http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/12/opinion/12smith.html?th&emc=th March 12, 2007
Op-Ed Contributor
Ain’t It Strange?
By PATTI SMITH
ON a cold morning in 1955,
walking to Sunday school, I was drawn to the voice of Little Richard
wailing “Tutti Frutti” from the interior of a local boy’s makeshift
clubhouse. So powerful was the connection that I let go of my mother’s
hand.
Rock ’n’ roll. It drew me from my path to a sea of possibilities. It
sheltered and shattered me, from the end of childhood through a painful
adolescence. I had my first altercation with my father when the Rolling
Stones made their debut on “The Ed Sullivan Show.” Rock ’n’ roll was
mine to defend. It strengthened my hand and gave me a sense of tribe as
I boarded a bus from South Jersey to freedom in 1967.
Rock ’n’ roll, at that time, was a fusion of intimacies. Repression
bloomed into rapture like raging weeds shooting through cracks in the
cement. Our music provided a sense of communal activism. Our artists
provoked our ascension into awareness as we ran amok in a frenzied
state of grace.
My late husband, Fred Sonic Smith, then of Detroit’s MC5, was a part
of the brotherhood instrumental in forging a revolution: seeking to
save the world with love and the electric guitar. He created aural
autonomy yet did not have the constitution to survive all the
complexities of existence.
Before he died, in the winter of 1994, he counseled me to continue
working. He believed that one day I would be recognized for my efforts
and though I protested, he quietly asked me to accept what was bestowed
- gracefully - in his name.
Today I will join R.E.M., the Ronettes, Van Halen and Grandmaster
Flash and the Furious Five to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall
of Fame. On the eve of this event I asked myself many questions. Should
an artist working within the revolutionary landscape of rock accept
laurels from an institution? Should laurels be offered? Am I a worthy
recipient?
I have wrestled with these questions and my conscience leads me back
to Fred and those like him - the maverick souls who may never be
afforded such honors. Thus in his name I will accept with gratitude.
Fred Sonic Smith was of the people, and I am none but him: one who has
loved rock ’n’ roll and crawled from the ranks to the stage, to salute
history and plant seeds for the erratic magic landscape of the new
guard.
Because its members will be the guardians of our cultural voice. The
Internet is their CBGB. Their territory is global. They will dictate
how they want to create and disseminate their work. They will, in time,
make breathless changes in our political process. They have the
technology to unite and create a new party, to be vigilant in their
choice of candidates, unfettered by corporate pressure. Their potential
power to form and reform is unprecedented.
Human history abounds with idealistic movements that rise, then
fall in disarray. The children of light. The journey to the East. The
summer of love. The season of grunge. But just as we seem to repeat our
follies, we also abide.
Rock ’n’ roll drew me from my mother’s hand and led me to
experience. In the end it was my neighbors who put everything in
perspective. An approving nod from the old Italian woman who sells me
pasta. A high five from the postman. An embrace from the notary and his
wife. And a shout from the sanitation man driving down my street: “Hey,
Patti, Hall of Fame. One for us.”
I just smiled, and I noticed I was proud. One for the neighborhood.
My parents. My band. One for Fred. And anybody else who wants to come
along.
Patti Smith is a poet and performer.