The Post-Rockist

(credit)

I was about 20-25 feet away from him when I got caught in his eyes. The group of fans around me–fidgeting and shouldering for position in the hopes of making advances toward the front–were also caught for a brief moment when Morrissey turned on his right heel in our direction. They were the bluest and deepest things I’ve ever seen. I was (we were) transfixed. Dumbfounded. And for a brief few seconds I think that the shouldering stopped. A momentary peace. A moment of recognition that this untouchable and unknowable stranger, who has meant so much to us through his words and his voice, is actually in our presence.

Idolatry is not a sin I commit often and I apologize if that last paragraph seems sinful to you, particularly from a writerly perspective. My liberal blue-collar background has imbued me with the idea that we’re all equal, that nobody is better than anyone else, that celebrity is bullshit. As the show began, I was filled with the usual curiosity every concert-goer knows–that desire to see the performer in person, to be part of the music somehow just by witnessing it. Or, critic’s doubt: Could it be as good live as it is in my bedroom, my headphones, or in my car? When Morrissey did walk onto the stage I was very excited. I’ve wanted to see him in concert for some time. But I wasn’t floored. Not until I got that brief look into his eyes. At that moment, I discovered that the difference between the talented artist and cult figure/icon is very small, but palpable nonetheless. And it answered a question I’ve been turning around in my head for a very long time: “Why wasn’t Dean Martin bigger than Sinatra?”

How soon do you think it took him to play his best-known song? How about immediately: He opened with “How Soon is Now?” With that out of the way, Moz crooned various songs from his vast catalog, including a few deep Smiths’ cuts like “Stretch Out and Wait,” as well as standards like “Sister I’m a Poet, “Billy Budd,” “Jack the Ripper,” and “Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me” (sans long-and-drawn-out intro music from original recording), and (for me the highlight) “Why Don’t You Find Out For Yourself?” from (in my humble opinion) his best solo album, Vauxhall and I.

With the exception of his long-time music director of sorts Boz Boorer on guitar, Morrissey surrounded himself with young male musicians he had mostly picked up from the Midwest (Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Chicago), all wearing very tight “Morrissey” t-shirts. Boorer looked very very creepy and out-of-place in this shirt. It makes me wonder if Moz was playing one of his sadistic little jokes on Boz. It’s a good thing that Morrissey’s presence on stage, along with the tremendous light show, kept the eye off of the band and on the man.

I’ve been told by friends who have see Morrissey previously that he doesn’t interact much with the audience, that it seems like he really doesn’t want to be there. But he had lots to say, pontificating on Kid Rock’s new album and the recent Rolling Stone cover photo (”Rolling Stone is always ahead of the rest of us, huh?) and about the Ellen DeGeneres (”Ellen Degenerate,” according to Moz) pet thing that was all over the news for a few days. And he played a very Morrissey-like game with the audience, reaching out his hand to the frantic fans in the front, grabbing onto one hand, only to pull away with a look of disgust on his face, and then reaching out for another hand, a barely noticeable smirk at the corner of his mouth. On this night, at least, it seemed as though this theatre was exactly where he wanted to be, and he let us know that we should feel the same:”It’s Friday night. What else would you rather be doing?”

Setlist (as usual, there’s a 1-2 song margin of error due to my poor notebook handwriting)
How Soon Is Now?
Tomorrow
Sister I’m a Poet
London
The Loop
Jack the Ripper
Why Don’t You Find Out For Yourself?
Stretch Out and Wait
I Like You
Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me
Billy Budd
All You Need is Me
Death of a Disco Dancer
Throwing My Arm Around Paris
Be Careful When You Abuse the One You Love
Shoplifters of the World Unite
Irish Blood, English Heart
You Have Killed Me
Life is a Pigsty
Stop me if you thing that you’ve heart this one before

–Posted by Scotter