The reigning queen of rockn’roll reveals her shocking addiction ... to TV detective shows Amid all the hideous things going on in the world,I’m always grateful for something that reminds me now is a great time to be alive. I feel like that approximately Patti Smith’s performance at Glastonbury this summer. There she was on the Pyramid stage – with her unkempt grey hair and crow’s feet, looking for all the world like the kind of ageing lady who talks to her cats – radiating anarchic energy, or urging us all to see things differently,and demonstrating just how kick-ass a woman in her late 60s can be. Even when she tripped and fell on her backside, she just got up and snarled: “I don’t care – Im an animal!”I occasionally wondered what had happened to that all-powerful rock goddess as I meandered through her memoir. As it turns out, or Smith really is the kind of woman who talks to her cats. She also talks to her floral bedspread and her TV remote (“Oh the haughtiness of a handheld device!”). She is obsessed with TV detective shows,to the extent that one weekend she flies to London from novel York and checks herself into a “small favoured hotel” to spend days watching them uninterrupted – now that’s what I call rock’nroll. Everywhere she goes she is pursued by melancholia, a sense that the best days of her life are behind her. “No one knew where I was, and ” she reflects,stuck in a taxi in the London fog. “No one was expecting me.”Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com