M
MOZ HEAD
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This review from New Times LA...
MORRISSEY
A superhero to depression addicts allover the world, lonely boy Stephen Morrissey made his grand entrance into the world of pop music in 1983 fronting the Smiths, a band that partially redeemed England from giving us such early '80s musical atrocities as Blancmange and A Flock of Seagulls. A self-absorbed narcissist preaching the joys of vegetarianism and celibacy, Morrissey's joyless lyrics were home to songs with such fizzy titles as "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now," "Still Ill," and "Girlfriend in a Coma." Disguised as shimmering guitar pop, these musical tales of woe were put on display through the band's seemingly endless string of catchy hit singles. During the '80s, the Smiths were inescapable.
Alas, the same can't be said for Morrissey's solo career. After getting off to a roaring start with 1988's Viva Hate (which contained his sole solo moment of grandeur, the splendid "Every Day Is Like Sunday"), the desperado of despair has finally sunk to the lowest regions of the pop music netherworld -- releasing lackluster albums, canceling shows, and moving to Los Angeles. It's the latter that may be partly responsible for his sudden fascination with all things south o' the border, an odd little fetish that has led him to name his current tour Oye Esteban! You may also notice he's also looking a lot more like El Vez these days (no truth, though, to those rumors that he'll be replacing the Taco Bell Chihuahua in future commercials). While this fixation doesn't necessarily guarantee he'll launch into a medley of "Livin' la Vida Loca" and "Low Rider," a live appearance by Morrissey doesn't necessarily guarantee you'll hear any Smiths songs either. This was made clear at a recent tour stop in Nottingham, England, when the boy with the thorn in his side announced gleefully to the crowd: "It's funny you should mention 'This Charming Man,' because I'm never going to sing it again." To be fair, he usually does whip out at least one golden oldie from the Smiths catalogue -- "Meat Is Murder." Of course, in keeping with his sense of humor, it figures he'd pick one that nobody really wants to hear.
Having lost direction after disbanding the Smiths (and thus distancing himself from one of England's great modern guitarists, Johnny Marr), His Whineyness has spent the last decade attempting to patch it together again by hiring a series of swashbuckling axe grinders/cowriters, including Vini Reilly (of the Durutti Column) and Fairground Attraction's Mark E. Nevin. Moz has received a lot of press mileage over the fact that he was once president of a New York Dolls fan club, but the closest he's come to capturing the flamboyant and electrifying spirit of glitter rock was on the Mick Ronson-produced Your Arsenal. And that was almost 10 years ago. Nevertheless, his throngs of fans continue to be the most devoted on the planet, springing to his defense at nearly every opportunity while tightly clutching their Oscar Wilde books to their chests. Thus, you can probably expect soccer hooliganlike behavior when their fearless leader stops off at Hollywood's '80s alterna-rock haven (that would be the Palladium) to indulge in some cheerful holiday madness. Wed.-Thurs., Dec. 15-16, at the Hollywood Palladium, 6215 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (Jim Freek)
MORRISSEY
A superhero to depression addicts allover the world, lonely boy Stephen Morrissey made his grand entrance into the world of pop music in 1983 fronting the Smiths, a band that partially redeemed England from giving us such early '80s musical atrocities as Blancmange and A Flock of Seagulls. A self-absorbed narcissist preaching the joys of vegetarianism and celibacy, Morrissey's joyless lyrics were home to songs with such fizzy titles as "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now," "Still Ill," and "Girlfriend in a Coma." Disguised as shimmering guitar pop, these musical tales of woe were put on display through the band's seemingly endless string of catchy hit singles. During the '80s, the Smiths were inescapable.
Alas, the same can't be said for Morrissey's solo career. After getting off to a roaring start with 1988's Viva Hate (which contained his sole solo moment of grandeur, the splendid "Every Day Is Like Sunday"), the desperado of despair has finally sunk to the lowest regions of the pop music netherworld -- releasing lackluster albums, canceling shows, and moving to Los Angeles. It's the latter that may be partly responsible for his sudden fascination with all things south o' the border, an odd little fetish that has led him to name his current tour Oye Esteban! You may also notice he's also looking a lot more like El Vez these days (no truth, though, to those rumors that he'll be replacing the Taco Bell Chihuahua in future commercials). While this fixation doesn't necessarily guarantee he'll launch into a medley of "Livin' la Vida Loca" and "Low Rider," a live appearance by Morrissey doesn't necessarily guarantee you'll hear any Smiths songs either. This was made clear at a recent tour stop in Nottingham, England, when the boy with the thorn in his side announced gleefully to the crowd: "It's funny you should mention 'This Charming Man,' because I'm never going to sing it again." To be fair, he usually does whip out at least one golden oldie from the Smiths catalogue -- "Meat Is Murder." Of course, in keeping with his sense of humor, it figures he'd pick one that nobody really wants to hear.
Having lost direction after disbanding the Smiths (and thus distancing himself from one of England's great modern guitarists, Johnny Marr), His Whineyness has spent the last decade attempting to patch it together again by hiring a series of swashbuckling axe grinders/cowriters, including Vini Reilly (of the Durutti Column) and Fairground Attraction's Mark E. Nevin. Moz has received a lot of press mileage over the fact that he was once president of a New York Dolls fan club, but the closest he's come to capturing the flamboyant and electrifying spirit of glitter rock was on the Mick Ronson-produced Your Arsenal. And that was almost 10 years ago. Nevertheless, his throngs of fans continue to be the most devoted on the planet, springing to his defense at nearly every opportunity while tightly clutching their Oscar Wilde books to their chests. Thus, you can probably expect soccer hooliganlike behavior when their fearless leader stops off at Hollywood's '80s alterna-rock haven (that would be the Palladium) to indulge in some cheerful holiday madness. Wed.-Thurs., Dec. 15-16, at the Hollywood Palladium, 6215 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (Jim Freek)
