Any performance by legendary maverick Patti Smith is going to be an idiosyncratic experience, but this was even more surreal than I could have possibly expected. The truly astounding sight of jovial RHCP bassist Flea playing slap bass next to the bemused and imperious Efrim from Canadian post-rockers A Silver Mt. Zion was so fucking weird I think my brain actually stopped working at that point. Patti Smith’s divisive vocal qualities actually didn’t bother me at all, mostly because she mostly stuck to spoken word pieces put to music, declaiming wildly like some mad hippy preacher and her incredibly eclectic group of backing musicians provided fittingly atmospheric augmentation to her passionate readings. And I’ve not even mentioned the random troupe of Moroccan musicians, whose mesmerising, repetitive drones, punctuated with squarking clarinet from Ms. Smith herself seemed to sum up the evening as a whole- pretentious, unpredictable yet somehow never less than completely engaging. An experience and a half.
(Photo: John Gleeson)
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