Somebody asked me recently if I had read Morrissey’s
‘Autobiography’. I said I had, of course. ‘Ugh, I hate Morrissey’, came the reply. Naturally, and rolling my eyes, I asked
why. ‘Because he’s a twat’, I was told. ‘Did you read Morrissey’s ‘Autobiography?’, I
enquired. The answer, perhaps
inevitably: ‘No!’
For this ‘Morrissey-hater’ it is probably a good thing he
(or she) did not pick up the chisel-jawed Manc’s Penguin Classic, and read all
or any of the 490 something pages. While
brilliant at times, and frequently hilarious, vainglorious Morrissey also had
some rather spiteful things to say about certain individuals. Said ‘Morrissey-hater’ may have punched the
wall, or gnawed off a finger.
Camp spite has been a trait of Mozza’s ever since he hip-swivelled
into the public arena, NHS bespectacled, with a bunch of gladioli down his
trousers back in 1983. He bears a grudge, and, as he has often been keen to point out, has ‘views’ too!
The Chinese are a subspecies because of their treatment of
animals; Norway ’s
2011 terrorist attacks were a mere drop in ocean in the great and ongoing
animal holocaust; eating animals amounts to paedophilia, and so on.
None of these are mentioned in ‘Autobiography’, but the
above was and has already proved enough to get people’s heckles well and truly up.
Oh, and then there has been Morrissey’s visceral opposition
to the recent (and very popular) royal wedding!
As a consequence of Morrissey’s ‘views’ and his recent
counter-cultural, or acculturated proclamations (depending on your pov), I have
often found myself of late having to defend my identity as a Morrissey acolyte. I might as well admit to being part of the
Katy Price fan club, wear a Wayne Rooney tattoo on my tummy, and espouse the brilliance of Piers Morgan. Then claim David Cameron as a personal
friend.
It is worth considering that we live in a sanitised age,
where political correctness has gone mad.
Therefore, Morrissey’s strong and obdurate ‘views’ stand out more than they
once might have done. Or, so it goes … See, when Nick Griffin shares his ‘view’ that Pakistanis resident in the UK should be deported post-haste, political correctness has, in fact, changed our ‘sanitised’ age for the
better, in that it helps expose negative language that would only add to the
contingency of one less-than-savoury ‘view’ or another.
Still, mention should be made that Morrissey sees our
animal kindred as brothers and sisters, who look to humans for protection. Therefore, from his position, to kill and eat
them is not only the ultimate violence, but also the ultimate betrayal. And since most of Morrissey’s ‘views’ are on
the theme of animal rights, albeit with a PETA hard-line, perhaps there is some
kind of humane, even honourable context to be acknowledged in between the media
headlines, whereas with Griffin there is not, never will be (probably best to stop this comparison here).
But, I fell in love with Mozza not because of his
‘views’. While I share his dislike of
our constitutional monarchy, and sympathise with animal welfare, the most
powerful Morrissey messages are, and have always been, in his songs about
love*, the lack of it, the yearning for it, and very, very occasionally the
having it.
When Morrissey sings: ‘it takes strength to be gentle and
kind’, or ‘love is natural and real’, it is hard not be deeply moved. When Morrissey sings: ‘take me anywhere, I
don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t c-a-re’, you want to go with him. When Morrissey sings of his ‘flower like
life’, you want to indulge your feminine side, and this, as studying Carl Jung
will tell you, from the perspective of the male, is a healthy thing to do (so
long as there remains a sensible balance between anima and animus).
The first I heard of Morrissey was his spectral voice
drifting into earshot on Strangeways Here
We Come, the song: ‘A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours’. The line: ‘and people who are uglier than you
and I, they take what they want from life’, resonated strongly in my adolescent
being, which up to that point had either been served nearly everything on plate, or
had failed to glean very much that was any good from life. The song closes with Morrissey wailing, ‘Oooh
I think I am in love’, and at the time, I was struck by the same!
Even if the Morrissey of the modern era has been rather more
crass, less sly, fey, arch, and, in general, loveable, I will still be loyal to
him in my own strange fashion for all the Smiths records, and I mean all (save Golden Lights), and at least half of his solo material for what it all says not only about my life, but the lives of others, about the state of being
here on this big, blue marble, this wet and windy rock in the middle of nowhere.
Morrissey’s new record, his first for five years (since the
one dimensional ‘Years of Refusal) is as good as it could be: for the first
time in a while, Morrissey produces a few vocal performances and lyrics that match
the emotional pathos of yesteryear.
Steven: ‘As long as there remains steel in my veins, they
will not touch you’.
* Meat is Murder aside
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