Charismatic, powerful and raw: Patti Smith, at Somerset House, reviewed

There are certain long-established rules for describing Patti Smith. Google her name and the words ‘shaman’ and ‘priestess’ and you’ll see what I mean. For the best part of 50 years she’s been treated as though she’s a mystical object, a human convergence of ley lines, as much as a rock singer.

In the courtyard at Somerset House, she didn’t exactly discourage the clichés. There was a long lecture on the power of the full ‘buck’ moon, which was hidden by clouds but still prompted the people in front of me to pull out their phones to check astronomy apps. There was a lengthy hymn to William Blake that concluded: ‘And then the children, the chimney sweeps, remembered him.’ And of course, there was the song ‘Ghost Dance’, about identifying with the Native American struggle (in general, Native Americans are one of the subjects best avoided in a rock song, along with ‘I met an old man who turned out to be real wise’ and ‘Why I love my children’.)

Her status as one of the progenitors of punk – and as a feminist hero – meant the crowd was startlingly varied in age, from teens to people as old as Smith herself (she’s 77), who were rapt and devoted. She remains charismatic – still in black jacket and jeans, as she has been for ever. Her voice was always idiosyncratic so age hasn’t affected it; she sang powerfully throughout. And she has not done the thing some older singers do, of surrounding herself with lots of musicians to bolster the sound.

She played with a simple line-up of guitar, bass, drums and occasional keyboard, played by her son Jackson, longtime collaborator Tony Shanahan and the great British jazzer Seb Rochford. The garage-band attack of the group complemented her own rawness, and Jackson is a startlingly adept guitarist, reminiscent in tone to Smith’s old CBGB confrères Richard Lloyd and Tom Verlaine of Television.