A magical evening.
Screamingly Fun.
'You don't have to say you love me,' sang Morrissey with a playful smile.
My life is a shambles but interesting changes are afoot. It's a time of reflection. It's a time for crying. It is a time for Morrissey. All I have done for days is listen to 'Years of Refusal,' and submerge my vacant head in its angry, tender melancholy. My parents failed. I have nobody. Thankfully I still have Morrissey's music and it still gives me a black eye like no other artist. The words hurt, they lead me somewhere I can't quite guess, they kick me in the foot, whimsical laughter follows as the pain gives way, they twist in the air and then they leave me lying on the floor wishing how different life could be.
The pain I feel is because of the realisation of how much time I have wasted on mundane things.
Morrissey was just terribly GOOD FUN this evening. One of the most enjoyable shows I've seen in my life. His voice was slowed down, utterly articulate and focused, dripping with irony and sense of occasion. Each syllable delivered like bricks through the shop windows all around Brixton. Each word chosen for strange reasons, unfathomable reasons. His face doesn't quite do what a normal person's face does these days. Like all famous people, he has long since given up catering. He is who he is. A puzzled grimace, a strangely alluring smile, a considered jut of the jaw.
'I take hormones every day... a word to the wise'
'Something Albert Finney said... but it remains good advice... Don't let the b******* grind you down.'
I Want The One I Can't Have swirls like a kiddies' toddling pool, round and round. Alma Matters was sweet and salty, beautifully rendered. Speedway was a boot to the head. The 15 second pause was pre-orgasmic. Meat is Murder groaned and sailed into the spirit, augmented by images of animals and cruelty, words to inspire. Paris was as bittersweet as any of his songs, cute and mournful, encouraging a few scratchy words of song from my larynx. Everyday is Like Sunday and There is a Light squeezed us just a little by the sides of the thorax. First of the Gang to Die brought the house down. 'You Have Never Been in Love Until You've Seen the Stars Refl;ect in the Reservoirs.'
Morrissey looked magnificient. The band were great. His charisma held my gze like no other.
'Art-Hounds' was dazzling. Weirdness reminiscient of 'Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed,' a clashing verse-chorus transition, screaming falsetto and pounding drums. A touch of 'Mute Witness' on steroids and heavy, angry drums. 'My Life is Open' he implored. 'Art-Hounds, sitting at a restaurant, very funny, very witty...' There was a sexy dollop of punk thrown into the mix and a fistful of star dust.
'Action' sounded very good in this company.
I wonder, I wonder, I wonder what the future holds.
I don't love life very much but I still love morrissey. I love his music more than ever. And I wait for his next album with a look of distress at the maelstrom of misery I endure every single day of my life. It's pathetic at my age but I still need him as much as ever. Who are we trying to kid? We all do. Who else is there? Nobody.
Broken
