Feb 10, 1971 - PATTI SMITH debuts at St. Mark's Church - Happy Anniversary

[L French <lrfrench>]

  It was thirty years ago today, 
  that the band began to play... 
   
  (okay so it was 35 years ago) when Patti and Lenny took to the stage of St Marks Church to begin an amazing career...   
   
  Patti sang MACK THE KNIVE and performed an early version of 
  Ballad of a Bad Boy, written for Sam Shepard...  
   
  ******************************  
   
  PATTI SMITH: Lenny Kaye and I have a tape of our first poetry reading on February 10th, 1971 at St. Marks Church. It will be its 35th anniversary and we do have a tape of that, so Lenny is going to put it out as a Mer Record. It was on Bertold Brecht's birthday, and Lenny Kaye played the guitar, while I read poems and sang Mack the Knife. 
   
   
   
  MACK THE KNIFE  (By Kurt Weill & Bertold Brecht)  
   
  Oh the shark has pretty teeth, dear
And he shows them pearly white
Just a jack knife has MacHeath, dear
And he keeps it out of sight

When the shark bites with his teeth, dear
Scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy gloves though wears MacHeath, dear
So there's not a trace of red

On the sidewalk, Sunday morning
Lies a body oozing life
Someone's sneaking round the corner
Is the someone Mack the knife?

>From a tug boat by the river
A cement bag's dropping down
The cement's just for the weight, dear
Bet you Mack is back in town

Louie Miller disappeared, dear
After drawing out his cash
And MacHeath spends like a sailor
Did our boy do something rash?

Sukey Tawdry, Jenny Diver
Polly Peachum, Lucy Brown
Oh the line forms on the right, dear
Now that Mack is back in town 
   
  _____________________________ 
   
   
  BERTOLT BRECHT 
   
  February 10, 1898  August 14, 1956 
   
   
  "You'll go down if you don't stand up" 
   
   
  With shorn head and his convict face, the great German playwright Bertolt Brecht swaggered his way into the landscape of theatre and revolutionized it. A poet with a genius for dialogue, his plays are bold, simplistic and monstrous with poetic vision. 
   
  He has given us world and world peopled with the likes of Baal, Jenny the Pirate, Mac Heath and Mother Courage. Characters who make us think. He has, in his brief fifty-eight years, brought the downtrodden into the boxing ring to spar endlessly with the oppressor. 
   
  He used his gifts to speak for the people. He paid a high price but such as he usually do. We send you greetings B. B.! Like Jean Genet you stand as one of the sacred bums of art. 
   
   
   
  __________________________________ 
   
   
   
  THE MURDERED BOY (for Sam Shepard)  
   
   
   
  the murdered boy 
the murdered boy 
the murdered boy 

Oh I was bad 
didn't do what I should 
mama catch me with a lickin' 
and tell me to be good 
when I was bad twice times 
she pushed me in a hole 
and cut off all my fingers 
and laid them in a finger bowl 

My mother killed me 
my father grieved for me 
my little sister Alma Lee 
wept under the almond tree 

Oh I loved a car 
and when I was feeling sad 
I'd lay down on my daddies ford 
and I'd start to feel good 
but I got real bad 
robbed hubcaps from the men 
and sold them to the women 
then stole them back again 
and you know when I was grown 
had hubcaps of my own 
and a Hudson Hornet car 
and rolled the pretty ladies 
and often went too far 

I went to Chicago 
I went to Kalamazoo 
I slid down to Nashville 
raced in Tolkume 
I rode to Salinas 
rode by the sea 
but the people all scolded 
and pointed to me 
they said there's a bad boy 
I was so bad boy 
that they gathered their daughters 
I heard what they said 
stay away from him honey 
cause that boy is bad 
and though he's hung good 
and flashes that loot 
steer away from his highway 
he rides a wrong route 
cause he's a bad boy 
Yeah I was so bad boy 
my mama killed me 
my father grieved for me 
my little sister Alma Lee 
wept under the almond tree 

She Wept For Me 

And I wept on the stock car 
I crashed through the trees 
fenders hot as angels 
blazed inside me 
I captured the junkyards 
I jack knifed the cars 
and sped to the canyon 
but never hid far 
from the auto mechanics 
car wreckers 
den of thieves 
murderers greasers 
I worshiped these men 
but they hated me mom 
They called me mamas boy 
they screamed me to leave them 
they threatened to me then 
mom mom mom 
Mom Mom Mom 

Oh Monday at midnight 
til Tuesday at two 
drunk on tequila 
I was thinking of you mom 
I drove my car on mom 
My stock car was blazing 
wrecking cars was my art 
I held a picture of you ma 
close to my heart 
I rode closed window 
it was 90 degrees 
the crowd was screaming 
screaming at me they hated me 
they said I was nonsense 
true diver chicken driver 
no sense
   
  But I couldn't hear them 
I couldn't see 
those fenders hot as angels 
blazed inside me 
I sped on lined with speed and heat 
and mama I cracked up with the croud at my feet 
I rolled in flames rolled in a pit 
where you laid me out with a tire iron 
and shot me with your shit 

And I could've got up 
bur the crowd it screamed no 
That boy is evil 
too bad for parole 
so bad his mama 
rolled him in a hole 
and cut off all his fingers 
and laid them in a finger bowl 

His mother killed him 
His father grieved for him 
His little sister Alma Lee 
wept under the almond tree 
   
   
   
   

		
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