Jim Carroll’s first rock ‘n roll performance.
If Federico Fellini ever makes a rock ‘n’ roll movie, it’ll look a lot like last night’s bizarre, comic, disturbing, downright weird performance by Patti Smith at the California Theater.
There was the tall, thin, glassy-eyed woman in a Brownie uniform. There was the young woman in dead-white makeup, wafting about the theater in a billowing white dress. Then there was the young man, his blonde hair all askew, who popped into the men’s john for just a second to check his black lipstick in the mirror, then dashed out again.
In short, studied sleaze and deliberate decadence set the themes for dress in the audience, from the fellow in a tight, black T-shirt, emblazoned with the message, “I Love Heavy Rock ‘n’ Roll,” to the young women in black berets and heavy makeup of Parisian trollops.
Backstage, onstage and in front of the stage, chaos reigned most of the night, delaying the start of the concert for an hour and a half and contributing to an atmosphere of near-violence that Smith herself seemed to encourage, then wave away. As a performer, she seemed unable to make up her mind whether to be a poet, a rock ‘n’ roller, comedian or demagogue. Once she did get down to playing rock music, the advertised attraction of the evening, she handled the task with rare effectiveness and intensity.
Still, her impact had already been irreparably dulled by the distracting shenanigans that went before.
(Continued on D-2, Col. 1)
Confusion began early in the evening, when, according to promoter Joel Malman, Smith and the scheduled opening performer, Les Dudek, disagreed on the placing of their respective drumstands. Whatever happened (“He’s a bleep, that’s all you need to know,” Smith said backstage. Dudek could not be found.) Dudek departed, leaving Smith with the concert to herself.
[Review of Carroll’s first performance:] At 9 p.m., she and a friend, poet Jim Carroll, came onstage, and while Carroll shouted out his poetry, Smith Screamed incoherently into the microphone and broke several strings on her guitar. They retired after five minutes. Another half hour later, Smith and her band at last came onstage.Then the bizarre stuff started.
Smith, wearing an ancient sports jacket, tight, black leather trousers and an American flag over her shoulder, began, as always, by reciting her poetry, then spoke faster and faster as the band churned into action, and as poetry fused into heavy rock a portion of the sellout crowd of 1,800 rushed the stage.
Smith dropped to the edge of the stage, just above the yawning orchestra pit, and had to be helped back onstage. Soon she was pointing to the pit, chanting at the assembled security guards therein, shouting, “Get out! Get out!” and calling them “rock ‘n’ roll Hitlers.”
It wasn’t long before the crowd was incensed, and impossible to control. So Smith, the haranguing rebel of a moment before, slyly urged everyone to “be members of the safety patrol” and clear the aisles. Then, deciding to clear the paths herself, she walked down an aisle and like a punk, skinny Moses divided the black leather sea before her. It must have been fun.
Smith did allude several times to her fear of falling into the pit, a hangover from a fall that once broke her neck, but it was no excuse for this lack of discipline and professionalism.
When all the monkey business was over, and Smith concentrated on her business, she put on a stirring show.