YEAR OF THE WOOD DRAGON: Patti Smith and Friends, Bowery Ballroom, February 10, 2024
"It was only supposed to happen once."

53 years ago, Patti Smith and Lenny Kaye stood together on the dais at St. Mark’s On The Bowery. She announced that it was Bertolt Brecht’s birthday and stated, “This reading is dedicated to crime!” She read poems. He played some guitar that sounded like a car crashing. It is once again February 10th, and Patti has decided that it is once again time to gather to commemorate this moment. To quote a friend, none of this is guaranteed, not any more. So we show up.
Friday night I had dinner with a friend in the East Village, and as we walked west afterwards in route to our individual trains home, we paused to say goodbye at the corner of Second Avenue and 10th Street, that irregular intersection with Stuyvesant Street that’s a vestige of the time when this part of Manhattan Island was still farmland. I was walking to the BMT at the corner of 8th and Broadway and I could have cut over just about anywhere, but I didn’t even consciously think about it, because if I am walking west from this vicinity I will always walk past St. Mark’s Church.

It is a corner of granite and ivy and gravestones and wrought-iron fence in the middle of bars and coffee shops and izakayas and tea rooms. There are definitely ghosts hanging around the churchyard because it is the second oldest church still standing and people have been praying there for a very long time. When I worked in an office at the corner of 8th Street and Broadway I would come sit on the benches out front on the days when corporate America was doing its best to pulverize me between its grindstones.
It is a weird week in NYC, Fashion Week is on, and the weather has been weird - there was a snowstorm in the forecast as I sat in the airport and wrote this - and it was a particularly bonkers day to be standing out in front of Bowery Ballroom for a couple of hours as people made their way from the Lower East Side towards Soho or Chinatown. There are still shuttered and graffiti covered storefronts from businesses that did not survive the pandemic. There was confetti in random places on the sidewalk from earlier Lunar New Year celebrations. There were tourists, plenty of tourists, who stopped and inevitably asked us why we were standing on a sidewalk in front of a row of shuttered buildings. There was a lot of honking, as the cars came off the Brooklyn Queens Expressway via the Williamsburg Bridge, across Delancey Street, and continuing west towards the Holland Tunnel. Honk. Honk honk honk.1
This was not a particularly well-advertised show because it came together in what passes for last-minute in today’s music business. The upstairs was reserved for friends so the rabble were on the floor as they always are, and based on overheard line-waiting and pre-show chatter, there were a lot of random attendees who had never seen Patti Smith before and found themselves in town and rocked up to the venue. But playing the small room in front of the usual motley suspects, friends and comrade musicians, actors, creators, and other general weirdos gave them the license to just get out there and put on a show. It was the kind of thing you used to be able to do, back when you could realistically expect to find parking right in front of Bowery Ballroom, or barring that, across the street in front of the laundromat which is somehow still there.2
Patti set the tone of the evening when she walked out with her daughter Jesse and proceeded to read a poem they had written 45 minutes earlier in honor of Lunar New Year. They reminded us that it was also Losar, the Tibetan New Year, and in its honor Jesse read an elemental Tibetan prayer that was also being read by one of her musical collaborators, the musician Tenzin Choegyal, who she worked with (along with Laurie Anderson) on last year’s Songs from the Bardo. Tenzin was on the other side of the world but the concept was that it was the same poem being read with the same intention. There was some kind of loud fracas involving security as Jesse was introducing the piece and she commented that it was throwing off her concentration, and her mother stepped in to say that she could see that it was the head of Bowery Security so she understood it had to be something important, but “you can piss on my songs but give my daughter five minutes, please.”
I was going to write “after that spiritual moment, Lenny Kaye came out and they did ‘Fire of Unknown Origin’, introduced as a song she’d written in the Chelsea Hotel,” but honestly, Patti and Lenny duetting acoustically on “Fire of Unknown Origin” is also a spiritual moment. She left the stage to Lenny, who read from his wonderful Lightning Striking about his first encounters with Patti and her sister, and Patti asking him if he’d play guitar behind her at an upcoming performance. Part of the reading included those lines from “Ballad of a Bad Boy” — his mama killed him, his papa grieved for him, his little sister Annalea wept under the almond tree — and it was the moment where the significance of the day and the evening settled into your bones, like taking a deep breath where you can feel the ground under your feet for the first time all day. Lenny finished reading the section: “it was only supposed to happen once.” and the enormity of the the connection - none of us would be here in this place right now without any of this having happened - would almost be too much except the show keeps on moving.
Patti returns to the stage along with the rest of the band, which tonight included local musical man-about-town, former Bongo Jimmy Mastro, and they give us “Ghost Dance.” Jackson Smith is also onstage, so there are three guitarists, but I realize after the first chorus that what Jack is playing is the flute line that’s on the original, and I am sure someone will read this and think “bullshit” and all I can tell you that it is what he was doing, go find the tape and prove me wrong. I usually hear that counter-melody in my head because it isn’t anything that’s ever part of the live version except tonight I realized that it was and it was because the band decided to include the electric utility knife that is James Mastro and the man of profound guitar talent that is Jackson Smith. There is almost too much guitar talent in the room and they are just, you know, up there doing their thing, and it is notable that their thing is not showing off but instead the exact opposite, making the smallest possible contribution because that is what the situation calls for.
Patti Lee once again vacates the stage for the band moment, which Tony Shanahan prefaces by telling us that we definitely don’t expect it and that we’ll be surprised that they even listen to this kind of music. There’s paper with the lyrics and chords on a music stand literally right in front of me and I’m reading it backwards as the spotlights shine through, and I have no idea what this song is, but because it is right under my head I am also not taking my phone out to google the lyrics.
After one or two verses, Tony stepped to the mic and sang the first verse of “Dead Flowers” which is where we all thought this was going until he stopped and said, “It’s the same song! It’s basically the same song.” Once I realized I was definitely not going to figure this out just by using my thinking brain I did a fucking google and discovered that we were being treated to “I Love This Bar” by Toby Keith. Which makes sense if you have been to these kinds of things before. I mean, Patti used to cover Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Life” back in the day. She covered “Stay” by Rihanna in 2013. At Lenny’s birthday celebration in 2016 years ago the entire band walked out and stormed into the Doobie Brothers’ “Jesus Is Just Alright.” (IT WAS FUCKING GREAT.) So this was just another one of those moments, which for this band, especially in this room, is, you know, reasonable and customary. I did, however, feel bad for anyone in the audience for whom this was their first experience seeing Patti Smith. Because this is definitely not what they were expecting.
Patti returned and read from a chapter in Year of the Monkey, and brought out a nervous-looking fellow wearing an acoustic guitar, introduced as Michael Pitt. I gave up trying to be subtle with my phone usage and determined that he was an actor and possibly also a musician. His contribution to “Nine” was occasional bar chords, hitting Jay Dee Daugherty’s cymbals with his headstock, and clomping around sideways. I decided that someone in the band had become friendly with him and invited him along to the show and he was both thrilled and nervous as fuck to be on that stage with Patti fucking Smith and I found the whole thing charming in the extreme. He did not return until the bows at the end of the night.
It is starting to feel very Rolling Thunder-esqe but let’s be honest, if you’ve read me long enough you know that I will try to fit anything remotely like it into that box because it is my favorite Dylan era, so take that statement with a grain of salt.
On the subject of Robert Dylan, 60 years ago Bob released The Times They Are A-Changin, Patti reminds us, and “One Too Many Mornings” is one of her favorite songs that has been a lovely moment over the past couple of years. This sidesteps briefly into a reminder that just like it was 53 years ago it is still Bertolt Brecht’s birthday. She briefly sings some lines from “Lullaby” from Mother Courage, and then despite the joking and the asides and the self-deprecating comments and the snappy retorts to the idiots in the audience bellowing WE LOVE YOU at any moment the band are trying to communicate with each other about what’s happening onstage3, the chords inform us that it is time for “Masters of War.” This is not the first time she has sung “Masters of War” and not the first time I have seen her sing “Masters of War.”
Earlier today I was texting with a friend and they asked, “How was Patti?” And although I will tell you that I normally hate that question, mostly because it’s impossible to give a short answer and I’m not writing a review in text message, this was asking it differently. And my response was, “I always learn something from her.”
I was specifically thinking of this performance of “Masters of War” because that song is already a text, it already arrives with its own weight and substance. That means that when you decide to step into its weight and put it on your shoulders you are steely-eyed confident that you have something to add to its already very considerable presence. Patti’s shirt tonight read “Hoping for Palestine” and that was not just something she pulled off of the laundry pile because Patti Smith is always precise with the words that she chooses. In the delivery of this rendition of “Masters of War” there was seven flavors of fury and anger and so much deep sadness and despair. I was overwhelmingly sad and grateful, grateful that she’d cleared this space for herself and for us.
Two more songs from the band, “I Want To Hold Your Hand” for Tony in honor of the 60th anniversary of the Beatles’ arrival; Jesse sings backup and does hand claps and tries to coax her mom from her spot on the stairs leading offstage. The “it’s a nugget if you dug it!” entry of the evening is “Dirty Water,” which Lenny tries to fashion into a song about the Lower East Side, which it is not and he is the first person on the planet to know that which is why he gets a mulligan. I am not arguing about historical accuracy with the actual Dean of Nuggets. Lenny Kaye is our version of the medieval monk who keeps the sacred scrolls, he got his own belated and well-deserved victory lap this past year when it was the 50th anniversary of the compilation that is now so irrevocably part of the culture that it seems impossible to imagine a time where we didn’t venerate “Psychotic Reaction” or try to sound like the 13th Floor Elevators or accept that “Gloria” via the Shadows of Knight is the Garage Rock National Anthem because so much was built off of those three chords, there are songs that could literally not exist without that bedrock and there are songs that do not even know that they are standing on those shoulders. It is like air, or water at this point.
“And yet another unrehearsed gem,” is how Patti introduces the next number, which turns out to be “Puff the Magic Dragon” in honor of the Year of the Dragon. I learned this song at Girl Scout camp and was one of those people who loved to sing at Girl Scout camp, and I could not have told you what the second and third verses were (or that there were even second and third verses). Every chorus she gestured at us to sing, which apparently we were not doing sufficiently well, and that’s when we got “If I can sing the fucking song, you can sing it.” 4
At some point5 there’s a decision to sing Berthold Brecht’s “Alabama Song.” As we’ve already established, it is his birthday today. Patti brings Jesse to the front and holding hands, the two launch into the first verse. Even if not everyone in this room has heard of Brecht, they’ve definitely heard the Doors’ first album at some point in their lifetime, and everybody drunk people loves singing the song about the whiskey bar. The challenge is that this seems to have been an audible — it’s not on the setlist — and no one knows the words after that first verse… except for Tony Shanahan. And while one of the many, many ways Tony Shanahan is an invaluable asset to Patti Smith as a musical collaborator and member of her performing ensemble is that he either has negative ego or is way more evolved than your average bear and manages to just keep it hidden, this entire evening was going to go off the deep end if someone did not take immediate and decisive action. Tony Shanahan (unsurprisingly) knows all of the words to “Alabama Song” and he takes the lead and pulls this rendition back off of the edge of the cliff that it was teetering on. Like, it’s been almost 30 years that he’s been part of Patti’s band and even if he hadn’t earned the right at this point (in my opinion anyway) to solve this problem, he was the one thing standing between slight embarrassment and complete humiliation.6
“This song doesn’t have an anniversary, it just perpetuates,” announces “Dancing Barefoot.” This is a song that has been played hundreds of times; it is Patti’s most-covered song (yes, even over “Because the Night,” that is a very difficult song to sing) and it was this soft, beautiful, pillowy moment, grey heads gently nodding, people with eyes halfway closed, bodies swaying. It was probably not the moment most people went home and told their friends about but it was a few minutes of simple communion with the music and the artist and the lyrics and the vocals. Patti lifts her arms and there’s a brief glimpse of a 77-year-old midriff and I wonder why I cannot be that brave myself.
Fred Sonic Smith wrote this song for us, she reminds us, and also informs us that we are to imagine that the band has climbed up three flights of stairs to the dressing room while applauding loudly for an encore of “People Have The Power.” Before the last chorus, Patti reminds us -- as she always, always, always reminds us -- that the Dragon rewards hard work, so we should work hard. It is exhortation, it is blessing, it is benediction. I have stood in this room and heard those words in different forms so many times and every time she is right and every time I am thankful for it, even if sometimes it’s more like a kick in the gut than a cheer from the sidelines.
I always learn something from her.

There used to be a handmade sign on a light pole as you funneled closer to the Holland Tunnel that read, “DON’T HONK, IT WON’T HELP.” I always saluted the local resident whose initiative drove them to that one small gesture to try to bring their neighborhood some peace. ↩
The amount of internal they must own the building statements I made while walking around the past few days was off the charts. ↩
“It’s not going to help you,” she replies after half a moment of withering silence that would have made me collapse into a pile of humiliated dust, but the dude tried it again later on. ↩
SIDE ANECDOTE: I went to see the Conspiracy of Hope tour at Giants Stadium and was down in the crowd towards the stage at the beginning of the day. A very early act was Peter, Paul and Mary , and no one in my immediate vicinity knew who they were. So I helpfully explained that they were the people who sang “Puff, the Magic Dragon” which everyone knew, causing a large group to chant “Puff, Puff” during every song. Someone near me made a tiny cardboard sign reading PUFF. It was hilarious. I did not feel bad because prior to this knowledge the crowd did not GAF and now they were at least interested. ↩
I don’t have notes so I don’t know exactly where, because it was literally like watching a car crash in slow motion ↩
The dude is fascinating. One of the many regrets of things that stood no chance of making it into a book that wasn’t supposed to be more than 40k words was the fact that I got to do a deep dive into Tony Shanahan’s history. His first real gig in the music business was as a part of John Cale’s band in the 90s. Can you imagine?? ↩