I still can’t read French, I’m very very lazy.
Off the beaten tracks, and in his unique voice, the Briton picks up nuggets from the American repertoire. A gold rush in its own way.
His ideas may be more and more rancid, but his voice remains golden. And what better way to refocus on the organ that forged the exception Morrissey than an album of rather unexpected covers, judiciously chosen, brilliantly interpreted? In other words, the album of ideal covers, far from the too easy collection of standards that his stamp of crooner apart would have allowed him (for proof, its impeccable version of It's Over, Roy Orbison). Of course, one can read a political message in the choice of whether the British singer - partisan of Brexit and customary of skidding (at least clumsy) xenophobes - to claim to be "son of California" by not taking again, in the company of American artists who admire it unreservedly, only songs born on the other side of the Atlantic. As if to remind you that teenager Morrissey was not only a half-hearted fan of Sandie Shaw and Twink, Bowie and Bolan, but also New York Dolls and Sparks. He is careful, however, not to tap into their repertoire, preferring to magnify the glam pop splendor of Jobriath's Morning Starship, the obscure queer icon to tragic fate. Or to instill a touching folk flair in Melanie's "Some Say" (I Got Devil). A superb finale that we had prepared, between elegant covers of Buffy Sainte-Marie or Laura Nyro, an astonishing reappropriation of Only a Pawn in Their Game by Dylan. A perfect vehicle for Momo the protest singer, who puts all his heart to articulate this plea for the white man and poor, just as a victim of the powerful blacks ... And that will be interpreted in his mouth, as you want.
don’t know how 4-4 translates to English, but I think it’s good.