A musician has left an unusually special legacy when other musicians from the opposite side of the world are collaborating to recreate her seminal album in full to a sizeable audience. That venerated musician still being alive invariably looms large over proceedings.
Patti Smith is, of course, no ordinary musician. A pioneer of the US punk scene in the 1970s, her work has spanned other genres, including poetry. Her influence has been hailed by the likes of the Smiths and REM, whose frontman Michael Stipe said Smith’s debut album, Horses, “tore my limbs off and put them back on in a whole different order”.
It’s the recital of Horses, in full, that has drawn several thousand people to Melbourne Town Hall on a balmy spring evening during the festival. The grandeur of the setting and varied lineup stave off any concerns these die-hard Smith fans would have been better off saving themselves a few bucks and simply listening to the album at home.
Wisely, the musicians moonlighting as a covers band do not attempt to embellish Smith’s music or make it about themselves. Without fuss, Adalita Srsen of Magic Dirt opens with a rousing take on Gloria, handing the baton over to Courtney Barnett to take on the second track, Redondo Beach.
Barnett is probably the star name in this tribute act but she doesn’t overplay her hand, passing on the mic to Gareth Liddiard of the Drones to take on the woozy, jazz-flavoured Birdland. Free Money is given to Srsen and it’s impressive – crunchy; it hits the right tone. Jen Cloher, who probably most resembles a younger Smith in look and style, bounds out to successfully take Kimberly.
The crowd is comprised of those who clearly cherish the memory of Horses’s release in 1975, along with a younger faction you’d probably more associate with a Barnett gig, perhaps wondering how this promising Australian musician measures up to one of the greats.
This is very much a team effort, however – Cloher is given the title track, which she confidently handles, rushing around the back of the stage and out again to embrace the musical bridge.
The encore is a chaotic My Generation where the keyboardist deals with malfunctioning equipment to clamber on to the Town Hall’s old pipe organ to play out the rest of the song. Liddiard thrashes away on a guitar as the three women take it in turn to bash out the lyrics.
Barnett finally allows her inner punk to be unleashed, smashing some cymbals and rolling on the ground to finish the song off. And with that, they are off. A carefully balanced tribute that doesn’t stray into pastiche. Smith, you’d imagine, would approve.
