July 2005

I took the very cool RiverLink from Burlington to Camden. Jimmie Rodgers wasn't there, but day two of XPN's All About The Music Festival was.

I watched the tiny Erin McKeown play an awesome set while I ate tasteless vegetarian egg rolls (they could have at least put some salt in them!). Then I met Erin and asked her to sign my beat-up old guitar. I watched the Indigo Girls play an emotionally powerful set with a variety of guitars, crazy-looking banjos and mandolins.  I missed Loudon Wainwright III's set while walking around the Tweeter Center and boat dock, looking at the perfect late-afternoon summer sky above the sparkling water and the Philadelphia skyline, feeling the perfect late-afternoon summer breeze, while kneeling down to lap up the sweet, sweet nectar that is the Delaware River (just kidding about that last part). I was reminded of the night that some friends and I sat at the waterfront listening to Pearl Jam, who were playing inside (well, some of us sat there; my friend Nick scaled the wall behind the lawn and got in).

I got way up close to the stage forty-five minutes before Patti Smith and Her Band were scheduled to perform, and I stayed there. Michaela Majoun, who, it turns out, is not a walking voicebox as I had imagined, but indeed a fully-formed, lovely, human woman, walked onto the stage with a wireless microphone and reminded me why my festival ticket was easily the best five dollars I will ever spend (even when those five dollars are adjusted for inflation):

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Columbia recording artist, Patti Smith!"

Yup, that was Patti Smith. Right in front of me. She, in turn, was right in front of a giant, transparent XPN banner, which was light enough to show off the aforementioned disgusting-yet-picturesque river and the inspiring Philly skyline. "To think of all the concerts I've seen next door at the Tweeter, where the backdrop was a wall," I thought to myself (some of which cost over $50 and had terrible sound).

Before starting her first song of the evening, Patti explained to us that her drummer was tied up on public transportation somewhere, but would arrive soon (a second member of the band was absent, as well). They'd decided not to leave us hanging and, instead, play some tunes acoustically, which they did, starting with "Dancing Barefoot." What a voice.

Between songs, Patti saluted Camden: "It's a very diverse city, and a struggling city, but here's to Camden!"

The drummer strolled on-stage soon, and the familiar reggae beat of "Redondo Beach" from Horses (to be re-released 11/8/05) followed, complete with some complimentary whistles from the ferry.

Patti then vented about security hassles prohibiting her from visiting Philadelphia's Independence Hall, and railed against the "ugly, metal piece of shit" that is the Independence Visitors Center. "Do you know how much it fucking costs to build all that shit, when kids in Philadelphia have schools that are run-down?" Patti ranted, drawing cheers from the crowd. "I was very happy to see that I could freely visit Walt Whitman's grave today without going through security."

The sweeping, pastoral "Beneath The Southern Cross" followed, a highlight from her essential Gone Again album, which, as it did on the album, featured a long, acoustic climax, with Lenny Kaye screeching out huge, ambient backing vocals.

"My Blakean Year" started with Patti strumming a minor chord on her acoustic guitar, just as it did last year on Late Night with Conan O'Brien (not to mention the album, trampin'), but the first verse was preceded by an amusing three-minute improvised rap about times spent in Camden during her youth:

in 1962
there was a shipyard flourishing
and I would come and eat cotton candy
sometimes I'd stand
before the old Walt Whitman hotel
and wonder
did Whitman sleep there?
I would eat at White Castle
but they took it away
I love the hot chocolate
in Camden
in 1964 my pals never had as good a coat
'cause I bought my coats in Camden
in the thrift stores where
rich people from Philadelphia
would send them over
I wore Harris tweeds
and Irish overcoats
and silk shirts
from Dior
which I got in Camden
oooh, Camden
you were the coolest fuckin' city around
in 1964
and I remember you
and nobody has topped you
I've been to London and Paris and Rome
I'm going to Moscow and Iceland
and I've been everywhere but
Camden
you're the one I love

By now, night was starting to fall, clouds of pot smoke drifted through the crowd with increasing frequency, beach balls were coming out of nowhere, it seemed (when you're in the pit, everywhere else seems like "nowhere") and hitting some folks on the head, much to their annoyance. After having served as a beach ball landing strip one too many times, one nearby woman became especially upset and attempted to deflate one. Somehow, it ended up back in circulation, but when it landed near me, it soon met an untimely death at the hands of my pen (pen hands?). Perhaps drawn to the carnage like onlookers at an accident scene, a succession of beach balls came my way during the remainder of the concert, each of which was put out of service, much to the relief and elation of the aforementioned irritated woman, and my other concert buddies. As me and the drunken man behind me looked at the collection of decommissioned beach balls littering the pavement around my feet, I commented, this is where beach balls come to die.

Meanwhile, Patti and her band began to kick things up a notch or three, following the relatively mellow first-half of their set (and, in fact, a day full of relatively mellow sets), starting with the rocking "Free Money." By the time Smith and the band started a cover of "Like A Rolling Stone," the sky had finally darkened, exposing the lights of the Philly skyline and allowing the stages lighting effects to work their magic on the musicians and the crowd. Thanks in part to the inevitable rock show 'contact high,' I found myself dancing and singing my heart out to the familiar Dylan tune.

Then, to my complete shock (and that of my fellow attendees), Patti announced that she was only allowed to play for another five minutes. Over the wave of groans and boos, she continued, if we stay on-stage and don't leave for an encore, we can play longer. That sounded like a good idea to the crowd, and Patti agreed. A strong rendition of the anthem, "People Have The Power" followed, which reminded me that XPN had played the song at least three times on Election Day '04. Patti segued into the next song:

We must not live in fear! We the people are strong. Don't forget it!

In our future, we must unite, we must build a universal peace movement. We cannot let our government disenfranchise us, make us enemies of each other. NO MORE FUCKIN' WARS!

I look across the river to Philadelphia, where the signed the Declaration of Independence... THEY were the TRUE patriots. THEY were revolutionaries. They were proud. They feared not. They knew that the PEOPLE RULE! We do not serve the government! The government serves the people! And the Patriot Act is the most UNPATRIOTIC thing ever produced by our government! It is ILLEGAL. It is IMMORAL. It is a STAIN upon the words of Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Payne. People, WAKE UP!

Patti and the band then took the already-high momentum and pushed it to the stratosphere with a rowdy version of "Rock and Roll Nigger," during which she rocked a black Strat, scratching the strings and coaxing feedback out of it while she paced the stage. When the song finally began to slow down, she began a seemingly improvised dialog, which fans realized, after she drawled something about someone leaning on a parking meter, was the beginning of her version of "Gloria."

I said, "What's your name, girl?"

She said, "Uh, ya know how to spell?"

I said, "Yeah, I went to school in New Jersey!"

After the song, she started a NO MORE WAR chant, finally shouting, "We'll fight our own fuckin' battles with the electric guitar!," then the song crashed to a halt.

Some have called the Delaware River "disgusting." Some have made sarcastic comments about its water being like "sweet, sweet nectar." But the waterfront has been the scene of many of the best concert experiences of my life. And thanks to XPN, the latest such experience only cost $5!