Morrissey Solo's Lyrics - Where Do You Stand?

[smiler]

I remember when Vauxhall came out - its was well recieved generally by the critics but the same section of "fans" moaned about the words - even then people longed for the old days - they always do.

 

[123xyz]

I see what you're saying. I actually agree with your understanding of Morrissey being his primary source material. Over the years the lyrics chart the course of his gaze as it moved from the world to his own navel. But in my view that's not a problem at all. In fact, I think it's the opposite: the "walls" around him were Shelagh Delaney, Oscar Wilde, James Dean, and all of his other early inspirations. Today the walls are gone. Today he's found freedom. I think his lyrics reveal a middle-aged pop star who wants to treat his legacy as indelicately as possible as a way of asserting his freedom to escape his own legend. By which I mean Morrissey's freedom not to be Morrissey.

(Yes, I realize I'm grasping at straws, but it's thin gruel all around, to mix metaphors. I need to cling to something... )

Well put and,I believe, very accurate. Among other clues that might support Worm's view, I would nominate Morrissey's goosing around and piss-taking on stage between songs. As far as I know,this only became such a delightfully regular occurrence in the latter half of his solo career. Certainly, I think he has become less over-wrought in this period and is , perhaps, faintly pleased to have this noticed.

 

[Worm]

Well put and,I believe, very accurate. Among other clues that might support Worm's view, I would nominate Morrissey's goosing around and piss-taking on stage between songs. As far as I know,this only became such a delightfully regular occurrence in the latter half of his solo career. Certainly, I think he has become less over-wrought in this period and is , perhaps, faintly pleased to have this noticed.

Thanks, and yes, I agree, his between-song banter has become much looser over the last ten years or so. This is another sign of his changing attitude.

I would like to quickly reiterate my earlier statement: neither the Morrissey of today or the Morrissey of yesteryear is "better" or "superior" to the other. Today's Morrissey doesn't repudiate the young Morrissey in any way. Obliquely, the songs in '83 look ahead to the man he would become, and the songs of now look back to where he came from. This is, for me, the most interesting and exciting dimension of his current work. It's like trying to work out, in your mind, how ice and steam derive from the same element.

 

[Anaesthesine]

I harp back to my post last week under the thread of “What Was the Last Book You Read” and I noted that I remember Morrissey saying that he seldom reads these days. This can work in both his favour, as he remains untouched by others influence. The down side is that Morrissey is such a magpie picking up pieces of others work and them incorporating it into his own and without him pecking at the scraps; he’s finding it a bit harder to come up with the former quality of the past.

I find it troubling that someone who was such an avid reader seldom reads these days (although I do remember someone posting their "I just met Morrissey" story here a couple of years ago who said that Morrissey had his nose in a book of poetry). Ceasing to read isn't just a small lifestyle change, it's a seismic shift. As an unrepentantly bookish person, I think that the act of reading only gets richer with time, and finding oneself under the influence ceases to be a factor to a mature thinker: we are strong enough to incorporate new ideas without sacrificing our own voice. Morrissey (like all of us) seems like he would benefit from the exposure to an engaging intellect that a great book offers.

Morrissey seems to suffer from a general lack of curiosity these days, and it may be that ceasing to read is just another symptom of a man who is no longer able (or who no longer wishes) to fully engage. I do wonder if it's true, if he's given up reading. Unimaginable.

I remember him saying he didn't read much anymore, too. That's a big clue about his relationship to books. As you wrote, he was a magpie, for many years, picking up scraps from books to write his songs. But I think it was about more than writing songs. It was also about how he defined himself, not only after he was famous but also during his formative years, in his Manchester bedroom. His personality was made up of the art from which he took his inspiration. Importantly, he didn't use this art to reflect his true self, he simply was the aggregation of hundreds of songs, books, films, and other works of art. What many critics missed, when they knocked him for ripping off "A Taste of Honey" for "This Night Has Opened My Eyes", is that he wasn't "borrowing" at all but simply expressing a part of himself which could not be distinguished from the play. In the strict sense, he identified with what he loved completely: he was what he loved. The early Smiths classics, far from being derivative, were as personal as pages torn from his diary.

Yes, that goes for all of us (artist or not): at first one is a conglomeration of what one loves; we are a patchwork of voices. Then the true self (artist) emerges. Morrissey was strikingly original right out of the gate, but he wore his influences on his sleeve. When he found his own voice it was glorious:

In the course of his career, like a snake shedding a series of skins, he gradually replaced his outer skin, a layer made up of wholly absorbed outside influences, with a newer, different, more organic skin made up of elements from within. One Morrissey isn't "more authentic" than the other. They're the same. "All You Need Is Me" is as much Morrissey as "This Night Has Opened My Eyes". This is why I believe that his recent lyrics are just as good, in a way-- they force the listener to think about why the Morrissey of 1983 might be totally consistent with the Morrissey of 2012, despite many outward differences. Foremost among the many interesting insights arising from comparisons of the two is this: if the Morrissey of 2012 is the same as the Morrissey of 1983, at least in essence, then it proves that the whingeing brat of 1984 was capable of happiness. The main criticism about Morrissey has always been that he wallowed in misery by choice. Even Johnny echoed this criticism, by implication, when he said of his songwriting partner, "Sometimes I think he just needs a good shag". Well, he's had his shag, thanks, and now he's "better"-- the point being that the young Morrissey, whose very identity was a mass of fictions stolen from pop culture, was justified in his complaints and, all along, was a person capable of escaping books (or, better, bookishness). He was ill and he said he was ill. Not because he was faking it to cut an interesting figure. Not because he was a navel-gazing studenty-type. Not because he was a pretentious fop who kept tripping over his own ego. Not because he was a dork too afraid to ask out another person. Because he was well and truly ill. And the proof of his illness is that he is now healthy enough to stand on his own before the world without trotting out a cardboard figure.

Wonderful observation, but I'm not so sure I agree with all of it. Again, Morrissey seems far from "better," and he doesn't seem all that happy to me. Morrissey's recent lyrics are the voice of a man who has grown inflexible. He is the same fellow he was in 1983: a clever, opinionated, singularly self-possessed individual, but he's also an overtly sensitive soul who has been exposed to an eviscerating, unimaginable type of fame. The assaults of nearly three decades of a strikingly intimate stardom and (seeming) emotional isolation have banished his former illness and replaced it with another. Part of what I so love about Morrissey is the fact that he wasn't faking illness to make himself look more interesting - he was the genuine article. His authenticity was obvious, and watching him cope through his art was inspirational. Your diagnosis of freedom unfortunately doesn't ring true: Oscar Wilde and Shelagh Delaney were never walls, they were doors (trite, I know).

What fascinates about Morrissey now is the fact that he seems to be both liberated and weighed down at the same time - paradoxical still. Like all great artists, he knows that once he's well and truly cured, it's over.

 

[Worm]

I find it troubling that someone who was such an avid reader seldom reads these days (although I do remember someone posting their "I just met Morrissey" story here a couple of years ago who said that Morrissey had his nose in a book of poetry). Ceasing to read isn't just a small lifestyle change, it's a seismic shift. As an unrepentantly bookish person, I think that the act of reading only gets richer with time, and finding oneself under the influence ceases to be a factor to a mature thinker: we are strong enough to incorporate new ideas without sacrificing our own voice. Morrissey (like all of us) seems like he would benefit from the exposure to an engaging intellect that a great book offers.

Beautifully put.

I had started to say, above, that his (apparently-- we don't know for sure) changed relationship with books is indicative of what kind of reader he was as a young man. I've never thought he was a great reader in the way you describe above. Books were a way of discovering and shaping his identity, but no more so than "East of Eden" or "Come And Stay With Me". He was interested in the personalities behind the books more than the books themselves. If you really analyze his public comments about Oscar Wilde, for example, he was far more intrigued by Wilde as a personality, a celebrity, and a persecuted gay man. (Of course, there aren't many public comments, and that's also telling.) Reading was one more path to himself-- a door, as you say-- and didn't really make him the "man of letters" many take him to be. If he reads less these days, it wouldn't shock me in the least.

Again, Morrissey seems far from "better," and he doesn't seem all that happy to me.

"Happy" is not exactly what I meant. I don't imagine he's happy as any normal human being would define the world. I think he's at peace with who he is and with what the world is. He's still angry, as we know from his pointed commentary about politics and culture, but I do sense there's a certain amount of comfort in his own feelings of resignation. Listen to him talk about his record contracts, for example. I'm sure he's bitter and deeply upset about being out in the cold. But it's not as if it's the first time, and he's a keen observer of the pop scene. Maybe, in addition to his indignation, there's an acceptance of the situation which is right in line with the attitudes of most healthy middle-aged people.

In one way I think you're right about Morrissey being inflexible. However, I see it as a positive quality, not a negative one. It's the inflexibility of holding fast to who you are. Frequently this appears as pig-headed stubbornness, sure. Though this may seem like hair-splitting, I find his intransigence less annoying because, in large part, I think it's deliberate: "I will not change and I will not be nice". I've never stopped admiring him for his stubbornness; his baleful intractability is a damning indictment of the world worthy of an Old Testament prophet. It's just yielded shoddy music at times, unfortunately. In any case, I consider it a sign of health, not a character flaw. We may have to come to grips with the fact that the price Morrissey must pay for being healthier-- better to say a little less ill, perhaps-- is his career. As you said, "he knows that once he's well and truly cured, it's over".

Your diagnosis of freedom unfortunately doesn't ring true: Oscar Wilde and Shelagh Delaney were never walls, they were doors (trite, I know).

Perhaps it doesn't ring true because I wasn't clear. Wilde, Delaney, and all the rest were vital to his development and, yes, they were doors (but not, we note, The Doors). Only later on did they become walls. I believe he felt straitjacketed by his earlier persona and wanted to escape it. So I agree with you about their important role in his life, but I think that role changed over time. No more gladioli-- boxing! No more "Coronation Street"-- Pasolini! No more tattered Levi's-- Gucci! No more celibacy-- explosive kegs! e&c

 

[Anaesthesine]

I had started to say, above, that his (apparently-- we don't know for sure) changed relationship with books is indicative of what kind of reader he was as a young man. I've never thought he was a great reader in the way you describe above. Books were a way of discovering and shaping his identity, but no more so than "East of Eden" or "Come And Stay With Me". He was interested in the personalities behind the books more than the books themselves. If you really analyze his public comments about Oscar Wilde, for example, he was far more intrigued by Wilde as a personality, a celebrity, and a persecuted gay man. (Of course, there aren't many public comments, and that's also telling.) Reading was one more path to himself-- a window, as you say-- and didn't really make him the "man of letters" many take him to be. If he reads less these days, it wouldn't shock me in the least.

Yes, I'd agree with that. It's all speculation of course, but I think you've hit on an important point: the young Morrissey seems to have been more concerned with personalities than ideas; his genius was for being, not thinking. Hence all the confusion when he makes silly, not-terribly-smart pronouncements; he was never a public intellectual, he was a public genius: two very different things.

"Happy" is not exactly what I meant. I don't imagine he's happy as any normal human being would define the world. I think he's at peace with who he is and with what the world is. He's still angry, as we know from his pointed commentary about politics and culture, but I do sense there's a certain amount of comfort in his own feelings of resignation. Listen to him talk about his record contracts, for example. I'm sure he's bitter and deeply upset about being out in the cold. But it's not as if it's the first time, and he's a keen observer of the pop scene. Maybe in addition to that, though, there's an acceptance of the situation which is right in line with the attitudes of most healthy middle-aged people.

A healthy resignation, yes.

In one way I think you're right about Morrissey being inflexible. However, I see it as a positive quality, not a negative one. It's the inflexibility of holding fast to who you are. Frequently this appears as pig-headed stubbornness, sure. Though this may seem like hair-splitting, I find his intransigence less annoying because, in large part, I think it's deliberate: "I will not change and I will not be nice". I've never stopped admiring him for his stubbornness; his baleful intractability is a damning indictment of the world worthy of an Old Testament prophet. It's just yielded shoddy music at times, unfortunately. In any case, I consider it a sign of health, not a character flaw. We may have to come to grips with the fact that the price Morrissey must pay for being healthier-- better to say a little less ill, perhaps-- is his career. As you said, "he knows that once he's well and truly cured, it's over".

Here's where we part ways: yes, Morrissey's intransigence does seem like a form of protest in a brutal, unfair world, and it is admirable on that level. At a certain point, however, it does not serve one well. It does not strike me as a sign of health, it signals an early decay. We only grow when we engage with the world, when we connect with people, places and things that teach us something that we did not know, or reveal things about ourselves that we had yet to discover. Lest this sound too fluffy and twee, I am as cynical as it gets, but any opportunity I get to rise above that state I will take. Wallowing is never a good idea, and it is artistic death.

Morrissey's case is complicated by the fact that he's been so famous for such a long time. And not just famous, but fanatically loved (however much he seems to be trying to destroy that legacy). Giving that up (or rather letting that go) is terribly difficult, and it takes an awful lot of strength to contentedly lead a relatively quiet, uneventful life once one has been publicly revered as a god. I hope Morrissey finds that strength.

Perhaps it doesn't ring true because I wasn't clear. Wilde, Delaney, and all the rest were vital to his development and, yes, they were doors (but not, we note, The Doors). Only later on did they become walls. I believe he felt straitjacketed by his earlier persona and wanted to escape it. So I agree with you about their important role in his life, but I think that role changed over time.

I see what you mean now, and I agree: another victim of overwhelming success.

 

[Worm]

he was never a public intellectual, he was a public genius: two very different things.

Apt distinction.

Here's where we part ways: yes, Morrissey's intransigence does seem like a form of protest in a brutal, unfair world, and it is admirable on that level. At a certain point, however, it does not serve one well. It does not strike me as a sign of health, it signals an early decay. We only grow when we engage with the world, when we connect with people, places and things that teach us something that we did not know, or reveal things about ourselves that we had yet to discover. Lest this sound too fluffy and twee, I am as cynical as it gets, but any opportunity I get to rise above that state I will take. Wallowing is never a good idea, and it is artistic death.

Yes, but I see exactly that sort of development in his songs-- not in his craft, maybe, but certainly in the aspects of his life he's singing about-- and in the information I glean from his media interviews and the occasional trustworthy online news item*. His intransigence is really more of a professional statement about being a pop star in this particular cultural moment. I saw a brief interview with John Lydon, and he's more or less taking a simliar stance. Though it looks very different, they're both fighting back in a very punk-rock way. As a pop singer, Morrissey is standing still at a time when everything in our world is rushing past on a 24-hour meme cycle and all that's solid is melting into thin air. His fallibility reminds us over and over again that he's a human being, and if you take a look around his persona sparks a profoundly enlightening contrast, don't you think?

That said, in his personal life, I see many signs of healthy development (or, heh, again: his sickness is ebbing ever so slightly). Just to take one recent example of how Morrissey is not at all closed off from the world, look at his upcoming tour dates: Peru, Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Japan, Thailand, Philippines, and New Zealand. I mean, yeah, he's not the type to be running around these places "gathering experiences" like a back-packing 20 year old, but let's give him some credit! (Remember when he spoke of his desire to play Iran?) His tour schedule is only one example, I know, but I also hear lots of interesting developments in his personal life coming through in the music, plenty of signs of an open mind. Do I regard it as "healthy" in the sense of a Nietzschean self-overcoming? Nah, not really, but I consider them baby steps in the right direction. He's a self-described 'cripple', after all. Were I to try and enter his world as a normal person it would be like stepping into a napalm shower. I know this. The guy makes porcupines look like poodles in comparison. But he's a special case and it's all relative. The signs of development are there, if you look beneath his professional refusals.

____________________
*Hey, I did say "occasional".

 

[CrystalGeezer]

Were I to try and enter his world as a normal person it would be like stepping into a napalm shower.

I was just thinking the same thing about you and Anaesthesine.

I think your discussion is as fascinating as it is eloquent.

 

[123xyz]

Thanks, and yes, I agree, his between-song banter has become much looser over the last ten years or so. This is another sign of his changing attitude.

I would like to quickly reiterate my earlier statement: neither the Morrissey of today or the Morrissey of yesteryear is "better" or "superior" to the other. Today's Morrissey doesn't repudiate the young Morrissey in any way. Obliquely, the songs in '83 look ahead to the man he would become, and the songs of now look back to where he came from. This is, for me, the most interesting and exciting dimension of his current work. It's like trying to work out, in your mind, how ice and steam derive from the same element.

Just to leapfrog off your post (again),I would argue a reasonable example of the common lyrical thread between " '83 Morrissey " and "Gucci Morrissey" might be seen in the two songs "This Charming Man" and "Dear God...". TCM appears to feature a youth invited to accompany a potential suitor (excuse the constipated prose , it's a bad habit of mine) whereas DGPHM, if at all autobiographical, shows Morrissey venturing forth from his hotel with perhaps a certain intent in mind ,if not now occupying the role of the active suitor as such ( and,hence,the converse of his place in TCM). Probably too broad a stretch... but it's often fun to try.

 

[Worm]

Just to leapfrog off your post (again),I would argue a reasonable example of the common lyrical thread between " '83 Morrissey " and "Gucci Morrissey" might be seen in the two songs "This Charming Man" and "Dear God...". TCM appears to feature a youth invited to accompany a potential suitor (excuse the constipated prose , it's a bad habit of mine) whereas DGPHM, if at all autobiographical, shows Morrissey venturing forth from his hotel with perhaps a certain intent in mind ,if not now occupying the role of the active suitor as such ( and,hence,the converse of his place in TCM). Probably too broad a stretch... but it's often fun to try.

Not a stretch at all. Since you (funnily) dubbed him Gucci Morrissey, don't forget the clue given by the sartorial dimension of the comparison. In TCM, he won't go out "because he hasn't got a stitch to wear". The older, experienced man says it's "gruesome that someone so handsome should care". In DGPHM, clothes aren't mentioned, but that is actually important. He's out walking the streets of Rome, despite having "no room to move", because his heart feels free. He is physically and emotionally occupied-- his heart's on a string, he's apparently reliving the memory of a sexual encounter, wondering if it's all too good to be true-- and doesn't give a damn about anything else. The movement is away from preoccupation with the rules of the game in "This Charming Man" toward the freedom to exist in your own skin, out in the world, heedless of "doing the right thing". Put differently, when you're a teenager, you think you have to act a certain way, but in maturity you're freed from caring a whit about the rules. When I said above that the early songs look ahead to the later stuff, these two would fit: Morrissey has gone from being the clueless youth, for whom the clothes make the man, to the man of the world, who knows it's really about who you are ("handsome") and not what you put on your back. "Dear God Please Help Me" is about escaping a youth spent wringing his hands about nonsense, dispensing forever with questions like "Where do you start? Where do you go? Who do you need to know?". The older man's secret in TCM isn't that he "knows so much about these things", it's that he knows there's nothing to learn. Don't stay inside. Don't fret about trivialities. Get out and just be. Not coincidentally this change occurs in the city of Rome. If "This Charming Man" is the story of a teenager and his would-be mentor, "Dear God Please Help Me" introduces a new, and very different, kind of mentor, as well as a very different kind of freedom.

 

[Worm]

I was just thinking the same thing about you and Anaesthesine.

I think your discussion is as fascinating as it is eloquent.

Why thank you!

 

[Oh my god. it's Robby!]

Is "The Sun Also Rises" less of a classic than "Ulysses"?

of course, since its a shorter book

 

[Worm]

of course, since its a shorter book

I just slapped my forehead. Of course!

 

[123xyz]

Not a stretch at all. Since you (funnily) dubbed him Gucci Morrissey, don't forget the clue given by the sartorial dimension of the comparison. In TCM, he won't go out "because he hasn't got a stitch to wear". The older, experienced man says it's "gruesome that someone so handsome should care". In DGPHM, clothes aren't mentioned, but that is actually important. He's out walking the streets of Rome, despite having "no room to move", because his heart feels free. He is physically and emotionally occupied-- his heart's on a string, he's apparently reliving the memory of a sexual encounter, wondering if it's all too good to be true-- and doesn't give a damn about anything else. The movement is away from preoccupation with the rules of the game in "This Charming Man" toward the freedom to exist in your own skin, out in the world, heedless of "doing the right thing". Put differently, when you're a teenager, you think you have to act a certain way, but in maturity you're freed from caring a whit about the rules. When I said above that the early songs look ahead to the later stuff, these two would fit: Morrissey has gone from being the clueless youth, for whom the clothes make the man, to the man of the world, who knows it's really about who you are ("handsome") and not what you put on your back. "Dear God Please Help Me" is about escaping a youth spent wringing his hands about nonsense, dispensing forever with questions like "Where do you start? Where do you go? Who do you need to know?". The older man's secret in TCM isn't that he "knows so much about these things", it's that he knows there's nothing to learn. Don't stay inside. Don't fret about trivialities. Get out and just be. Not coincidentally this change occurs in the city of Rome. If "This Charming Man" is the story of a teenager and his would-be mentor, "Dear God Please Help Me" introduces a new, and very different, kind of mentor, as well as a very different kind of freedom.

Nice extrapolation from the off-hand naming of "Gucci Morrissey" and one I again agree with wholly. The different kind of freedom you refer to Morrissey experiencing in DGPHM is one of the reasons I find his later (post -92) career of such interest, in particular the periods '92 -'95 and '05 - the present. These are,without question, my favourite musical years for Moz but the increasing fluidity of his identity (or at least as I'm inferring from lyrics, music,interviews of this time) also left/leaves me with a real curiosity and excitement about the artist's next step and ,perhaps, even a slight sense of Morrissey as an actual human being.

 

[Anaesthesine]

Yes, but I see exactly that sort of development in his songs-- not in his craft, maybe, but certainly in the aspects of his life he's singing about-- and in the information I glean from his media interviews and the occasional trustworthy online news item*. His intransigence is really more of a professional statement about being a pop star in this particular cultural moment. I saw a brief interview with John Lydon, and he's more or less taking a simliar stance. Though it looks very different, they're both fighting back in a very punk-rock way. As a pop singer, Morrissey is standing still at a time when everything in our world is rushing past on a 24-hour meme cycle and all that's solid is melting into thin air. His fallibility reminds us over and over again that he's a human being, and if you take a look around his persona sparks a profoundly enlightening contrast, don't you think?

You know what's punk rock? Refusing all social media/networking. No tweets, no facebook page, just Julia's billboard. I do admire that, greatly. Morrissey has always been accused of rampant narcissism, but now that we're all in the age of interconnectedness, he refuses to call attention to himself. Whether he came to this decision out of shyness, post-traumatic stress, being stuck in the past or a canny decision to protect his "mystique," it's a good call on his part.

His fallibility (principally in the form of ill-advised interviews and onstage outbursts) causes him to hurtle ever closer to the Earth that the rest of us inhabit, despite his unwillingness to interact. As a fan I suppose that this is enlightening, if often in a rather unhappy sense.

That said, in his personal life, I see many signs of healthy development (or, heh, again: his sickness is ebbing ever so slightly). Just to take one recent example of how Morrissey is not at all closed off from the world, look at his upcoming tour dates: Peru, Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Japan, Thailand, Philippines, and New Zealand. I mean, yeah, he's not the type to be running around these places "gathering experiences" like a back-packing 20 year old, but let's give him some credit! (Remember when he spoke of his desire to play Iran?) His tour schedule is only one example, I know, but I also hear lots of interesting developments in his personal life coming through in the music, plenty of signs of an open mind. Do I regard it as "healthy" in the sense of a Nietzschean self-overcoming? Nah, not really, but I consider them baby steps in the right direction. He's a self-described 'cripple', after all. Were I to try and enter his world as a normal person it would be like stepping into a napalm shower. I know this. The guy makes porcupines look like poodles in comparison. But he's a special case and it's all relative. The signs of development are there, if you look beneath his professional refusals.

True enough. There seem to be interesting personal developments, both good and bad. I do think that "You Have Killed Me" is a delightful song about being fully, joyfully engaged in a place and a time, and it came at such a late point in his career; Morrissey remains a special (and fascinating) case.

As for his busy tour schedule: I think it's fantastic that he's traveling far-and-wide. He's close to retirement (by his own admission), and it seems only appropriate that he bask in the outer spheres of his influence. I do hope that he manages to make it back to the exotic realm of New York City and its environs, the place from whence his early idols ventured forth and conquered the world in their lipstick, lurex and wigs.



____________________

 

[King Leer]

This has turned into quite a fascinating thread. Wish I had time to write longer responses but in short I'm forever on board with Morrissey. As Worm has said on several occassions, we already have our Vauxhall, Arsenal and Smiths records. I signed up because he refused to play the game and do things the way everyone else was, and he's still doing that. Is the likes of People Are the Same Everywhere a highlight in Morrissey's career? No. But when he sang it on Conan there was still a lot of passion and, dare I say it, enjoyment radiating from him. Nobody else would write those lyrics, as "simple" as they are, nobody else would flick their hand that way for emphasis. It's more than enough...

 

[Worm]

Morrissey as an actual human being.

This makes his work interesting to me, too, because there's a fascinating paradox in full view: more than ever before Morrissey is an "actual human being", yet he's never been more prickly and unreachable. He's deliberately knocked himself off his own pedestal without sacrificing the aura of a pop idol. I can't think of an icon who's achieved anything remotely similar.

 

[Worm]

As a fan I suppose that this is enlightening, if often in a rather unhappy sense.

I agree completely. You've touched on the reason we're all in such a strange position. It's as if the most powerful artistic statements he's making nowadays are outside the music, as if to read him properly we have to read the negative space on the canvas, the blank areas created by his refusals. The example of avoiding social networks is perfect because you have to think for a moment about everything he's not doing.

I do hope that he manages to make it back to the exotic realm of New York City and its environs, the place from whence his early idols ventured forth and conquered the world in their lipstick, lurex and wigs.

So long as he's connecting with the New York City of the 70s, and not grasping for prestige in places like Carnegie Hall...yeesh.

 

[Worm]

This has turned into quite a fascinating thread. Wish I had time to write longer responses but in short I'm forever on board with Morrissey. As Worm has said on several occassions, we already have our Vauxhall, Arsenal and Smiths records. I signed up because he refused to play the game and do things the way everyone else was, and he's still doing that. Is the likes of People Are the Same Everywhere a highlight in Morrissey's career? No. But when he sang it on Conan there was still a lot of passion and, dare I say it, enjoyment radiating from him. Nobody else would write those lyrics, as "simple" as they are, nobody else would flick their hand that way for emphasis. It's more than enough...

Yes, exactly. I think so much of his work was so good, early on, that it raised our expectations to impossible heights. If you compare his total body of work to that of other artists', it's actually astonishing that he's produced such a huge quantity of excellent material. I don't know where it started, but many of us (myself included) tend to have adopted the idea that pop singers and rock bands are capable of returning to their magic wellsprings of creativity over and over again to draw forth one great album after another, decade after decade. That's never true. Bands and artists are good for a handful of great works and not much more. They're limited to five, maybe six classic albums in a career. And that's for legends, mind you; most groups only have one or two, at most. What has Dylan done? Springsteen? The Stones? U2? Paul McCartney? Lou Reed? Take your pick-- they all reached peaks they'll never see again.

No, I don't need Morrissey to put out another album as good as "The Queen Is Dead" or "Vauxhall and I". Of course I'd like to see him try, and maybe get close...

 

[PregnantForTheLastTime]

What's wrong with Carnegie Hall?

Morrissey tweets.