An infinite number of rockin' pop records can be the greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!
Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine.
That may be the greatest opening line in rock 'n' roll's long and thumping history. It's iconoclastic. It's rebellious. It swaggers, it shrugs, and it seethes with the promise of desire and the pursuit of quick-fix happiness. It's a precise moment of glass shattering and rules breaking beyond meaningful repair. It's a confession. It's a sacrament. It's sacrilege. And it's all in service of a freakin' cover song. People say beware, but I don't care.
Patti Smith's "Gloria" is a medley, grafting her own rant "In Excelsis Deo" onto Van Morrison's familiar surly juggernaut "Gloria." The original version of the song was recorded by Morrison's group Them as a U.K. B-side (to "Baby, Please Don't Go") in 1964. In the U.S., radio programmers objected to the lines And she comes to my room/Yeah, she makes me feel all right, deeming the song too salacious for airplay. A 1966 cover by The Shadows Of Knight excised the offending line and hit the Top 10. And American youth was safe.
One wonders what the radio censors in the '60s would have said about Patti Smith's "Gloria" if they could have heard it a decade before it even existed. Probably nothing. Hearing it would have struck them mute. Their words are just rules and regulations to me.
I first encountered Patti Smith when she was interviewed in Penthouse magazine in 1976. I was 16 years old--drug store and 7-11 clerks in '76 could not possibly have cared less whether or not a customer was of legal age to purchase a skin magazine--so I guess that enhances Patti Smith's illicit allure for me. In the interview, Smith spoke in frank terms of sex, poetry, and rock 'n' roll. I recall that unflattering remarks she made about popular singer Helen Reddy rankled at least one Reddy fan in Penthouse's readership, prompting a pissed-off letter to the editor complaining about that Patti Smith person, a letter published in a subsequent issue. One presumes with some confidence that Patti Smith never lost any sleep fretting about this Reddy fan's reaction.
Alas, my first actual exposure to Smith's music might have put me in the incongruous company of Helen Reddy fans. I saw The Patti Smith Group perform "Ask The Angels" on The Mike Douglas Show in 1977, and I thought it was awful, horrible noise. About a year later, I would come to love that song. I never listened to Helen Reddy again.
I missed "Gloria" entirely. I didn't hear it when it was released as a single, nor as an album track on Patti Smith's debut album Horses in '75. I didn't see The Patti Smith Group on NBC's Saturday Night, where they performed Patti's interpretations of "Gloria" and The Who's "My Generation." But that late-night comedy series, soon to be rechristened Saturday Night Live, did ultimately provide the key to my entry into Patti Smith fandom. I'm not sure when it was--some time in '77--when SNL's weekly short film spot featured Patti Smith talking about censorship. The film clip opened with that line. That line.
Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine.
My jaw dropped. I was transfixed.
I probably first heard the complete song on the campus radio station in the fall of '77, when I was a minty freshman trying to immerse himself in this new sound called punk. Punk had a different and broader set of parameters then than it does now. In '77, Blondie was punk. Talking Heads were punk. Obviously The Ramones and The Sex Pistols were punk, but so were Eddie & the Hot Rods, Elvis Costello, Television, and maybe even Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. Punk described an attitude. I move in this here atmosphere where everything's allowed. Punk described Patti Smith.
Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine.
What was it like for an audience to experience this song for the very first time? I don't mean someone buying Horses, plopping it on the ol' turntable, and listening to the opening track, a track the LP's jacket told us was called "Gloria." I'm not talking about listening to a hipper-than-standard radio station, with a DJ introducing this new record called "Gloria" by Patti Smith. No. What was it like for someone to hear this for the very first time, live or on record, without knowing at all what was about to hit and keep hitting, harder and harder, slinkier and sluttier, more desperate with desire, finally succumbing to the urge to call out her name. And her name is. And her name is. And her name is. And her name is.
I can't imagine most would recognize it as a cover, at least not as the song begins. There's hardly a trace of Van Morrison in the initial set-up. Instead, there's mournful piano, and a defiant moan from the chick singing that Jesus died for somebody's sins, but that specific sinner ain't here.
The song churns forth, churns with a swagger beyond Jagger, a danger beyond Morrison, a lust beyond Penthouse readers grooving to Helen Reddy while perusing the Pet Of The Month. Woman. Hear her fucking roar, on her terms. People say beware, but I don't care.
Bored at a party, the singer spots a sweet young thing. And oh, she looks so good. Oh, she looks so fine. And I got a crazy feeling that I would make her mine, make her mine, make her mine, make her mine. It implies girl-girl titillation, but that's not what it is at all. Smith's androgyny grants her the ability to play the role she wishes. Here, she's Van Morrison. Mick Jagger. Jim Morrison. Lou Reed. Rimbaud. Sam the Butcher eyeing Alice on The Brady Bunch, for all we know. Or she's Patti Smith. And she's Patti Smith. Hello, audience. How ya like me now?
The sweet young thing comes walking down the street, here she comes. Coming through her door. Here she comes. Crawling up her stair. Waltzing through the hall in a pretty red dress. Knockin' at her door. Walkin' up her stairs. Here she comes. Oh my God, here's midnight! And I AH-AH! made her mine. And her name is. And her name is. And her name is.
And then, all of a sudden, the audience is struck by the realization of the sweet young thing's secret identity. The audience can even spell it. And her name is!
G!
L!
O!
R!
I-aye-aye-aye-aye-aye-aye-aye-aye!
G-L-O-R-I-A!
The release is divine, sweaty, and absolute.
As pundits and fans, we will argue far past midnight about what was or was not the first punk record. "Anarchy In The UK?" "Blitzkrieg Bop?" "Personality Crisis?" "(I Live For) Cars And Girls?" "I Wanna Be Your Dog," "Waiting For The Man?" "You Really Got Me?" "Jailhouse Rock?" Hell, "Rocket 88?" Them's "Gloria?" All of 'em. Each was first in its time, if only by a matter of seconds, each a Ground Zero for what came after, each built upon a scorched earth that pretends there was nothing there before it.
Patti Smith's "Gloria" belongs in that conversation. It came from nowhere, while still rooted in a million things from the Scripture of rock 'n' roll. Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine. A resurrection was at hand. Sing, you sinners. Sing.
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Our new compilation CD This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio, Volume 4 is now available from Kool Kat Musik! 29 tracks of irresistible rockin' pop, starring Pop Co-Op, Ray Paul, Circe Link & Christian Nesmith, Vegas With Randolph Featuring Lannie Flowers, The Slapbacks, P. Hux, Irene Peña, Michael Oliver & the Sacred Band Featuring Dave Merritt, The Rubinoos, Stepford Knives, The Grip Weeds, Popdudes, Ronnie Dark, The Flashcubes,Chris von Sneidern, The Bottle Kids, 1.4.5., The Smithereens, Paul Collins' Beat, The Hit Squad, The Rulers, The Legal Matters, Maura & the Bright Lights, Lisa Mychols, and Mr. Encrypto & the Cyphers. You gotta have it, so order it here. A digital download version (minus The Smithereens' track) is also available from Futureman Records.
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