Patti Smith

E and I had a late Sunday night (especially for her) seeing Patti Smith at Hamer Hall. I'd gone with moderated expectations, half expecting a quiet night of poetry and perhaps a mostly acoustic set. I also expected lots of grey hair in leather jackets, and there at least my expectations were precisely met.

The venue didn't help - I'm sure Hamer Hall is a great venue for a chamber orchestra, but the last couple of times I've been there the formality of the place has been a distraction. We saw Dweezil Zappa and his band there last year, and although the band was breathtakingly tight and exuded fun from every sweaty pore, watching them from perched up in the balcony felt like watching a football game at the MCG - detached, but knowing that somewhere, someone was having a lot of fun. A few weeks ago we saw Bill Bailey, which wasn't so bad, partly because we were sitting closer, but also because he had an impressive set. A one-man performer knows he can't personally fill the stage so builds in a bit of visual fat - surreal stage decoration and rock-show lighting.

But fuck expectations and crash through the formality of the venue - she just rocked it up. She shook and danced through the first half of the set, her hands twitching and shaking, shedding a mad excess of kinetic energy. By "Rock and roll nigger", the second or third song into the set, the band was pumping and had brought the audience with them. She finished the (pre-encore) set with a couple of covers: "Smells like teen spirit" and "Gloria".

A couple of times I said to a tired-looking E, "Do you want to go now?" She looked at me like I was slightly barking and, frowning, said "No, I'm good", and we stayed for the final encore.

Next time she's here, I'm taking Al.