Patti Smith’s “Gloria:” The Freedom to Sin

Great songwriters continued

Jesus died for somebody’s sins

But not mine

Patti Smith is a writer first and foremost. She never meant to be a punk symbol, she just wanted to be a poet like her idols Rimbaud and Ginsberg, consumed by a romantic aura that resembled those she worshipped. And yet, she became one of the most important acts in punk music’s formation.

There are no illusions to Smith’s punk image: she grew up in a poverty-stricken small town and went to work in a factory immediately after high school. At the age of 20 she ran away to New York, eventually befriending among the most artistically influential people of the time. As documented in one of the great rock memoirs “Just Kids,” Smith had a long while of roughing it alongside best-friend and lover Robert Mapplethorpe, surviving off only coffee and lettuce and working in bookshops. Encouraged by playwright Sam Sheperd, a close friend of hers, Smith started putting her words to music alongside Lenny Kaye’s guitar, not aiming for any recognition, but rather to experiment with a new medium. The two still play together today, nearly fifty years later.

Smith put out her first album “Horses” in 1975, pre-dating the Ramones, Sex Pistols, or The Clash. Her sound may not be categorized as punk music as it is modernly defined, but her snarling, chanted vocals, fast tempoed musical accompaniment, and lack of formal structure surely resemble something very close. At the least her live cover of The Who’s “My Generation” included on “Horses” couldn’t possibly be considered anything else. Not only was she a leading lady in the genre, but a leading person, her literary lyrics leagues above some of her peers’ choppy rhymes about sexual frustration and angst.

“Gloria” comes from “Oath,” a poem Smith wrote in 1970 mixed with a version of “Gloria” by Van Morrison’s early group Them. Though Smith’s “Gloria” is technically a cover, this version transcends the original in energy and spirit, turning the hazy distortion of garage rock into a sprawling concoction of sweat and poetry that leaves even the listener out of breath. “Gloria” is the first track off “Horses,” making this song the world’s first introduction to Smith. And the first words of hers they ever heard were “Jesus died for somebody’s sins/ But not mine.”

“Gloria”’s intro is as arresting as any, the defiant rejection of guilt, specifically Smith’s Jehovah Witness upbringing, establishes a primary theme of what would become punk music. Smith’s opening declaration isn’t just an immature refusal but a liberating life-choice, arguing accountability over culpability. Smith doesn’t aim to denounce religion, but rather create a separation of church and the individual, especially when it comes to Catholicism’s assertion of oppressive control over women’s bodies.

At four-minutes and fifty-one seconds deep, Smith repeats the song’s opening couplet, but unlike the tranquil spoken-word tone she uses at the beginning, the line’s reprise sounds untamed and vulgar, as she relishes in the glory of freedom. When Smith coyly mutters “But not mine” it’s as if she is smirking at her accuser before launching into the final chanting of “Gloria,” solidifying the song’s status as heavenly.

Smith is an artist who was at the right place at the right time. If she hadn’t been surrounded by incredibly talented individuals she may have never sang alongside a guitar and rather stuck to the written word. The books she has published since may even be a more impressive accomplishment than her music, as that is where her heart lay. Regardless, “Gloria” struck strong enough to light a damp match, unlocking a treasure that wasn’t supposed to be found within her, and influencing music for decades to come.