Patti.
Smith.
Rocks.
And will forever be hipper than all of us.
Friday night was the Patti & Ralph Show with both of them doing their respective thing (her = activist music, him = marathon activism) in a gymnasium to a surprisingly not huge crowd. She was stupendous (and, thanks to Doug and I of Janet Reno Fan Club fame we got everyone sitting stupefied up and dancing, after I catapulted myself through a few people and misjudged the distance and leveled both Doug and I think a chair as well as Your Fav Nancy) although I realized at her gig last night she was totally saving her shamanistic powers for Saturday, last night, at Sphere, where, she said, she was to do her Legendary show.
Three hours of her and men in very great shoes/the band. Including Oliver, a young and handsome swain perhaps half her age, her Man.
Observations:
1. Stipe, as he's stated his own self, owes much of his art to Patti Smith.
2. PS spits like a champ with real punk rock verve.
3. PS has no fat cells within her body.
4. Backstage talking to her I was shocked/stunned that her eyes are Marty Feldman-esque.
5. Backstage talking to her I was realizing that she doesn't quite know what to do with herself offstage.
During her gig last night I shuttled myself down to the front, elevated side and was thankfully surrounded by rock star boys who said nothing to annoy me at this momentous affair but who I shared rock observations with. At the Friday gig I sat most of the time next to Baby Boy Colleague which was fun.
After last night Patti went and met others at The Butchies at Mohawk Place and they surprisingly rocked as lezbo couples danced about. I saw a girl I wanted to model for me at one point and realized that nope, she doesn't have enought X factor.
The Butchies' drummer directed the question What... do you have SARS at me when I had a sneezing fit after chomping down on some German blow-your-fuckin-head-off menthol/mint gum. I shouted NO, it's mint gum and she said Oh, I have that problem, let me see if it makes ME sneeze. So up to the stage I went and gave her a piece of this German stick of dynamite. She said I'm pretty keyed up so it might not work.
Chew.
Chew.
Chew.
Nothing. She asked her bandmates to confirm that she gets the mint sneezies and they said Yup. So back to rock. Eric dug them so much that Jen bought him a shirt, a wise rock apparel decision.
All for now and over and out.