CD REVIEW

ROCK BANGA Patti Smith ( Sony Music)

There’s a critical point in the 10- minute improvised narrative Constantine’s Dream where Patti Smith describes a heavenly vision of St. Francis of Assisi, then declares: “I could not give myself to him / I felt another call — the call of art.” In its way, her admission that the most idyllic life imaginable can’t overcome her thirst for artistic expression is as tragic as the environmental devastation depicted elsewhere in this complex but lucid career highlight. Perhaps the best hope of resolving the struggle between life and art is to bring an intensely personal approach to the latter. Smith has always done this. At times she takes inspiration from the masters of literature, cinema and beyond, summoning a visceral and singular reaction to them that elevates her fiery catalogue to a level that approaches her cherished canonical works. At other times she has opened her private life to the public, most recently in Just Kids, the 2010 memoir that recounts her close bond with the late artist Robert Mapplethorpe while exposing universal truths about creation and creators. On Banga, she does both. Smith is in the minority of rock singers who would consider writing a song that alludes to Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky; if its indirect subject matter isn’t enough to define Tarkovsky ( The Second Stop Is Jupiter) as a Patti Smith composition, her riveting incantation and the band’s simultaneously taut and elastic psychedelia clinch it. Alternatively, when she eulogizes one acquaintance ( Maria, a tribute to actress Maria Schneider) and writes a song for another ( Nine, a birthday gift to Johnny Depp), the former’s rumination on youthful immortality and the latter’s sun- baked mystique honour their inspirations while transcending them. Banga is among Smith’s most balanced albums. She doesn’t skimp on her trademark shamanic righteousness ( Fujisan; Mosaic); Tarkovsky and Constantine’s Dream fulfil the craving for improvisatory revelations; April Fool and This Is the Girl are short and sweet gifts from an artist whose mastery of pop craftsmanship is often overlooked. Through all of this, Smith is in stellar voice – still capable of raging at the darkness, but just as capable of expressing communal joy and profound melancholy. This is no surprise: she has surely lived enough anger, happiness and sorrow to draw from whenever she feels the call of art.