Patti was at the Getty and this tired jaded rock & roll heart needed to see her. Her voice saved me those late dark Philly nights years ago. She gave me direction then and I was lost so right now her timing was perfect.
She was in town to talk at a synposium about her friend, Harry Smith and this evening was a night of poetry and music for Harry. There was excitement in the air and the audience was friendly. She came onstage with her son, Jackson, who sat quiet as she opened with Piss Factory (the first thing I ever heard her do). It was heaven.
She read poems, sang songs, played guitar, made mistakes, cussed, spit, looked for lost pieces of paper, and told stories about Harry and her family. Jackson joined her on guitar, they made jokes at each other, we were in thier living room. The encore was one of the most rocking raw versions of Dancing Barefoot ever. There was a private reception afterwards for Patti at the Bel Air Bar and Grille. I talked to her briefly. (How do you speak to an angel?)
She apologized to a mom who had brought her kid to the show cause she had cussed on stage. She was tired, it had been a long day, she said she was suppose to stay in LA longer to do some TV dates but her mom was really sick and she had to go home. It was a sweet surreal night. The Angels can come and get me now without a fight
– Cindy Pop