It's no coincidence at all that more than one person gave me a certain book at Christmas - we're talking about the long-awaited autobiography of former Smiths singer/songwriter, Morrissey - because I have been a lifelong fan of the man and his music. His book has been published by the estimable Penguin Classics imprint which is hardly uncontroversial given that such an honour is normally reserved for better established masters of the written word, who often also happen to be dead!
But then again, it is Morrissey, and so a little controversy is almost a given along the way, even if some of it came late in the game, just prior to publication in fact, when Morrissey ran into a dispute over content and even announced that he was looking for another publisher. In the end, things were sorted out and the book is now available in both hardback and paperback here in North America.
I have not finished it yet, so I am not in a position to give a definitive review but it is pretty much what anyone who knew anything about him would have expected, more or less. Depending on which camp one is in, Morrissey is either a fascinating character or an incredibly self-indulgent self-obsessed one. But wasn't it Madonna who said that anyone who wants to stand up on a stage in front of thousands of salivating fans just has to be screwed up?!
My own love affair with the Smiths was heavily driven by the music and the times, but I was somewhat surprised to find that I had more in common with the man than I anticipated. We are both Irish and Catholic so that alone says a lot (!), but we grew up in the same times, albeit he in the wastelands of Manchester and I in a small town in Ireland near Belfast - but there is one aspect of our young lives that we appeared to have equal disdain for - our daily prison, school, and the collective misery of both the inmates as well as the jailers themselves.
I feel pretty much identically to everything Mozzer says about the school system of those times. It was anything but a supposed educational experience, and the violence inflicted not only by the brutal headmaster but also by a handful of his similar-minded hired thugs meant that some entirely inappropriate messages were beaten into unsuspecting boys. Big Frank's towering presence would tear into the sea of children in morning assembly, causing the two sides of the ocean to unzip perfectly, like the Red Sea parting, leading the way to the target, who would then be beaten to the ground. Probably for smiling at someone beside them.
I used to look at that cowardly bully, even while not yet a teenager myself, and wonder if that was supposed to be the "man" that we were expected to grow up into - a six-foot-plus fully grown humanoid who took out his daily frustrations on tiny pre-pubescent schoolboys. Frank simply underlined the point that he and his gang of hired thugs were excuses for teachers, unwittingly exposing the almost certain fact that they were all people who had failed to get any further in life - those who can, do, and those who can't - teach! The one instructional lesson I did learn was that I was not going to make their mistakes, and end up in such a prison with any of them, for the rest of my life. I suppose that made the seven year misery worthwhile?!
"Belligerent ghouls, run Manchester schools, spineless swine, cemented minds.....belligerent ghouls, run Manchester schools, spineless bastards all!" - [The Headmaster Ritual]
But like his Mozness, I too escaped into the world of TV and music, and my wild imagination. But I also had science and chemistry to make life worth living, which explains why I liked shows such as "Lost in Space". However, I was floored to read in the book that Moz had also been a fan of this show, even if he disappointed me by not mentioning one of my favourite characters, the amazing robot! This robot was a Class M-3 B9 model, and I loved it so much I am showing it below, not least because it also made a prior appearance in my own story, THE MOLECULES, currently available on Kindle.
It's interesting of course that my take on the show was all about the space and sci-fi adventure, as well as the antics of the deliciously evil nemesis, Dr. Zachary Smith, while Morrissey was fascinated with the gender stereotyping in the show, which I probably barely noticed, not least as I didn't have any gender or sexuality issues. Another thing that truly surprised me was that Morrissey was not an only child; au contraire, he came from a typically rather large extended family; somehow I had envisaged a lonely boy with no siblings or cousins or aunts/uncles to bring him out of himself, and the obsession with self was the result. Apparently not!
Of course, he is best known for the staggering musical contribution he made to the entire music scene via seminal 80's outfit, The Smiths. His songwriting partnership with Johnny Marr would become a tour de force often spoken of in terms usually reserved for the likes of Lennon-McCartney, Jagger-Richards, Page-Plant or even Strummer-Jones. Notwithstanding Morrissey's considerable success as a solo artist, I don't think anyone would argue that when you separate songwriting powerhouses such as Morrissey-Marr, well, things are never the same again. As much as I loved The Smiths, I cannot help but feel that the world lost out - who knows what amazing albums were to come had the lads stuck it out?
I can see that (as usual!) I have way more to say on the subject than fits into one blog (or keeps your attention from wandering!), so I better reserve further comments for another blog on this subject. But I do have a trophy, and one that I thought I would share: some of us have to argue forcefully that we loved this band or that band, back in the day, before they were known, but this boy doesn't need to do that - he has the proof!
In the photo on the right above, you can see the ticket for my first ever Smiths show, and in case it's not clear enough on that old ticket, I can inform you that the date says "Thursday 17th November, 1983" - and I guess that ages both myself and Mr. Morrissey! But as I said to someone the other day, if having seen The Smiths (or New Order, or Felt, etc.) live more than a dozen times (in their heyday) makes me old - well, that's something that is a small price to pay for having been present and witnessing such early greatness. Even if the date has faded over time, check out the price of the ticket, people - a support band, followed by The Smiths, for, wait for it - TWO pounds?! That alone probably gives the date away! ;)
The Smiths were late for soundcheck that dreary Thursday night, and a small group of us stood outside in the chilly rain, waiting to be allowed to enter the Westfield College hall. But it was all worth it, and seeing them bound onstage and Morrissey tossing an armful of his beloved gladioli onto the heads of those at the front was an announcement that something special was coming. I was blown away not only by the originality of the material but also by how rock solid tight they were, like a well-oiled musical machine, already! I doubt there was even a hundred people in the room.
I turned to a pal beside me a few songs in, and said "Boy, these guys are gonna be huge. Trust me!" - famous last words or what?! But you know, I was never one of those people who longed to be the celebrity up there on the stage, unless it was truly me doing it my own way. Much as I admired the man and his music, it could never have felt the same had it been me up there; instead I got to be one of those truly cool people (!) whose life was changed by the music of some unknown group and I got to have a precious well kept secret.
Given how big they became it's hard to imagine or remember that, in a city as huge as London with so many big name music venues, we had to traipse off to Westfield College in the middle of nowhere to see them. I don't even think that college exists anymore, as it was merged into Queen Mary College. A total contrast for even Morrissey himself I am sure, in that mere months later he got to stand on the stage of the grand old Lyceum Theatre on The Strand in front of many more people who had paid to see him. Ironically, even though it had been a dream of his, the show was cut short as Moz explained that he was not feeling well to a disappointed audience, but quite fittingly they ended with a new song entitled "Still Ill" - which would later become one of their classics.
For an all too brief period, Morrissey and The Smiths were ours - until the world started to listen. But as I alluded to earlier, one has to be not only gifted, but also, well, "alternative", to be someone like Morrissey, and as great as the musical catalogue undoubtedly is, the man himself remains misunderstood, elusive, aloof and somewhat a caricature of himself - some of the aspects that contributed to his unique cool when younger now appear to be twisted or distorted into themselves, today leaving an impression of meanness and some degree of never-erased dissatisfaction or even actual unhappiness.
It's not what one would expect of someone who achieved and continues to achieve so much. But art and life are not necessarily the best bedfellows, and one can be extraordinarily good at one, or the other, but not always both. So, sometimes it's a magnificent thing to be able to appreciate the art of the master, without having to live the life from which that art derives. So while this blog and the others to come on the subject are an homage to the man, I will close with a play-on-words (using the title of a Chrysalis TV documentary on him) and underline the equal importance of not being Morrissey! ;) - Kevin Mc
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