Patti Lee Op-Ed article in today's NYTimes!

[GoRimbaud]

from NYTimes, 12 March 07

 Ainbt 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 bTutti Fruttib from the interior of a local
boybs
makeshift clubhouse. So powerful was the connection that I let go of my
motherb
s hand.

Rock bnb 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 bThe Ed Sullivan Show.b Rock bnb 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 bnb 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 Detroitbs 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 b gracefully b
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 b 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 bnb 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 bnb roll drew me from my motherbs 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: bHey, Patti, Hall of Fame. One for us.b

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.


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