolourof

chocolate”,and

whosemotivations

emainmysterious

andwhosechat

ncludeslineslike,

Somedreamsaren’t

dreamsatall,just

notherangleof

physicalreality.”

Smithwearsall

hesemetaphysical

meanderingslightly

• andlargelywithgoodhumour.
  ButthepassagesinvolvingShepard
  aremoregrounded.Shevisitshim
  athomein Kentucky,whereheis
  finishinghisfinalbook,TheOneInside.
  Thewritinghereis lessdreamlike,
  morefocused,fullofdeeppathos.
  “Everybodydies,hehadsaid,looking
  downatthehandsthatwereslowly
  losingtheirstrength,thoughI never
  sawthiscoming.ButI’malrightwithit.
  I’velivedmylifethewayI wanted.”
  In theend,shefindsherselfon
  VirginiaBeach,clutchinga brown
  paperbagcontaininga worncopyof
  a RobertoBolañobook.“Samis dead,”
  shewrites.“Mybrotheris dead.My
  motheris dead.Myfatheris dead.
  Myhusbandis dead.Mycatis dead.
  Andmydogwhowasdeadin 1957
  is stilldead.YetstillI keepthinking
  thatsomethingwonderfulis aboutto
  happen.Maybetomorrow.”Maybe
  tomorrow indeed.MICHAEL BONNER

Performing

atNewYork’s

ApolloTheater,

April 4, 2019

WithLenny

Kayeon

CBGB’s

closingnight,

October15,

2006