Patti Smith
Twelve

If for you "priestess of rock" is not the usual pretentious phrase slapped on by the critic of the day, if there has been a moment when you've cried, shouted, or danced while listening to her voice, if "Horses" has managed to irreparably corrode your heart, if you weren't disappointed listening to "Trampin'", if for you a cover must be a legitimate theft, if you've always believed in the existence of another America, if you've sung at the top of your lungs at least once in the dead of night "Because The Night", if in my words you find even a tiny, infinitesimal glimmer of truth, well... then take this album, listen to it, and love it. On the other hand, if all this isn't enough for you, doesn't interest you, and you want to bore yourself knowing what it's really about, keep reading.

Patti Smith, the priestess of rock, returns to a recording studio three years after her last album, the controversial and for many uncertain "Trampin'" (for me, beautiful, important, and deep, but who cares). Resuming a project she had shelved for almost thirty years and her fine habit of reinterpreting other authors, this time Patti Smith delivers an album entirely made up of covers. Twelve songs, "Twelve" indeed, filtered through her soul and curiously spanning not only the temporal extremes of Jimi Hendrix ("Are You Experienced?") and Tears For Fears ("Everybody Wants To Rule The World"), gliding over pearls of eternal beauty now with delicacy ("Helpless" by Neil Young), now with emotion ("Pastime Paradise" by Stevie Wonder), not neglecting historical gems ("Gimme Shelter" by the Rolling Stones, "Within You Without You" by the Beatles and "Soul Kitchen" by the Doors) and seemingly charming oddities ("Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana), without forgetting the greatness of authors like Bob Dylan ("Changing Of The Guards") and Paul Simon ("The Boy In The Bubble").

Her voice, always vigorous and seductive, at times seems to have less than its actual 60 years of life, while at others shows that intense, true, authoritative strength that has made her one of the female icons of rock music. Besides the trusty Lenny Kaye (guitar), Jay Dee Daugherty (drums), and Tony Shanahan (bass, keyboards), this album doesn't lack significant artistic partners (Tom Verlaine, Rich Robinson of the Black Crowes, Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Giovanni Sollima) and familial ones (her children Jackson and Jesse Smith).

But these are just facts, dry facts you'll find everywhere. Not everywhere, though, will you find benevolent words for this work. An album for me beautiful, simple, and charming, which will hardly appeal to static and constipated critics. Easy to criticize, because it doesn't allow flights of fancy, digressions, and deep analyses. There is indeed little to say about its essence: twelve beautiful songs and a timeless voice. End of story. There's nothing more to say and nothing to understand.