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Fans of All Ages Pay Homage to Morrissey at San Francisco’s Fillmore
BY Tyler McCauley
Contribution Writer
Monday, October 1, 2007
illustration/gillian dreher
First thing you should know about going to Morrissey concerts: His fans cry. Often. Second thing you should know about going to Morrissey concerts: Even if you think you are his biggest fan, you probably aren’t.
For example, at the last night of his four-date stint at the Fillmore, there was a fan who brought his four-year-old son with him, who was named Morrissey. Little Morrissey (or Moz Jr., as I shall now refer to him), was well-trained, complete with faux-pomp haircut and occasional arm flails. At one point, the real Morrissey (Moz Sr.), took the boy onstage and crooned as Moz Jr. copied his arm-flailing dance moves. It was a moment of unadultered fandom unmarred by irony, eye-rolling or jokiness: if it seems surreal, you’d be right.
Perhaps the indie rock equivalent of Phish or the Grateful Dead, Morrissey fans will often go to multiple tour dates, obsess over lyrical details and, yes, name their kids after His Mozness. Do not fooled by their Fred Perry jackets or vintage eyewear: they are the same as your average 'N Sync fangirl.
The set was a combination of newer hits, like “You Have Killed Me” and “I Was Born,” from Ringleader of the Tormentors, and older Smiths material, like closer (and highlight) “How Soon Is Now?” Although mostly focusing on newer songs, his career-spanning setlist gave the show a feel similar to perhaps a Frank Sinatra Vegas review, with Morrissey as the melancholic crooner at center stage.
At 48, Morrissey stands as an iconic figure amongst peers who have faded into obscurity (Ian McCulloch?) and just started to suck (Bernard Sumner), paying respect to the fans who put him at the top of the charts only in the last few years. His last album, Ringleader of the Tormentors is his highest charting LP, either with the Smiths or on his own. So many of his performance details have moved from fact to legend, such as the gaviolas and hearing aid from his early days, to his shirt-ripping apexes (yes, he tore his shirt off, twice) and hyper-dramatic stage moves.
Going in, it’s already known what’s going to happen, but due to Morrissey’s flair for the dramatic, the fall of the curtain before the show still instills a sense of excitement and unpredictability that makes him a more relevant pop figure than the ’80s pop figures he’s outlived. He preens, he struts and generally makes the stage his own as his audience sings along to all songs, new and old.
More importantly, he’s beyond irony—unlike some singers who might add a wink-wink sensibility to such an emotional and grandiose stage show. And the audience responds similarly, and it's rather unnerving to see your baristas, record store clerks and local arts writers all tearing up at the chorus of “Stretch Out And Wait,” or tearing at a freshly shorn shirt from the man himself.
And, as Moz Jr. stood next to Moz Sr., the audience cheered, and gave up being pretentious for the Pope of Mope, singing along wildly to “Let Me Kiss You.” After all, there is some importance in being earnest, if only for a single night.
Burn down the disco, hang the blessed DJ with Tyler at [email protected].
Fans of All Ages Pay Homage to Morrissey at San Francisco’s Fillmore
BY Tyler McCauley
Contribution Writer
Monday, October 1, 2007
illustration/gillian dreher
First thing you should know about going to Morrissey concerts: His fans cry. Often. Second thing you should know about going to Morrissey concerts: Even if you think you are his biggest fan, you probably aren’t.
For example, at the last night of his four-date stint at the Fillmore, there was a fan who brought his four-year-old son with him, who was named Morrissey. Little Morrissey (or Moz Jr., as I shall now refer to him), was well-trained, complete with faux-pomp haircut and occasional arm flails. At one point, the real Morrissey (Moz Sr.), took the boy onstage and crooned as Moz Jr. copied his arm-flailing dance moves. It was a moment of unadultered fandom unmarred by irony, eye-rolling or jokiness: if it seems surreal, you’d be right.
Perhaps the indie rock equivalent of Phish or the Grateful Dead, Morrissey fans will often go to multiple tour dates, obsess over lyrical details and, yes, name their kids after His Mozness. Do not fooled by their Fred Perry jackets or vintage eyewear: they are the same as your average 'N Sync fangirl.
The set was a combination of newer hits, like “You Have Killed Me” and “I Was Born,” from Ringleader of the Tormentors, and older Smiths material, like closer (and highlight) “How Soon Is Now?” Although mostly focusing on newer songs, his career-spanning setlist gave the show a feel similar to perhaps a Frank Sinatra Vegas review, with Morrissey as the melancholic crooner at center stage.
At 48, Morrissey stands as an iconic figure amongst peers who have faded into obscurity (Ian McCulloch?) and just started to suck (Bernard Sumner), paying respect to the fans who put him at the top of the charts only in the last few years. His last album, Ringleader of the Tormentors is his highest charting LP, either with the Smiths or on his own. So many of his performance details have moved from fact to legend, such as the gaviolas and hearing aid from his early days, to his shirt-ripping apexes (yes, he tore his shirt off, twice) and hyper-dramatic stage moves.
Going in, it’s already known what’s going to happen, but due to Morrissey’s flair for the dramatic, the fall of the curtain before the show still instills a sense of excitement and unpredictability that makes him a more relevant pop figure than the ’80s pop figures he’s outlived. He preens, he struts and generally makes the stage his own as his audience sings along to all songs, new and old.
More importantly, he’s beyond irony—unlike some singers who might add a wink-wink sensibility to such an emotional and grandiose stage show. And the audience responds similarly, and it's rather unnerving to see your baristas, record store clerks and local arts writers all tearing up at the chorus of “Stretch Out And Wait,” or tearing at a freshly shorn shirt from the man himself.
And, as Moz Jr. stood next to Moz Sr., the audience cheered, and gave up being pretentious for the Pope of Mope, singing along wildly to “Let Me Kiss You.” After all, there is some importance in being earnest, if only for a single night.
Burn down the disco, hang the blessed DJ with Tyler at [email protected].
