Tom Watson picks the greatest cover versions of rock'n'roll and comes up with Patti Smith's "Gloria." Interesting choice. I might have gone with "Respect," myself.
But Smith's "Gloria" is incantatory and mesmerizing—and filled with genuine r'n'r passion, so on the day she's inducted into the Rock Hall of Fame, I'll give her props on that one.
In 1979, IIRC, I saw Smith at Portland's Paramount Theater. She ended her set with "Gloria," as usual, but she took it perhaps a bit too far into unknown territory. The other band members eventually left the stage, leaving Ms. Smith by herself, obsessively chording her guitar, generating waves of feedback. It was, initially, thrilling in its anarchic squawk, but as it continued, I became concerned that she was having a public meltdown. Finally, Lenny Kaye walked out on stage and whispered (shouted?) something in her ear, gently reached across and unplugged her guitar from the amp.
She suddenly seemed very small and lost on the stage. Kaye put his arm around her shoulder and tenderly led her off stage.
I've never known what really went on that night, but it sticks in my mind as one of the transcendent rock'n'roll events I witnessed. The whole set was powerful and exhilarating, and if the finale was enigmatic, it was also deeply moving. Ms. Smith dared to leap into the unknown because she trusted that the music and her friend, her bandmate would bring her back.
