(TV) Met Patti Smith Tues. Nite / Meeting Music-Gods / Foot-in-mouth Disease?

["Leo Casey" <LeoCasey@comcast.net>]

This post is on-topic as it touches on an individual by the 

name of Fred Smith.

 

Does anyone have any stories about meeting a musical 

hero (or other type of celebrity)---whether it was a good 

or bad experience---which they would share?

 

The reason I ask is because I got to meet Patti Smith 

Tues. night at a fundraiser at Jamaica Plain [a Boston 

neighborhood] Artists Organization.

 

She had donated a number of B&W photographs that 

she had taken over the years---some were places in Europe, 

e.g., the graveyard where Rimbaud is buried-some taken 

as early as 1971. They were framed and mounted on the 

walls of the Jamaica Plain Artists' store-front-with asking 

price tags or a slip of lined paper on which people could 

place bids.

 

I was also at this fundraiser to meet a very nice guy 

(a music writer whom I had met recently via e-mails on 

another Television group).  I got the starting time wrong by 

an hour so I got there only for the final 45 minutes of the 

benefit.  By then the writer was just about to leave (to eat 

dinner) having been there before the event had officially 

begun so he could get an interview with Patti Smith.  

 

So, we only got to chat for about 5 or 6 minutes. He was 

talking about the musical 'tragedy' of having recently been 

in a person's apartment where never-before-heard Velvet 

Underground tapes were literally rotting away due to their 

owner's carelessness.  Then the conversation switched to 

The Stooges and to a recently un-earthed MC-5 bootleg.

 

Never at a loss for words when expressing my opinions on 

music, I told him that I had seen The Stooges once at Boston 

College in 1969 or 70 when they were a warm-up act and 

were booed off the stage after only 4 songs by a large 

contingent campus jocks in the audience. [(Proud to say that 

I never attended B.C.] After I told a little story that mostly 

included details of the two MC-5 concerts in Boston 

that I had attended in the early 1970s, my new 

musical comrade exclaimed something along the lines of:

 

"Oh man, you really should tell Patti!  You gotta tell Patti 

about this."  And then he went on about what a 'regular' 

and nice person she was and how easy to talk to.

 

As my writer acquaintance was leaving he stopped to say 

goodbye to Patti Smith and they smiled and spoke for 

about half a minute.  After he departed, I decided to strike 

while the iron [my MC-5 tale] was still hot, and before I lost 

my nerve.  So, I went over to a long table with piles of Patti 

Smith books of poetry and cds, and grabbed one that cost 

only $10 entitled, 'February 10, 1971; Patti Smith with 

Lenny Kaye'.  Down the other end of the table Patti Smith 

was quietly (almost serenely) sitting behind the table, 

dressed in an old checkered flannel shirt and faded blue 

jeans, waiting to sign any items anyone might have 

bought, no matter how inexpensive.  

 

With her cd in my right hand, I approached and stood 

directly in front of her.  She was less than 3 feet away; 

my eyes fell upon her long, mostly gray-ish hair, and then 

the narrow but nice planes of her face.  She looked much 

younger and healthier than her 60 years, and I remarked 

to myself how tiny she was compared to how tall she had 

appeared at the concerts that I had attended.  

 

I forced myself to speak; I said, "Would it be possible to get 

this cd signed-do you have one of those special pens that 

can write on plastic?  She removed the un-shrink-wrapped 

cd's paper title-cover and started to write a few lines. 

Still very nervous, but now a little embolden, I said, "I saw 

your [notice that I never address her by name] late husband 

on two occasions play in Boston when he was in the MC-5."  

No response. Nothing. Nada. Nil. Total silence for what 

seemed like an eternity. 

 

Finally she looks up from her writing and in an emotionless 

voice says, "I never got to see them."   After a slight pause, 

I managed to utter, "I also really enjoyed the October 

simulcast of 'Last Night At CBGBs'----especially what you 

said between songs; like the one about Hilli's dog".

 

With the demeanor and in voice, that I perceived as, very 

close to Jesus berating Thomas The Doubter, she responded, 

"It's a true story.  

 

I quietly slunk away, and then gave my best 10-minute 

Academy Awards' Performance of someone very studiously 

and slowly  examining each of the B&W photographs on the 

wall about 10 feet away.  My mind was racing; I was 

experiencing a mixture of total defeat and embarrassment.  

As I continued to fake viewing the photographs, I kept asking 

myself the same questions over and over:  Why was she so 

unfriendly?  What was it that I did?  What was it that I said? 

Etc., etc.

 

Feeling that every remaining person in the room could 

see the glow of bad karma emanating from me, and that they 

all somehow could sense that when it came to Patti Smith 

I was an evil -doer, I walked out of the store-front. 

 

Directly across the street was the Harvest Food Co-operative 

to which I belong.  I decided to go inside to buy a 'Pie-Guy' 

Key Lime pie to cheer myself up.  As I was driving home I 

started to feel a lot better as I came up with several 

hypotheses:

 

a) Her intuition immediately sensed something 'strange' 

about me---bad strange;

 

b) I had started off on the wrong foot by not saying 'Hi' or 

addressing her by name;

 

c) I had intruded upon her privacy;

 

d) I had mentioned her dead [died in 1994] husband---an 

intrusive and no-no topic for a perfect stranger;

 

e) I should have started off with mentioning her fantastic 

early 1990s' Boston concert at the Orpheum Theater when 

she opened for Dylan and later sang a duet with him, and 

Verlaine played spooky guitar while sitting half-hidden in 

shadows way, way in the back of the stage, and Alan 

Ginsberg and his entourage were sitting just two rows 

in front of me in the 4th row orchestra section, 

dead-center, and .... and .. .

 

f) It had nothing at all to do with me; she was very 

disappointed that so few people were buying/bidding-on 

anything, and so her appearance to help the artists was 

turning out to be a bust; 

 

g) She was distracted, or/and daydreaming of eating 

a nice bowl of Brazilian black bean soup afterwards on 

Centre St.

 

h) Leo's expectations were too high and he's just too 

darn sensitive!  :>)

 

Or:

http://www.boston.com/yourlife/health/diseases/articles/2007/02/21/grief_stu
dy_says_yearning_is_felt_more_strongly_than_depression/
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