High Priestess of Punk

A pioneer of New York City's vibrant punk scene, Patti Smith is arguably the most influential woman in rock. Despite virtually nonexistent airplay since her debut, the 1975 classic "Horses," she has never slowed, never softened. As the icons of her era slowly die or fade away--CBGB, the venerable club that launched her career, is being threatened with eviction; a Ramones song can be heard in a current Diet Pepsi commercial--Smith remains unapologetically punk. Earlier this month she was tapped to be the artistic director of London's Meltdown music festival, taking the baton from Morrissey and, before him, David Bowie and Nick Cave. Next week, she will be hosting an evening of spoken word in honor of photographer Diane Arbus (herself something of a kindred punk spirit) at New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art. She also plans to enter the studio next month to record an album of cover tunes. She recently spoke with NEWSWEEK's Brian Braiker about her recent flurry of activity. Excerpts:

NEWSWEEK: What's your take on the possible closure of CBGB?

Patti Smith: I have various thoughts on it. I have the Jackie Onassis spirit of preservation of our historic architecture. One of the things that has drawn so many people down to the Bowery area--the people living there and the housing and shops and all of the revitalization of that area--was CBGB. In those days the Bowery was skid row, there was nothing there but bums. People just didn't go there. It wasn't real dangerous; it was winos and hobos. They set the big trash cans on fire at night so they could warm themselves.

What does the club mean to you?

I went down there on Easter 1974, [guitarist] Lenny Kaye and I went there to see [the band] Television, and there were about 11 people there. It was like a dream come true, the whole situation. It was a little bar, there weren't any grown-ups; you didn't feel that the mafia was there. You weren't forced to drink expensive stuff you didn't want. And Television was a revelation. It was for me a pivotal night of my life, walking into CBGB and seeing Television. It resonated all the possibilities of our youth, what we were doing, what we were attempting to do.

What was that?

Our philosophy was that rock and roll should be a cultural voice and not glamorized. It didn't belong to the rich and famous; it belonged to the people. It was the perfect place for us to excite each other and incite people and develop what we were doing. It's sad for me to see CBGB's close down because it really hasn't changed at all, that's the other beautiful thing. The same murals are up on the wall. It hasn't gotten any better. The sound system hasn't really gotten much better. The smell hasn't gotten much better. It's the same place. Actually I think Lenny and I are going to play there on May Day. It's just a little job. We're just going to play to thank CBGB's, thank the walls, thank the stage. We're just doing it to touch those walls again.

Do you have any big plans for the Meltdown music festival?

I'm just hoping there'll be a mix of veterans and new people. I would really like for everybody to draw something new from themselves, the best of themselves and have it be as I understood rock and roll when I was young, as being a cultural voice. So, there'll be poetry, a certain amount of politics and a lot of fun, irreverence and also reverence. We're going to salute William Blake and have a night of "Songs of Innocence," perhaps things for children and lullabies. And then "Songs of Experience" another night, which will have a lot of electric guitar. I'd like to see people reading. Reading from "Moby Dick," reading from great classics, reading from the Qur'an.

Do you think rock and roll as you understood it when you were young is still rock and roll as you hear it today?

Rock and roll as I understood it was a voice. You heard it on FM radio and it was really good. You had people that were provocative but we all loved the same music. When a Jimi Hendrix record came out everybody in America was waiting for it. Everybody in America was waiting for the new Bob Dylan record. Now there's just so much information and so much between the listener and the voice. There's so much image; there's all this music TV, all this lifestyle, that to actually be spoken to, there's a bigger gap than ever. Across the board everything is so materialistic and so sexualized and there's so much violence that the core issues of humanity are sort of lost.

So maybe rock is on the brink of a new movement?

A lot of exciting things come out of periods like this. Eventually people will wake up. They're going to see that the war in Iraq is wrong, that drilling in Alaska is wrong, that letting millions of people die in Africa of AIDS is wrong. They're going to start connecting all these dots. That's why sometimes you need a new place. I don't want to see my old place gone; it makes me sad. Everywhere in the world, kids come up to me. From Finland to no-matter-what-corner-of-the-world, they want to know about CBGB and what happened. More important, I say, what's happening in your own town? Go and find your place and speak about the things that are important to you. That'll be much cooler.

Aren't you due back in the studio soon? What covers will you be doing?

I want to keep that a surprise, but I will tell you that it's going to range from Puccini to Gene Clark. So there. [Laughs.] I want to take music from all kinds of people and from all periods as sort of a thank you to all the people who gave us all these great songs. I am sure there will be a Bob Dylan song and an REM song and all kinds of songs. Every day I pick somebody, like in the last couple of days. I've been listening to every Neil Young song. There will also be some surprises. I want to do an R&B song and a song from the '40s that my mom really liked.

Wasn't your mom a jazz singer?

My mom was a jazz singer when she was younger. She was as good as June Christy or Chris Conner. Unfortunately she had throat cancer and had an operation. It wasn't life-threatening, but it did impair her singing voice. She still sang; she used to sing lullabies to my kids. As I've gotten older, my voice is lower. I sing and I sound just like her. I'm not saying I can sing as good as her, but I can sing those songs that she sang when we were kids, those World War II songs. I know exactly where to sing them from because I've heard her sing them so many times. So I want to do one for her.