It was quite a trek on the trains and the underground, down from York to England's fair capital, all to catch a glimpse of the fabled SMITHS singer. Yes, MORRISSEY is back, and performing in Britain for the first time in at least two years.
Where has he been? Wowing South America apparently, and avoiding the scathing eye of the British music press. Tickets are being hawked by touts for over twice the face value. There is a hushed aura of expectation.
Finally, the doors open and we ruch inside...to be regaled by a protracted soundcheck and an irritating intro tape. Well over an hour later, THE THRILLS take the stage. Their country rock was somewhat half-formed and a lot of their subtlety was lost in the cavernous RAH. This would be a recurring theme for the night, epic emotions lost in a wind tunnel of crackling, trebly sound. Guitar heroics thrown inaudibly to the balconies.
The tension and expectation is masterfully milked as the house lights dim and red spotlights flicker on the stage.
But when MORRISSEY burts onto the stage, it is with a weak, squalling stagger through "I Want The One I Can't Have." "Suedehead" is so bad it is almost blasphemous. The guitar splutters and dies. Again and again. Finally the guitarist stumbls through a ropey "Everyday Is Like Sunday" on The Thrills' borrowed banjo. Morrissey sings like he is a thousand miles away, still in South America. He mumbles and twists the words, laming the melodies that once did him proud on record.
|
Thens omething happens. A passionate "Meat Is Murder" sends the gig into the stratosphere. Devotees hurl themselves at the security guards in a desperate attempt to reach him. The new material suddenly sounds brave and every bit as strong as the older tracks.
And then Morrissey returns for a huge, sing-along encore of "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out."
It was a night of mixed highs and mixed highs and squalid lows. Perhaps a fitting tribute to the singer's career?
|
