November 10, 2025 marks the 50th anniversary of Patti Smith’s album, Horses. I feel honoured to reflect on this work, but also a tremendous amount of pressure to capture what it is for the people who love it, and – perhaps even more so – for those who are not yet familiar with Smith’s music.
I desperately want to convince you to listen to this album and to see her perform, as if your life depends on it. I want you to tremble under her spell. I recognise this aim suggests a certain level of bias, but I actually don’t consider myself a “super-fan”.
I have seen Smith several times across a significant amount of time, which should allow me to offer some insights about her work. I first saw her perform in 2000, when I was 14 years old. I saw her again on New Year’s Eve in 2011 at the Bowery Ballroom in NYC, and in London in 2015 and 2018. I’ve read her first memoir, Just Kids (her third, Bread of Angels is published this week). But I can’t recount her life story. I just think she’s cool as hell.
