On The Morning After the Seventies
"One afternoon while performing KP duties, I was interrupted by Fred with these words, 'People have the power. Write it.' After scraping out the pots and pans, I set about my studies in preparation for writing the lyrics . . . This song became our anthem for Dream of Life." (Patti Smith Complete, p. 154)
"Fred and I began to chart the territory for another album in 1994 . . . I came to him one evening and expressed my desire to learn to play the acoustic guitar so I could write songs of my own. He said he would teach me if I would practice hard. He kept his word and gave me lessons. I was a slow pupil, but he was a patient, encouraging teacher.
"I brought him a little song I wrote when jackie Kennedy died. Fred was taken with it and often sang and played it himself while I sang harmonies on the chorus. I was proud that he, a prolific and gifted musician, would like my song so much." (PSC, p. 184)
"According to John Sinclair, the MC5's [Fred 'Sonic' Smith's seminal band] manager, "they [Fred and Patti] never went out, they never had people over they didn't perform, they didn't record, they never even went to local shows. Nobody could figure out how they were surviving." (The Unauthorized Biography, p. 237)
"Some of Patti's old friends were amazed by her apparent transformation. Reading apiece on Patti in Vogue, Penny Arcade, for one, was shocked. 'I just wanted to kill her,' she said." (Ibid., p. 242)
"Though the Smiths owned a brand-new sedan, Patti, whose eyesdight had been damaged in the 1977 fall, remained one of the few people in Detroit without a driver's license." (Ibid., p. 234)
The exodus of the Smiths is generally related as a tale of migration: from the New York City that would become the playground of Madonna and Basquiat, to the Dresden-desolated quietude of Detroit in the 80's. "It's Morning in America!" beamed the Reagan campaign ads, but everyone understood (except the gulled UAW voters) that the alarm had rung: get out of the rust belt, or get caught in the periphery of Michael Moore's lacerating portrait of urban decomposition, Roger and Me. So Patti's flight under the wing of husband Fred had a certain nobility: shun the cocaine for raw need, leave the partying to join in honorable union with "the people."
Just one tiny issue: the Smiths didn't settle in Detroit. They bought a house in St. Clair Shores, a suburb just north of Grosse Pointe. Get out of town? They lived within an hour of the evolving Timothy McVey. You can have the car keys in a north shore suburb along a Great Lake; the country club's in walking distance. Hey Joe, where are you gonna go?
"Fred and I began to chart the territory for another album in 1994 . . . I came to him one evening and expressed my desire to learn to play the acoustic guitar so I could write songs of my own. He said he would teach me if I would practice hard. He kept his word and gave me lessons. I was a slow pupil, but he was a patient, encouraging teacher.
"I brought him a little song I wrote when jackie Kennedy died. Fred was taken with it and often sang and played it himself while I sang harmonies on the chorus. I was proud that he, a prolific and gifted musician, would like my song so much." (PSC, p. 184)
"According to John Sinclair, the MC5's [Fred 'Sonic' Smith's seminal band] manager, "they [Fred and Patti] never went out, they never had people over they didn't perform, they didn't record, they never even went to local shows. Nobody could figure out how they were surviving." (The Unauthorized Biography, p. 237)
"Some of Patti's old friends were amazed by her apparent transformation. Reading apiece on Patti in Vogue, Penny Arcade, for one, was shocked. 'I just wanted to kill her,' she said." (Ibid., p. 242)
"Though the Smiths owned a brand-new sedan, Patti, whose eyesdight had been damaged in the 1977 fall, remained one of the few people in Detroit without a driver's license." (Ibid., p. 234)
The exodus of the Smiths is generally related as a tale of migration: from the New York City that would become the playground of Madonna and Basquiat, to the Dresden-desolated quietude of Detroit in the 80's. "It's Morning in America!" beamed the Reagan campaign ads, but everyone understood (except the gulled UAW voters) that the alarm had rung: get out of the rust belt, or get caught in the periphery of Michael Moore's lacerating portrait of urban decomposition, Roger and Me. So Patti's flight under the wing of husband Fred had a certain nobility: shun the cocaine for raw need, leave the partying to join in honorable union with "the people."
Just one tiny issue: the Smiths didn't settle in Detroit. They bought a house in St. Clair Shores, a suburb just north of Grosse Pointe. Get out of town? They lived within an hour of the evolving Timothy McVey. You can have the car keys in a north shore suburb along a Great Lake; the country club's in walking distance. Hey Joe, where are you gonna go?
Labels: "One afterno"
posted by MM at 4:49 PM
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