Patti Smith, Mariachi Flor de Toloache at LC Out of Doors

Patti Smith and band
rocked the 2016 Lincoln Center Out of Doors Festival.
photo ©2016, Deborah Feller

A perfect evening for Lincoln Center Out of Doors. Rain-free skies. July heat and humidity simmering at a comfortably mellow pitch. A pleasant crowd. Even the festival's security detail--with its new entrance gates and bag-checking procedures--kept things moving with cheerful efficiency.

Patti Smith, as I knew she would, had brought us good fortune.

More good luck arrived with Smith's opening act, Mariachi Flor de Toloache, New York's first and only all-women mariachi troupe. (Their eponymous debut album received a 2016 Latin Grammy nomination for Best Ranchero.) They offered original songs, traditional tunes, Nirvana and Led Zeppelin covers and Coltrane's "Afro-Blue," all with superb musicianship and mariachi flavor and warmth--trumpet, guitarrón, vihuela and violin blending peppy rhythms as gorgeously flutey voices ascended.  They took Irving Berlin's "Blue Skies" at a frisky pace, voices now a bit reminiscent of the Andrews Sisters. It was a little offbeat, spine-tingling and irresistible. The audience fell in love.

A taste of Mariachi Flor de Toloache performing on NPR:

Following a surprisingly quick break, Smith--mindful of LC's strict runtime policy--fondly admonishing her audience to not "mill around like a herd of turtles." Then she offered a passage from Just Kids, her beautiful remembrance of life with Robert Mapplethorpe. But her incantations (Ginsberg's "Howl") and rocking out with Lenny Kaye to "Dancing Barefoot" and "Summer Cannibals" brought the turtles rushing to the edge of the stage, phones aloft, as "Ghost Dance" rang into the night.

It was a night for calling up our holy dead--from Mapplethorpe to Ginsberg, yes, but also Amy Winehouse (a tribute to her called "This is The Girl"), Prince (a decidedly sultry "When Doves Cry"), Jim Morrison ("Break It Up") and her beloved late husband Fred "Sonic" Smith ("Because the Night"). If I recall, I might have heard a little George Harrison snaking through "Beneath the Southern Cross."

Aside from the sorry state of our politics--Smith, of course, took a few moments to excoriate Trump and the GOP and insist we use our People Power to do better--Smith very much had death and the passage of time on her mind. She startled me with the choice of "The Last Time" by The Rolling Stones, because she made me hear its refrain as a song of uncertainty about what time remains. It recalled that moody standard from way back in the '30s, you know, that goes, "For all we know, we may never meet again...."

We won't say goodnight/Until the last minute/I'll hold out my hand/And my heart will be in it

For all we know/This may only be a dream/We come and we go/Like the ripples of a stream

My heart clenched a little as I listened to the band lace into The Last Time. Smith was having fun with it but also making me imagine saying goodbye to this extraordinary being whose wit, spirituality and life force has always brought her audiences renewed belief and just the right jolt of energy in the nick of time.

I don't think the sensible and fiery Patti Smith is going anywhere anytime soon, though, and she later told us as much:

"I'm getting old," she roared, as we pumped fists into the air. "And I'm going to get fuckin' older!"

Words to live by.

* * * * *

Lincoln Center Out of Doors runs through August 7. All events are free. For schedule information, click here.

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Patti for President!

Patti Smith reads from "Just Kids" at 92Y
(photo: Joyce Culver for 92Y)

Sam Shepard, Patti Smith and Lenny Kaye at 92Y
(photo by Joyce Culver for 92Y)

A woman turned to her friend and cried, “It’s like Trader Joe’s!”

Nearby, I was cooling my heels, too, stuck on the same ticket-holders line that snaked through recessed parts of 92Y that most people probably never see.

Fifteen minutes to Patti Time!

The line started moving. We soon found ourselves back in the main lobby where we encountered more snaking, more cooling of heels, more people who had absolutely no idea how far they’d have to travel to reach and to navigate the room we’d just left. But with little blue tickets tightly grasped in our hands and actual seat numbers printed on those tickets, our hearts felt light and blessed. We were going to make it. We would reach the inner sanctum.

Glancing around me, I was amazed at the variety of people who turn out to see Patti Smith, poet, rock star, acclaimed author of the memoir Just Kids (now in paperback from HarperCollins). Some of us have aged, for sure, but some of us look as if, even in our youth, we would never have had anything to do with rock music.

No matter. Smith’s embrace is gracious and all-encompassing. With that familiar, unbeatable combination of wry humor, self-awareness and refusal to take herself seriously, she would welcome and reward all.

92Y had deemed this girl from South Jersey worthy of their “Illustrious Women” series. But even without the memoir’s bestseller status and National Book Award, Smith would be illustrious. Happily, she started the evening off by putting things into perspective: We were gathered, she told us, in honor of her beloved sister Linda’s birthday and “the anniversary of the unsealing of King Tut’s tomb.”

She read several passages from Just Kids, told stories and effortless jokes, and sang. She looked down at a page, choking up at the memory of her first glimpse of artist-photographer Robert Mapplethorpe who would become her lover and lifelong friend. (Just Kids sings of their relationship and the flowering of their artistic talents and individual missions.) She painted the famously Buddhist Allen Ginsberg as a tough old bird who, when facing death, surprised his friends by refusing to let go. She made sure to repeatedly mention her buddy Judy Linn’s book of photographs from the era (due out in March). And she remembered the guidance of playwright Sam Shepard who bought her a homely, used guitar when she needed it most and nudged her in the direction of music when her poetry needed that, too.

Off-the-cuff moments, with a Patti-fied combination of daffiness and just-rightness, were in great supply. I loved her story of falling for and rooting for Hickory, the Scottish deerhound, the big winner at this year’s Westminster Dog Show. Smith said she spent some time psychically vibing the competition’s “classy Italian judge.”

“I have a good relationship with Italy," she said. "So I just tried to concentrate, send him messages. Well, my dog won!”

On the page or on the stage, Smith is a charming storyteller. Of course, the stage bears benefits, like vivid renditions of “In My Blakean Years” (for Mapplethorpe) or “Redondo Beach” (for her actress friend Maria Schneider, who recently died of cancer).

The stage also bears surprises. First, guitarist Lenny Kaye came out to accompany Smith on a few songs. (“We’ve just had our 40th anniversary of doing our first job together at St. Mark’s Church. I’m lucky to have him still!”). Then Smith followed up her Sam Shepard story by producing the man himself--imagine an audience irretrievably blown away--who lent his guitar and voice to the party with, among other things, a bracing version of that old bluegrass number, “In The Pines.” But, hell, watching Shepard crack up at Smith’s jokes might have been the best experience of the night.

The three friends were having so much fun with one another and with us that it was quite late when Smith finally remembered that 92Y staffers had collected written questions from the audience. (Oops!) A few Qs and a few As were dutifully batted around, but tales and music-making prevailed.

Smith finally told us her great “first meeting Allen Ginsberg at Horn & Hardart” story. Then, in conclusion, she paid joyful, mindful tribute to “our brothers and sisters all over the world who are using their voices and taking to the streets.”

I awakened to the cry 

that the people / have the power 

to redeem / the work of fools 

upon the meek / the graces shower 

it's decreed / the people rule 

The people have the power 

The people have the power 

The people have the power 

The people have the power 

“People Have The Power” from Dream of Life by Patti Smith and Fred “Sonic” Smith (Arista, 1988)

Patti Smith Web site

92Y Web site