“Speedway” takes on media mobbings. As the song reaches its crescendo, he croons “I could have mentioned your name / I could have dragged you in / guilt by implication / by association / I’ve always been true to you.” It makes sense; Morrissey was mobbed and shamed before it was an everyday occurrence. He’s been called every progressive slur in the book before progressivism was even a thing.
In the US, and online, there is a growing concern among artists that art should contain political activism within it. Morrissey is a peculiar case study in that he has always been political yet embodies the spirit of aestheticism almost perfectly. He exists within the realm of the sublime, a beauty through pain of sadness that speaks to his fans, refugees from mainstream pop joy.
He has disdain for any of those men and women who aspire to lead nations. One of his many concert backdrops featured Margaret Thatcher about to be whacked with a baton by an officer astride his horse. Those who take his unapologetic free speech advocacy as some sort of right-wing dog whistle should take note that this is still the man who proclaimed that the Queen was dead, called for Margaret on the guillotine, and claimed in song, “We won’t vote conservative!”
The political songs are often the ones that miss the mark in an emotional context, precisely because his ability to connect on the heartfelt songs is so stellar. But they bring weight to this tour that marked the end of Morrissey’s personal boycott of Canada over barbaric seal hunting practices. In coming back, he said, “My stance was ultimately of no use and helped no one. My voice was drowned out by the merciless swing of spiked axes crushing the heads of babies. On my return to Canada I feel that I can be of more use by making sizeable donations to animal protection groups in each city that I play.”
Morrissey has the most intense fandom ever. For most, it’s a lifelong love affair that began with songs heard in early teenage years that carried them through those difficult years. The feeling that an artist truly understands the pain of growing up from a shy child into a miserable adult cannot be underestimated.
We listen to Morrissey because he speaks to that part of us that we don’t readily share. To recapture feelings of love and red wine on lazy summer afternoons, to live the songs of our hearts, the places where shame keeps us from expressing true desire, true loss, true hopeless expectation. But unlike so many of his peers in alt rock, Morrissey does it with both a deep reservoir of artistic knowledge and a sense of humour, like Oscar Wilde, James Joyce, Dorothy Parker. The smirk that plays at the edges of his mouth, at the edges of his verse, give us the feeling that no matter how miserably we have failed, it doesn’t matter if we rise again, because rising is not the goal, laughing at our tears is.
A mass of vulnerability crams into the theatres where he plays, and while we yearn for the old songs, he gives us something better. New ideas and perspectives that we weren’t expecting, that jar our realities and keep us from sinking into the peevish darkness. We can fight him, debate him, feel antagonized and betrayed as though by a lover we have loved more than he has loved us. Because despite his love for his fans, it’s we that keep reaching out for more of this fascinating artist, who, decades into his career, continues to deliver a vulnerable, expressive distance.
On the way to Toronto, the tiny, flimsy airplane was dotted with Morrissey shirts. A few hours before the first concert, the cafe girl asked us what we were doing in town; she had never heard of Morrissey. In that moment, it was inconceivable to us that one could ask such a question. It was also true of the customs guy, the hotel clerk, and for sure the kids in the hotel lobby watching the new Taylor Swift video on their iPhones. But for us—as well as thousands of jean-jacketed, rockabilly Betties and Quiffed-up, tattooed Latino fanboys—in the hours leading up to the first show, Morrissey was the world.
Security stood at the ready on the edge of the stage to push back worshippers. When fans jumped up on stage, as they have been doing for decades, Morrissey reached out for them, allowed them human touch. Other fans simply bowed their heads in appreciation, wanting to acknowledge what he’s given. We all felt the joy of a fan recognized by the man himself. The best artists know that their careers are held aloft by the experience the fans have with the work. The art is neither the object nor the man, but the moment in between the expression and the individual who craves what is expressed.
The joy of the crowd at the first licks of “How Soon Is Now” has been holding strong since its release. We know all the words, and we’re thrilled to have our outsider lonely lovelessness acknowledged. Could it be that we all stood at the edges of dance floors in the all-ages clubs of our youth, wishing for the DJ to play tracks we could sway and cry to, and that if we’d only looked into each others’ eyes we would have connected like we yearned to? Together we press toward the stage and toward each other. It’s our hearts reaching out and finding camaraderie. How can it be that so many controversial outsiders find a home in this music? We feel a kinship with each other despite our unwillingness to admit it, acknowledge it, or speak to each other. We’re still too shy.
Adding the Spanish vocals in “World Peace Is None of Your Business” is something that comes from the Latino fandom and is an acknowledgement of it. These kids carry the torch, and the merging of Mexican American Chicano culture with Morrissey’s post-punk English sound is a glorious 21st Century collaboration.
Though it’s a tour for California Son, an album of obscure covers, he only played one song from the album each night in Toronto. “Wedding Bell Blues by The Fifth Dimension, and Jobriath’s “Morning Starship.” He noted that no one has probably heard of Jobriath, and we mostly hadn’t. Bringing these nearly forgotten tracks to his fans reveals Morrissey as a fan himself. The range of Morrissey’s influence is a treasure trove of obscure 20th Century music, and fans should take the time to dig in, listen, and then attend to Morrissey’s new covers record. Standouts include covers of R&B legend Dionne Warwick, American folk singer Phil Ochs, and Canadian pacifist Buffy Sainte-Marie.
He sang “I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris” in front of a backdrop of flames and a single “Gilet Jaunes” protester defiantly waving a French flag. A reminder that political reality is complex, no matter what the media would have you believe. A reminder, too, that Morrissey has always been with the working class, Les Miserables.
Speaking of what the media would have you believe, shortly after the Canadian stint we observed, Morrissey caught another wave of bad press. This time, he was smeared for wearing a “For Britain” badge during a performance of “Morning Starship” on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Kimmell. One of Morrissey’s oldest frenemies in media, the NME, summed it up this way: “The performance led to posters for his new album ‘California Son’ to be removed at Merseyrail stations and for his music to be banned from the world’s oldest record shop.”
Morrissey issued a statement:
Everyone always wants to jump to conclusions.
Morrissey has never been affiliated with any political party in the past. Morrissey has never voted in his life, and is not a member of any political party.
Morrissey opposes racism, hatred and press censorship. Morrissey believes in free speech and free expression and opposes totalitarian regimes. Morrissey has only ever met two political figures – Ken Livingstone and Tony Blair.
Morrissey currently wears lapel pins of James Baldwin, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Aretha Franklin, Oscar Wilde.
Morrissey is quite used to smear campaigns from the UK press. It is nothing new for us.
Thanks to the fans the CS record is currently # 2 at HMV today. And thanks to Merseyrail for all the extra press today!
Morrissey later clarified in an interview with Sam Esty Rayner that while he supports For Britain (it appears largely for their broad animal rights platform), the notion that he is in anyway racist is preposterous: “If you call someone racist in modern Britain you are telling them that you have run out of words. You are shutting the debate down and running off. The word is meaningless now.” The world, as ever, won’t listen.
Back in Toronto, while belting out his recent hit, “Spent the Day in Bed” Morrissey once again turns his gaze on the media that often maligns him. In taking aim against duplicitous, fear mongering journalists, he offers a way forward by which we should all abide: “I recommend that you / stop watching the news / because the news contrives to frighten you / to make you feel small and alone / to make you feel like your mind isn’t your own.”
This is what keeps his fans feeling connected. We don’t want to feel small and alone, even as much as we acknowledge that we do. We don’t want to feel like our minds are not our own, and we won’t. That’s the point. To feel connected to our flaws, to know what they are, and to rail against those that would define us by our flaws, our vulnerabilities, and our misgivings. It is not a weakness to laugh at ourselves, to indulge in our shyness. The weakness comes in giving over your thoughts and attention to a culture that places no value on individuality or critical thought. Morrissey is ultimately a critically thinking individual, who does not hold back his views, his heart, his art, or his love.
