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Woe Is He: Morrissey in concert. (Not at Saturday's Warner Theatre show.)
Still, I’d always heard he was a superb live act. The combination of the release of Refusal — Moz’s strongest effort in at least a decade-an-a-half, say the experts, and one that sounded sublime to my novice ears — and the glorious Warner Theatre was too enticing to resist.
The gig did not disappoint. Sashaying in front of a giant stage backdrop with “REFUSAL” stenciled over the pecs of a shirtless muscleman, the Pope of Mope lived up to his reputation for elegance, excellence, and sexual ambiguity. The set was a potent 95-minute, 21-song cocktail: half the new album, a handful of Smiths chestnuts, a well-curated assortment from his two-decade solo catalogue, and a cover of the Buzzcocks’ “You Say You Don’t Love Me.” Through it all, the star’s rich vocal timbre rang startlingly clear, seeming to float atop the muscular crunch of his five-piece band. There was none of the stage-crashing that I’d always heard was part of the Morrissey ritual, but he did shake a lot of hands. “Good evening, Squashington!” he said, looking approvingly at the crush as he made his entrance.
The crisply-paced gig subverted the nostalgia-enabling structure favored by many veteran songwriters, front-loading the oldest standards and weaving the new songs throughout the entirety of the program. “This Charming Man” was well-placed as a vigorous, bouncy opener. “I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear,” crooned the blue-jeans-clad balladeer. Somehow I figured — based on nothing except maybe the You Are the Quarry album cover — he’d be more of a clothes horse.
“How Soon Is Now?” the biggest gun in the Smiths, er, canon, felt premature 15 minutes into the gig, but the performance was epic, angular and powerful. It’s not that plenty of players — Moz’s own longtime sideman Boz Borrer, for instance — couldn’t replicate Johnny Marr’s shimmering guitar part; it’s just that nobody thought to do it like that before Marr. Mozz effectively handed the show over to the band at the end of the number, lying prone in front of the drum kit, not quite in a fetal position. “Are you disappointed?” he asked afterwards, milking the triumph.
He’d already tossed one shirt into the crowd by this point, and the near-riot it caused near the lip of the stage brought back memories of my prior visit to the Warner, to see Usher on Election Night. Though the two performers would seem to have little in common, each disrobed onstage the same number of times: twice. Moz, mercifully, restricted his exposure to the waist-up; though his stripping was much funnier than Usher’s, in that it bore no relation at all to the tone of the music.
Morrissey, it seems, has always been one of those sex symbols who doth protest too much, like the Jonas Brothers with their goofy chastity rings. The shirt Moz donned after his first peel employed what must be highly advanced and expensive sartorial technology to maintain a perfectly heart-shaped sweat stain on his back for the next hour.
A hypnotic mid-show version of “Death of a Disco Dancer” that resolved itself into a phased drone was another showstopper, but the new song that followed it, “It’s Not Your Birthday Anymore,” sat easily next to the Smiths classic. “The Loop, ” a limber rockabilly number featuring Solomon Walker on upright bass, was another winner.
Morrissey could give a master class in stage banter: After “The World Is Full of Crashing Bores,” he declared, “Your kindness is appreciated, and so are other things, appreciated. I can’t remember what they are.” Even his gibberish drips with acerbic sophistication! “I’m Okay by Myself” closed the set proper with a bass solo and another shirt-toss. Tough call which one seemed more excessive.
Returning for an encore— the tour premiere of “Last First of the Gang to Die,” Moz asked “That was all very painless, wasn’t it?” I wouldn't say painless, exactly. But in the words of another singer who came to prominence in the 80s — one who has nothing at all in common with Morrissey other than an easily-ridiculed public persona and a fondness for performing in blue jeans — it hurt so good.
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his last show at constitution was better (and longer) imo. and death of a disco dancer more epic - or maybe it was just because it was the first time i'd heard it live and realized how great a song it can be live.
his new album seems rather bland to me and not at all up to par with some of his earlier work (you are the quarry), and def not up to the consistent work of the smiths who had, what, one bad song?
It's a shame the Coachella rumors of a reunion never came to be. Pity really, since the tension between Morrissey and Marr would make for some excellent music, if not the best performances. Maybe as solo artists, they just don't have much to say to me at this point. The enemy of life is the middle class, and the enemy of art is middle age. It's only in your teens and your dotage that artists have anything powerful to say. I look forward to a geriatric reunion with much interest.
"...and the enemy of art is middle age..."
Get off my stage you young whippersnapper!
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Man, I hate when that happens!
Thanks for the review, and glad you enjoyed the show, he's really not to everyone's taste.
A couple of points (I know, pick, pick, pick) it's "First of the Gang to Die" not "Last" and we were treated to 21, not 20 songs. (And the Buzzcocks cover was an absolute highlight, for me, but most of the people around me seemed to be bemused.)
Seated venues are never the best to see Morrissey, and security at Warner were dire, which is why no stage invasions. Morrissey had to have his own security people talk to Warner's security, to get them to stop harrasing the folks at the front, in the middle of the show.
Regarding the "clothes horse" comment, he is often on stage in suits, tuxes, etc., but also as often in jeans (albeit Miu Miu/Prada, for example). And those shirts that were tossed to, and devoured by the audience? Dolce & Gabbana on Saturday evening.
And Mr. Monkeyrotica, please, don't hold your breath for a reunion, even a geriatric one. He will never, ever do it while a certain band member still lives, and after their death, what would be the point? I may exist in the present, and live in the past, but he does still speak to me, even as he (and I) creep towards the dreaded "50."
Whoops. I corrected the title of the final song in the post, Xaime; thanks for pointing out the error. First, last, always! As for the song count, well, I went to public school; what can I say?
I saw Moz's burly-but-fleet-of-foot onstage bodyguard whispering (or shouting, more like) in the ears of the yellow-shirts in front of the stage at several points during the show. I wondered if perhaps he was telling them they could back off a bit.
They said the same thing about The Sex Pistols, and if ever a band hated eachother's guts with the fire of a thousand suns, it was them.
Please allow me my little fantasies. I have so few reasons to get out of bed in the morning.
One of my most prized material possessions, that I keep in a fireproof box, is a piece of M's shirt, that I fought for at a concert back in my younger years.
Good times.
Saw him last time at Constitution Hall. Went with a whippersnapper friend who, upon hearing the opening to How Soon is Now, informed me in all seriousness that he had no idea that Morrissey sang the theme song for Charmed.
HA! I read in an interview with David Bowie that he always has kids come up to him after his shows and thank him for playing that beautiful Nirvana song, "The Man who Sold the World." Pisses him off to no end.
I had the same problem with a young cousin who heard the original "I Can't Stand the Rain" and declared that someone was covering Missy Elliot.
Gentlemen, it's official: we're old.
Odd that this is the first thing that's ever prompted me to actually make a comment on DCist...
...anyway, my version of this story is the young frat boy who came in to the record store where I worked in the late 90s looking for a copy of the song Heroes. When I handed him the David Bowie CD of the same name, he looked at me in disdain and replied "no, the original version, you know...the one that's on the radio right now?"
He didn't seem to understand when I pointed out that it was entirely possible that the album in my hand was released before the members of the Wallflowers were out of elementary school. Needless to say, he didn't buy the Bowie disc...
Went with a whippersnapper friend
You're not fooling anyone with that euphemism. ;)