AUSTIN--Patti Smith's free show in Waterloo Park Friday was a failure on her
terms, as she tried unsuccessfully to trigger a global people's revolution.
But the performance was one of the most fascinating I've ever seen, and an
uneven but ultimately breathtaking rock 'n' roll show.
The centerpiece of her blueprint for revolution was "Gung Ho," a sprawling,
unscripted fantasia on Ho Chi Minh and American imperialism. As music, it was
a mess. Patti put on her glasses and opened up a book as the band began
grinding out a slow, repetitive groove. After a couple of minutes, Patti
stepped to the mike and looked for a place to jump in. She entered
tentatively twice before guitarist Oliver Ray gave her a big nod and she came
in at the right place, speaking lines such as "Wake, my little one" and "the
seed of revolution" as the band continued its slow grind. From time to time
they'd all join in on the chorus: "Gung... Ho!... Gung... Ho!"
Smith tried valiantly to ignite the piece. First, she beckoned the band
around her in a tight circle as she turned her back to the audience,
continuing to read from the book. After a few minutes, she dragged the mike
stand to the side of the stage, away from the band, and tried from there.
After 15 minutes, she began to lead the audience in a call-and-response
chant. "Gung!" she yelled. "Ho!" screamed back The People. Then she started
preaching.
"'Gung ho' is a phrase that means people working together," she instructed.
She implored us to make this night a remarkably beautiful night by planting a
seed that would blossom into a collective voice for the people of the world.
Then, to hammer her point home, the band launched into "People Have the
Power," a failed bit of AOR propaganda dating from her first comeback a
decade ago. Smith's palpable joy and positive energy were almost enough to
carry the lame song over.
When the band came out for the encore, you could feel the initial excitement
turn to apprehension as they noticed the book in her hand. "Oh no, she's
gonna read again," somebody near me muttered. But when it turned out to be
"Rock 'n' Roll Nigger," the crowd exploded, and the band exploded with them
into the first verse. Patti grabbed the Communist flag that had been draped
over an amplifier and tied it around her head as she beat the crap out of an
electric guitar. "This is the only gun you need!" she screamed, before
breaking all six strings as an offering to us. "People, the time is now. Wake
up! The streets belong to us!"
She picked up her clarinet and started squawking into the microphone, Jay Dee
Daugherty kicked over half of his kit, Lenny Kaye and Oliver Ray leaned their
guitars against their amps, and the Patti Smith Group left the stage to
deafening feedback squalls that gradually faded away.
It was a remarkable ending to a remarkable show that had begun four hours
earlier with the Alejandro Escovedo Orchestra. The band was in fine form and
Alejandro was funny and charming in front of the hometown crowd, describing
one of his songs as "our power ballad--like Winger." The thought-provoking
stuff was counterbalanced by straight-ahead doses of rock 'n' roll, in
particular the closing "I Wanna Be Your Dog," with accompaniment from the
Tosca String Quartet.
The rest of the night couldn't compare to the Escovedo/Smith experience. By
the time I made it across town to the Austin Music Hall, Whiskeytown was
almost done with an oddly short set. I did manage to hear the beautiful "16
Days." Shelby Lynne was up next. She's a failed Nashville hat act who has
received rave reviews for her latest record, an attempt at Southern soul a la
"Dusty in Memphis." A lot of people I respect say it's great, so I'll reserve
final judgment, but after Patti Smith it just sounded like slick, bland pop
music, although Lynne does have a fine voice.
We bailed out after three songs to catch the Pinehurst Kids, but they were
either running very early or very late, because we stood around for 15
minutes and didn't hear any music. So we headed to La Zona Rosa for one of
the evening's hottest tickets, Elliott Smith. There was a long line, and we
only got in after the club had a long conference with the fire marshal.
My friend split after three songs. I lasted another 20 minutes, but there was
really nothing to see. Smith writes some pretty songs, but he can barely sing
them, and he's no performer at all. If you like the music, I'd advise you to
stay home and listen to the records. Too bad Elliott insists on singing his
lovely, delicate little pop songs. If he'd pass them on to a good singer--I
don't know, Neil Finn could probably use the work--they could have quite a
nice little racket going.
I realized I hadn't received my USRDA of twang yet, so at 1am I cabbed it out
to the Broken Spoke, a legendary country dance club south of town. When I
arrived, Joe Ely was on stage and a line was out the door. I soon got in, but
that didn't help much, because I still couldn't see or hear anything. So I
got a Shiner and looked through the club's museum, which includes, I kid you
not, a half-smoked Bob Wills cigar and a can of Jax beer found on Bob Wills'
bus. It was awesome.
I finally got close enough to the stage so I could pick out Joe's music,
although I never did get a glimpse of him through the crowd. I even heard his
old Flatlander buddy Jimmie Dale Gilmore join him for a version of "Dallas."
I mainly caught up with old friends and enjoyed the ambience of the club,
which was considerable, but post-show reports from the front of the crowd
said the show was A+ quality. Afterwards, we shot the breeze with the
Legendary Stardust Cowboy. Only in Austin. (Sadly I missed Neil Young, who
was checking out the show earlier in the evening.)
A good, if exhausting, night. I regret missing Hank III and Gomez, but,
dammit, I'm only human. Tonight I'll check out the Meat Puppets, the
Continental Drifters and Papas Fritas.
FRIDAZED