Patti Smith – Horses

Horses by Patti Smith Group? Yeah, that 1975 slab of raw nerve and poetry vomit. Don’t let the “Group” fool you – this is Patti’s show, front to back. She ain’t singing, she’s preaching, screaming, whispering secrets like she stole ’em from God’s back pocket. And you wanna know what? It still kicks ass forty damn years later. First off – “Gloria.” Opens with “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine.” That line alone should’ve gotten her banned from every radio station in America. But nope. They played it. Because it’s genius. Starts like a prayer, ends like a riot. Lenny Kaye’s guitar? Crunchy as hell. Bruce Brody’s keys? Haunting. Jay Dee Daugherty? Drumming like his life depended on it. Which, knowing Patti, maybe it did. Then there’s “Birdland.” Nine minutes. Nine. Minutes. And not one second feels wasted. It’s a fever dream about her dead dad, UFOs, childhood trauma, and saxophones that sound like they’re bleeding. Ivan Kral’s bassline? Thick. Moody. Perfect. This track doesn’t ask for your attention – it grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go till you’re gasping. “Redondo Beach” – sweet on the surface, sinister underneath. Reggae-ish groove, lyrics about drowning your sister after a fight. Classic Patti. Twisted. Beautiful. Real. You think punk’s all speed and spikes? Nah. Sometimes it’s slow, swaying, smiling while it stabs you. But here’s the thing – not everything lands. “Kimberly” feels thin compared to the monsters around it. Cute story about her sister, sure. But musically? Meh. Floats by. Doesn’t stick. And “Free Money”? Catchy as hell, yeah. But sometimes Patti’s vocal affectations get… grating. Like when she stretches syllables into oblivion just ’cause she can. Dude, we get it – you’re poetic. Chill. Production? Rough. Gritty. No polish. Thank god. Arista didn’t sand down the edges. They let it breathe dirty. You can hear fingers sliding on strings. Amp hum. Breaths between lines. It’s alive. Feels like you’re in the room while they recorded it. Probably smelled like cigarettes and sweat and desperation. Perfect. Lyrically? Holy shit. She’s quoting William Burroughs, Arthur Rimbaud, turning rock into literature without losing the punch. “Land” – that three-part epic? Starts with horses, morphs into “Land of a Thousand Dances,” then dives into French poetry and sexual violence. WTF kind of ride is that? Only Patti could pull it off. Only Patti would even try. What didn’t I like? The pacing drags in spots. “Elegie” – nice sentiment, honoring fallen artists – but feels tacked on. Like an afterthought. And the CD version? Same tracks, same order. No bonus material. Lazy. Coulda thrown us a bone – live cut, demo, something. But who cares. This album changed everything. Opened doors for women who didn’t wanna sing pretty. For poets who wanted to scream. For punks who read books. It’s messy. Unapologetic. Loud when it needs to be, quiet when it cuts deeper. Final thought? If you listen to Horses and don’t feel something – anger, awe, confusion, lust, fear – check your pulse. You might be dead. Or worse – you’re just another algorithm pretending to be human.