St. Petersburg

November 12th, 1997

The venue, Mahaffey Theater, is a building designed for orchestra and opera, and staffed as such. Someone's grandmother took our tickets, and Great, Great Uncle Albert showed us to our seats. When the house lights went down and the opening band, Smoking Popes, cranked up, the wrinkled hands of the venue staff went up to their ears in unison... presumably they were turning their hearing aids off.

The Smoking Popes weren't bad. Radio-friendly might be the best term to use. They made sure that the audience knew that they knew we weren't there to see them. False modesty is better than none at all. It's likely they will find an audience of their own, and then some other up-and-coming band will stand on the stage and say in petulant tones "Don't worry. It won't be long now."

There's always that insufferable pause between the opening act and the band you paid good money to see. No exceptions here. There was plenty of time to wander outside for a smoke, check out the lavatory, wander the lobby aimlessly... whatever you needed to do. The lobby was a fun place to be. Men in sequined shirts and cheesecake for sale. What could be more exciting?

Finally, the house lights dimmed again, the backdrop popped up, and the band strolled onto the stage, loosely followed by The Man. He's put on weight. It suits him. He's a handsome devil, a charming man, everything you ever wanted him to be. He seemed to make a point of touching every single outstretched hand, and even sang a chorus of "Alma Matters" to a little redheaded girl in the front row, while clutching her trembling hand. His voice was no disappointment. It was as pure and as pleasurable as the studio recordings have lead us to believe. He had a comfortable "I do this all the time" air about him.

Of course, there was the witty repartee. Moz claimed to have been the keyboard player in The Partridge Family, and above the din it sounded as though he greeted us with "Hello, Rusholme!" At one point he asked if anyone present was from England, and then pouted piteously when no one was. Homesick yet still docked?

The set list has been well documented -- lots of Southpaw Grammar, some new tunes, "Paint a Vulgar Picture" thrown in... Dear Moz likely couldn't resist the irony. He clearly didn't come to do a Greatest Hits show. Some of his choices were odd ones for a live performance -- the dark and lurking "Ambitious Outsiders", for example -- but Morrissey managed to pull them off through the power of his stage presence.

Needless to say, the set was too short. He could have crooned all night and not tired the assembled masses. We had our gladioli and NHS-style specs. We were there to worship. Moz hinted before tearing into the encore of "Shoplifters" that we might get one more song... And I believe we just may have too, if some over-eager fan hadn't tried to pull Moz off the stage. (Advice to concert-goers on future tour stops: keep the stage-jumping to a minimum. You may get a longer show.)

That was the long version. Here's the short. The show was great. Moz in amazing. And wonderful. Let's hope he tours again very, very soon.

T. K. Ely

(Thanks for reading this.)