can someone please cut and paste the playboy interview? nm

thx, but not the link, i mean the whole interview for those of us who can't access it nm
 
Playboy interview

By David Peisner

What has the world come to when pop music's bard of miserablism has hopped the gloomy pond to live a rather pleasant existence in sunny Southern California? Has Morrissey (gulp) grown up?

It certainly appears that way.

Steven Patrick Morrissey first glided into the spotlight in the early '80s as the graceful, wounded, sardonic voice of the Smiths. Pained, pretty songs with descriptive, often hilarious titles like "What Difference Does It Make?" and "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" quickly established the lanky, elegantly coiffed Manchester native as the reluctant antihero of choice for artsy, hypersensitive adolescents everywhere.

Morrissey proved a reluctant icon, but his reputation for willfully difficult behavior and his championing of causes that were either not-yet fashionable (vegetarianism, Margaret Thatcher-bashing) or never would be (celibacy) only seemed to increase his fans' fervor. The Smiths became genuine pop stars in their native Britain, but just as they were beginning to graduate from their "cult favorite" status in America, Johnny Marr, the guitar-playing yang to Morrissey's yin, abruptly quit, ending the band's short four-album run. This began the desperate cries for a reunion from über-devoted fans.

The calls have gone unheeded. Morrissey dove headfirst into a solo career, releasing albums that were warm (1989's Viva Hate), weird (1995's Southpaw Grammar) and wonderful (1992's swaggering, rockabilly-tinged Your Arsenal), though never quite recapturing the cultural zeitgeist he tapped into with the Smiths. His 1997 album Maladjusted was met with a groundswell of public apathy, leading to a seven-year absence from the studio, and a further retreat from the public eye.

Now Morrissey has reemerged with You Are the Quarry, a witty, emotional new album spiked with the sort of barbed lyricism ("The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores"), political bluntness ("America Is Not The World"), self-lacerating despair ("How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?"), unapologetic bravado ("I Have Forgiven Jesus," "I'm Not Sorry") and swooning melodic hooks that are his trademark. At 44, he has somehow avoided that often-inevitable fate for aging pop stars: He's not a has-been. The naked emotions in his lyrics continue to connect, year after year, evidence of a staying power and lasting influence few artists can claim.

His hard-earned reputation as a recluse and a curmudgeon notwithstanding, Morrissey proves charming, funny and forthcoming as he speaks to Playboy.com about, among other things, his affection for Southern California, the twisted legacy of the Smiths and why he refuses to watch the news.

Playboy.com: You're living in Los Angeles now. How did you end up there?

Morrissey: Honestly, it was just somewhere I happened to find myself. I didn't intend to, but I had become somewhat disillusioned with the cloud formations in England. So I itched to go somewhere, and suddenly I'm here.

PB: What's your impression so far?

M: Well, of course, it's exactly as everybody says. It's an insane place, but it's a beautiful place. I find the landscapes to be absolutely beautiful. The architecture is beautiful. And the people are trying to be beautiful.

PB: Are there things you miss about England?

M: I miss the common knowledge of daily gossip. Because England is so small, everybody knows exactly the same thing. Everyone has exactly the same experience. Everybody watches exactly the same things on television and hears the same radio, which of course never happens in this country because it's like many countries stuck together. In England, there's a certain common experience everybody has. I miss that. I also miss the humor. Los Angeles has not discovered humor.

PB: Is that why you recorded the new record in England?

M: Well, the studio we used in England, Hookend Manor, is actually the most fantastic place in Europe. It had nothing to do with the musical or political climate at all.

PB: In the way you work, do your surroundings influence the way the record ends up sounding? Would it have made a difference if it were in L.A., France or wherever?

M: Well, people tell me it would, but I'm not too sure. As long as your immediate surroundings and the room that you're in are calming, it doesn't really matter if you're in Winnipeg or Toledo.

PB: Spoken like a man who has never been to Toledo.

M: I was born in Toledo.

PB: Toledo, Ohio?

M: Yes.

PB: Really?

M: No. I'm just kidding. [Laughs]

PB: Well, having been to Toledo, you can't spend much time there without it influencing you. It's kind of a dreadful place.

M: Is it anything like Kalamazoo?

PB: It's actually quite a bit like Kalamazoo.

M: Well, you see, it's all a matter of personal taste, because I liked Kalamazoo.

PB: It's been seven years since your last album. What have you been doing with yourself?

: I've been touring a lot and looking for a deal. I've been hauled around to most of the majors in America. As you can very well imagine, that's been a frightening process. So I'm very happy with the way things have worked out with Sanctuary. They seem to be the most human record company in the world at the moment. Everybody else is absolutely insane.

PB: Have you been writing songs the whole time, or are most of these tunes written reasonably recently?

M: It's 50-50, but the best songs on the album were the ones that were written very recently. There's a lot to be said, I think, for the pressure of just getting in there and doing it. Sometimes when you have a lot of leisure time, with songwriting, it doesn't bring out the best in you. It's best sometimes if your back is against the wall.

PB: Do you hear a difference between the songs that were written more recently and the ones you plucked from longer ago?

M: I do, but perhaps other people won't. I hear an advancement, and I don't know whether that's because I'm not as young as I used to be -- but then who is as young as they used to be? There's something to be said for having been around for, shall we say, a certain number of years. I would kill myself before I'd mention the word "maturity."

PB: You mentioned shopping around for a record deal. Is that the main reason for the long layoff, or was there a time when you weren't that interested in making another record?

M: No, it was absolutely not the second reason. It was only the fact that I didn't have a deal. It became very frustrating. When you have meetings with record companies, they string you along for months and months, so suddenly you turn around and a year has gone. And of course, being here in Los Angeles, it really is the city of promises. So whoever you go to, they'll keep you dangling for nine months.

PB: Were the songs really slaved over or more just banged out?

M: The songs have never really been slaved over, ever. It goes back to that comment about having one's back to the wall. Certain times if you give less thought to things and just do it and follow your emotions, it happens more naturally and sounds better. The songs have never been painstakingly slaved-over because that's just not the way I'd like to make music. I'm not a professor. I absolutely still follow the heart.

PB: Were there any specific themes you wanted to get across in these songs?

M: I think the theme is simply my observations of life. That's all it's ever been about. Since the very first day I started to write and to record, it's never changed. It's quite literally just a matter of plugging in my diary.

PB: The opening song "America Is Not The World" is pretty unsparing.

M: Well, I think the basic fact is, America is not the world. I don't think anyone could look at that title and say, "Oh, yes, it is the world!" It's just a simple, basic fact. I'm not saying America is a horrible place. I'm just saying that it's not the world. Am I wrong?

PB: Well, I don't think you're wrong, but implied within the title seems to be a criticism of the current outlook of many of the folks running the country. I mean, there are plenty of people in the Bush Administration who act like America is the world.

M: They're wrong, though. [Laughs] They should look at a map, which obviously they never do.

PB: How much is your songwriting influenced by what you see on the news or read in the newspaper?

M: Being a reasonably intelligent person, of course, I never ever watch the news. Certainly the news in America is hysterically silly. It's slightly more bearable in England but only just -- because England is trying desperately to become Americanized. I never watch the news. It's always so depressing, isn't it? And certainly in America, the whole point of television news is to keep people in absolute fear of their lives. Of everything. Which is absurd.

PB: Your songs have become synonymous with a sort of naked emotionalism. Are you ever self-conscious about writing songs that fit the "Morrissey" image too well, or not well enough for that matter?

M: I never think about it, to be honest. I simply do what I do. But I don't think the songs are painfully naked, to use your term. I just think the fact is that most other people don't really sing in an intimate way. And when they think they do, they're not. Everything is adhering to some sort of pop-rock cliché.

PB: One of the new songs is called "I'm Not Sorry." It sounds like it could be the title of your autobiography.

M: [Laughs] Well, should it be?

PB: I don't know, I guess that's the question. Is it intended that way or completely unrelated to your outlook on life?

M: It's just a great bubblegum song.

PB: I imagine you're well aware of your relatively huge Hispanic following.

M: Yes. It's fascinating to me. The Hispanic audience, as you said -- I think they prefer to be called Mexican if you ask them -- they look fantastic. And, of course, that's all that's important.

PB: Did it puzzle you at first?

M: No, it never puzzled me, but people wrote about it in a very confused way. They wondered why it should happen. I think it's because of the great bursts of emotion that I have and that Mexican people also seem to have. They're quite volatile in a way. Not dissimilar to Italian people. I mean, they seem to be terribly peaceable, but their emotions are very volatile.

PB: Is it satisfying to see a whole subculture embrace your music in a completely different cultural moment than it was embraced back in the '80s?

M: Well, I think the music always suffered by being considered to be "independent" and "alternative" and so forth. It never really was. It was always much wider than that. I was always trapped in that category, and the label I was with for most of the '90s, Sire/Reprise, always maintained that [the music] was only alternative/independent, which it never was. It has always been much more accessible. I am not alternative. Alternative to what?

PB: Well, that's always been the question about alternative music in general. Were you disappointed with the way the last album was received, or not received, as the case may be?

M: Yes, I was very disappointed because on the release of the album, the person who had signed me at the label was sacked. All the people he had signed were removed, shall we say, from the label and I was one of them. I wasn't removed because of anything that I had failed to do, it was simply because of the association I had. So that happened on the release of the album, and the album didn't really stand a chance.

PB: People talk about you being extremely reclusive. Do you feel like you make an extraordinary effort to keep people, and the press in particular, at bay?

M: I must be quite frank: I do. Because I don't want to get in a situation where I garble and I yatter. It's very important to me that I'm not simply providing lip service or just smiling at anybody that comes past. I want to actually concentrate on what I'm doing. It's so easy to get caught in a whirlwind of meeting the press down at the pub. I don't want to be like that. I want to try at least to be rational over the things I do.

PB: Is it difficult to maintain that?

M: No, it's incredibly easy. You just bolt your door and close the curtains. You should try it.

PB: Do you worry that putting out a solo album will invite unwanted intrusions in your life?

M: I hope so.

PB: I'd be remiss if I didn't offer you the opportunity to quash any rumors of a reconciliation with Johnny Marr and/or a Smiths reunion.

M: Well, I have just made the best album of my career, so why would I be thinking about the Smiths? Why? Can you think of any reason?

PB: I had to at least set it up so you could knock it down. Do you think people's memory of the Smiths and their importance squares with your memory of the band and its legacy?

M: I hope not, because I wouldn't really wish those thoughts on any human being.

PB: Are you proud of the band's legacy, though?

M: I'm proud of the songs and I'm ashamed of everything else. Meaning the videos, the clothes.

PB: Do you think you're happy these days? Or, at least happier than you were 10 or 15 years ago?

M: I know I'm happier these days.

PB: Why?

M: Because I'm lucky.

PB: In what way?

M: [Laughs] Well, I'm lucky to be happier now than I was then. Trivialities aside, I do feel very happy and balanced these days. To be honest, it's a place I never really thought I'd find myself. Life is full of surprises.
 
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