Don’t get me wrong …. I haven’t changed my tune about Patti Smith. As much as it’s considered heresy by many folks, I just don’t think she’s the bees knees. Yes, I’ve tried. Yes, I own friggin’
Horses (and infamously skewered it for the purposes of a German book about rock’s sacred cows). I don’t wish her ill or anything, but I just don’t understand the adulation she enjoys. Obviously, she was a total iconoclast, but that doesn’t mean I have to pretend to enjoy her art. I don’t. I find it mawkish, pretentious and overwrought, more often than not. And not in a good way. Sorry, there it is.
Anyway, this pic just threw me for a loop. She just looks so cuddly and approachable here, sitting on Clive Davis’ lap. It’s hard to fathom that this is the same woman who wrote “Piss Factory.” She looks less like the notorious high priestess of what would become Punk Rock, and more like Nora Ephron or Erma Bombeck. Relax, it’s not character assassination, it’s just an observation.
This more recent picture, meanwhile, was a bit more puzzling. I wonder if Pope Francis is familiar with the fabled first line on Horses.
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