Morrissey Central "SO THIS IS WHERE YOUR FATHER WAS BORN?" (February 22, 2024)

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"Maxwell Hall was the end of the 'heavy petal' aspect of live Smiths. The level of determination from the audience was hysterical and life-changing … suddenly they were a comic-strip photomontage of bare-chested lads of immovable strength … each an out-stretched grab of rough kindness - loudly singing sand-paper voices and square chins, and all of a sudden I'm the Fabian of the slums. In fact, not an audience at all, but a gathering of wrestlers still chewing on yesterday's Hubba Bubba. They look as if someone is out to get them … and they are right! Everything happened so quickly in 1986. Ten years earlier I had seen three Sex Pistols gigs in Manchester, and they were fantastically agitated whereas this night in Salford is a glory celebration. 'Panic' would be released at 9:AM the next day; number 11 by the following weekend; no airplay of course because Smiths songs described the way people actually lived, which then, as now, wasn't ever the point of daytime radio. 'Panic' had been muttered about as being "waaaacist" by the people who shout out insults for a living (they never die! God help us!) … it was an accusation not dependent on any evidence, as usual. It was the opening song, and the blaze of the crowd tells you how this moment - how YOU - are in the "now" of everything. When we are afraid we want to be controlled, but this audience were not afraid and will never be controlled. The music is a fighter jet of guitar, of military crossfire drumming, of bass full of manhoods fire yet played with nobility - no crass New Romantic slow dance bass jerks … as they all did in those days. And then there was me, of course, in gleeful rage, suddenly bare-chested at the lip of the stage; demented - but why not? You only live twice, and I was here because I was no good doing anything else. You must take charge of your life! Everything we had done as a band had moved us forward to this very point, and Maxwell Hall was important because we had seen enough of the outside world to now cherish our own backyard. The venue had the creak of old ward doors, and the rooms had that strange smell of stale bark. Rough Trade workforce walked around the venue like itching activists ready to light the touch paper. They all know how to smoke and how to use the right words. These are the days when everyone still travels up north in a 'van', miles measured by Blue Boar service stations and chips with everything. Each time I'm caught in conversation I can't stop laughing. It's a Sly Stone family affair and all the WRONG people are NOT there. Everyone seems to be saying either "well, we've done it!" or "now THIS is something interesting." Scott Piering repeatedly brushes his hand across the top of his head as he takes a philosophical view, and Mike Hinc rips open his 41st Carlsberg of the night; either one, or both, will quote Kafka and somehow link it to 'Panic' - looking like characters from The L-Shaped Room. Jo Slee and Martha DeFoe are there … trailing their hands in the water. On the stage, the night started as a tornado and moves faster and faster … three encores? It was a fanaticism of discontent 200 miles away from cashpoint SW1.'Still ill', 'Rusholme Ruffians', 'What She Said', along with the unplayed 'Miserable Lie' had developed into soaring blasts that were street-fights rather than 'musical numbers', and this is why Smiths' concerts were essentially about physical proximity. No one ever went to a Smiths concert to sit in their seats. But we would never make it into the arenas of England. Art is time bound. And so are you. Overheard: "What's so important about the Smiths?", "Well, their songs are about something," - "Oh? that's unusual, isn't it?"
Sandra Gough and Jennifer Moss were in the audience? No? Oh that was just a miserable lie. The outro fades and the stragglers straggle and you run down to the safety of the town. We all scuttle home like dust mice: the secrets and the sweat remain on the hall walls forevermore.
Was it really so strange?
To the best of my knowledge it was a pleasure."

MORRISSEY, 2024

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"Maxwell Hall was the end of the 'heavy petal' aspect of live Smiths. The level of determination from the audience was hysterical and life-changing … suddenly they were a comic-strip photomontage of bare-chested lads of immovable strength … each an out-stretched grab of rough kindness - loudly singing sand-paper voices and square chins, and all of a sudden I'm the Fabian of the slums. In fact, not an audience at all, but a gathering of wrestlers still chewing on yesterday's Hubba Bubba. They look as if someone is out to get them … and they are right! Everything happened so quickly in 1986. Ten years earlier I had seen three Sex Pistols gigs in Manchester, and they were fantastically agitated whereas this night in Salford is a glory celebration. 'Panic' would be released at 9:AM the next day; number 11 by the following weekend; no airplay of course because Smiths songs described the way people actually lived, which then, as now, wasn't ever the point of daytime radio. 'Panic' had been muttered about as being "waaaacist" by the people who shout out insults for a living (they never die! God help us!) … it was an accusation not dependent on any evidence, as usual. It was the opening song, and the blaze of the crowd tells you how this moment - how YOU - are in the "now" of everything. When we are afraid we want to be controlled, but this audience were not afraid and will never be controlled. The music is a fighter jet of guitar, of military crossfire drumming, of bass full of manhoods fire yet played with nobility - no crass New Romantic slow dance bass jerks … as they all did in those days. And then there was me, of course, in gleeful rage, suddenly bare-chested at the lip of the stage; demented - but why not? You only live twice, and I was here because I was no good doing anything else. You must take charge of your life! Everything we had done as a band had moved us forward to this very point, and Maxwell Hall was important because we had seen enough of the outside world to now cherish our own backyard. The venue had the creak of old ward doors, and the rooms had that strange smell of stale bark. Rough Trade workforce walked around the venue like itching activists ready to light the touch paper. They all know how to smoke and how to use the right words. These are the days when everyone still travels up north in a 'van', miles measured by Blue Boar service stations and chips with everything. Each time I'm caught in conversation I can't stop laughing. It's a Sly Stone family affair and all the WRONG people are NOT there. Everyone seems to be saying either "well, we've done it!" or "now THIS is something interesting." Scott Piering repeatedly brushes his hand across the top of his head as he takes a philosophical view, and Mike Hinc rips open his 41st Carlsberg of the night; either one, or both, will quote Kafka and somehow link it to 'Panic' - looking like characters from The L-Shaped Room. Jo Slee and Martha DeFoe are there … trailing their hands in the water. On the stage, the night started as a tornado and moves faster and faster … three encores? It was a fanaticism of discontent 200 miles away from cashpoint SW1.'Still ill', 'Rusholme Ruffians', 'What She Said', along with the unplayed 'Miserable Lie' had developed into soaring blasts that were street-fights rather than 'musical numbers', and this is why Smiths' concerts were essentially about physical proximity. No one ever went to a Smiths concert to sit in their seats. But we would never make it into the arenas of England. Art is time bound. And so are you. Overheard: "What's so important about the Smiths?", "Well, their songs are about something," - "Oh? that's unusual, isn't it?"
Sandra Gough and Jennifer Moss were in the audience? No? Oh that was just a miserable lie. The outro fades and the stragglers straggle and you run down to the safety of the town. We all scuttle home like dust mice: the secrets and the sweat remain on the hall walls forevermore.
Was it really so strange?
To the best of my knowledge it was a pleasure."

MORRISSEY, 2024

View attachment 101863


He's not fecking wrong, those Smiths days were up there with the best of them. It's nice he is looking back with fecking pleasure. It's the Smiths version of him that kicked the doors in and delivered a fecking legend. those early gigs were rough beauty, by Queen the band were pure fire. I love the way M is desperate to have an audience of rough and ready lads. he's so gay for the lads - like the kid who was bullied at school and grows up to join the dibble
In the real world, most of The Smiths audience were still students and working-class wallflowers but by Queen the football hooligans were on board, like with New Order and Echo and The Bunnymen. Echo were the number one for those boys but they loved Johnny's tunes. enjoyed singing along to There is a Light. To them M was the oddball they thought was weird but liked the cut of his gib.
 
I was there. Still have the ticket.
Very male orientated crowd, football hooligan types shouting "Salford Salford Salford" after each song almost looking for a fight. Morrissey eventually responding in a childish voice "Stretford Stretford Stretford" bringing the place down with laughter.
My all time best ever gig
 
Panic was perfect in 1986 and is still perfect. Never before had I heard music that seemed to have been made especially for me.
 
Enough to warm the cockles of my heart.
Simply beautiful.
And a reminder of how much I miss you Morrissey.
 
Just for interest I wondered what was happening in the Australian pop charts on that day 20th July 1986 and was pleased to see a recommendation for The Smiths' The Queen Is Dead album in this video (39:00).

 
I saw them the day before, just down the road and left a bit. I had a plane to catch early Monday so didn’t bother getting a ticket.

Them was the days! I loved 1986. What a fantastic year.
 
Such a lovely read and clearly he is still on the booze full of emotion especially after the mad media attention over This Smiths this week, and he was never in rehab last month at all as that was another lie, added to the rest of them for the cancelled concerts sadly!
Where was the reference to "rehab"? I saw only a reference to "medical supervision" which covers a broad range.
 
Hopefully a second memoir isn't far-fetched. He could be like Lord Alfred Douglas, who wrote two separate autobiographies and two separate memoirs on his relationship with Wilde, always wanting to settle scores with people and to make revisions as he grew increasingly religious and conservative. I could see Morrissey doing the same as he gets older and crankier (as well as nostalgic).

As much as I liked Autobiography, I thought the Smiths era was skimmed over too quickly (especially compared to the tedious intricacies of the Joyce case, which was nearly as long). More passages like this one about the Smiths would've been welcome. But he did address the mania of his audiences during the solo career years. The one about his Latino fans is one of the best bits of the whole book. What I would really like is more insight into the songwriting process, though that might be something too personal or ineffable to share.
 
i couldnt see him really revealing the songwriting process. the way boz talked about his imagination needing to be stoked its probably like walking into a dream. i like you and so many others also noticed the band years were a bit slim in the recounting and could see him doing a sorta band bio focusing on those years and what it felt like to be there and to watch it end. a sort of objective commentary on the band and music in general along with the personal memories of shows and experiences bridging the gap. my fantasy desires would see him do a book of essays on his solo career with each chapter being about the recording of each album but im only dreaming
 
Hopefully a second memoir isn't far-fetched. He could be like Lord Alfred Douglas, who wrote two separate autobiographies and two separate memoirs on his relationship with Wilde, always wanting to settle scores with people and to make revisions as he grew increasingly religious and conservative. I could see Morrissey doing the same as he gets older and crankier (as well as nostalgic).

As much as I liked Autobiography, I thought the Smiths era was skimmed over too quickly (especially compared to the tedious intricacies of the Joyce case, which was nearly as long). More passages like this one about the Smiths would've been welcome. But he did address the mania of his audiences during the solo career years. The one about his Latino fans is one of the best bits of the whole book. What I would really like is more insight into the songwriting process, though that might be something too personal or ineffable to share.
We've had the memoirs. Now the story of the songs, the sleeves, the shows - a coffee table book by Morrissey and Marr - that would be the dream 🎸❤️
 
If only Marr had felt similarly euphoric. I've always thought it was a great pity they didn't make it to 1990 and bow out at the beginning of a new decade, like The Beatles. So many songs unwritten.
 
If only Marr had felt similarly euphoric. I've always thought it was a great pity they didn't make it to 1990 and bow out at the beginning of a new decade, like The Beatles. So many songs unwritten.

There's a JM interview where he's asked what was his favourite Smiths gig and he names Salford Uni 86 as one of the best (though he doesn't quite say it's his definite fave) but also that he doesn't think they ever played a truly bad gig.
 
We've had the memoirs. Now the story of the songs, the sleeves, the shows - a coffee table book by Morrissey and Marr - that would be the dream 🎸❤️

Yes, a collaborative retrospective—I'd actually rather them do that than try to make new music together. And promote it with an interview. For me, this hour-long joint interview of Anderson and Butler looking back on the making of the first Suede album on its anniversary is way more rewarding than their blah musical reunion, The Tears, was. If Morrissey and Marr could do something like this with a good host, it would be a delight. Reminiscences, wit, even the occasional bitchy disagreement; I'd consider it a good epilogue to the Smiths.

 
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