How Patti Smith’s favourite Bob Dylan song defines her artistry: “I related completely to him”

Asking Patti Smith to pick her favourite Bob Dylan song is like asking her to pick her favourite child. I’d never dare, but some braver soul did.

The connection between Smith and Dylan runs so much deeper than her simply being a fan of the music. Of course, she is. In her Early Works poetry collection, she dedicated poems to her idol and poses for a photo with his face concealing her own. She writes in Just Kids about not only pouring over his work, but wanting to feel the same about her own, to embody his confidence in his title as an artist.

The first time the two ever met, her reaction was less that of a peer or of another era-defining name, and simply one of a complete and utter fangirl. “I acted like a teenage boy when he sees the girl that he likes come in, and he… acts like he doesn’t like her,” Smith recalled to the Bob Dylan Centre. He asked if there were any poets back there as he went to meet her after her show. Overcome with nerves, she responded that she hated poetry. It was dorky and somewhat embarrassing but clearly utterly endearing – the pair were friends from then on.

It runs deeper than that because their friendship would later prove to be a vital lifeline. After the death of Smith’s husband, and after a period of semi-retirement where she hadn’t played live, Dylan was one of the key figures who encouraged her back to the stage.

“I hadn’t performed for over 16 years, but Bob Dylan offered me the chance to tour with him, which was a safe way to return,” she said to Harvard Business Review. Comfortable with him as a friend, and knowing she’d never turn down her idol, it was the perfect offer to bring her back.

So Smith’s love for Dylan has always been beyond the music, but at the same time, it all spans from those songs that the young punk-poet heard and fell in love with, especially ‘It’s Alright, Ma’.

Picked out to feature in a list of her all-time favourite songs, she said, “Well there’s a million of ’em…so it would change, like ten minutes from now. So I didn’t know how to answer this, I thought I’d see what I say,” landing on this 1965 track in the end. But the song feels perfectly reflective of Smith’s admiration for Dylan and his influence. 

As a lengthy seven-minute-long track, its impact on Smith’s own spanning, often ten-plus minute-long tracks, is clear, making her realise that a song doesn’t have to be short or snappy when what you’re trying to make is art, rather than a hit. Also, in its ambiguous lyrics, Smith found a lesson that music doesn’t have to make everything clear – it can be as loose and elusive as poetry.

“I related completely to him. His arrogance, his humour, his mergence of poetry and performance,” Smith once said to the Irish Times, summing her love for the folk legend up perfectly and succinctly.

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