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Genesee Theatre - 11/23/24
Art film clips, obscure music videos, looping clips from mid-century movies in triptych as the band played expertly under shifting hues and Morrissey blissfully sang of dejection, frustration, self-empowerment, and longing.
“We live in a mentally constipated time,” he said at the beginning, and left it at that.
There was a line outside and we passed a poster of a younger Morrissey in a high collared jacket pointing a gun with massive flames behind him. Our tickets featured a picture of also a younger Morrissey’s big head with the barcode and info across his eyes and mouth, which only prove that Morrissey cannot possibly take himself seriously.
In the lobby a woman at a table offered my dad a brochure, which he mistook for a show program and unwittingly accepted it. It was a "How to Be Vegan" guide so I took it off his hands, knowing he would definitely not read nor use it ever. I made the faux-pas of wearing suede shoes, but many others wore leather footwear, and none seemed to notice. Morrissey himself wore, besides an unbuttoned navy shirt and matching slacks, shiny brown dress shoes--or if not imitation leather, then unimitation plastic.
Before the show began, on the screen behind the stage was projected a movie still, I imagine, of a man in a leather jacket in front of a black Cadillac on a highway with his hands upraised in surrender. It was a very
Morrissey image. For those who require elaboration, Moz is a man who loves to romanticize crime, clearly expressed in the song he later performed, “First of the Gang to Die," with the essential lines, “You have never been in love / Until you've seen the sunlight thrown / Over smashed human bone."
I heard a security man say outside that clips of music videos would be played. Without further context, “Search and Destroy” by Iggy and the Stooges was somewhat perplexing at first when we were presented with a montage of Vietnam War footage. It made me think of The Atrocity Exhibition, by J.G. Ballard, where the reoccurring Dr. Nathan would point to photos and documents on his desk that the protagonist had been studying, and make some kind of speech to attempt to explain the protagonist’s insanity based on his current skewed interests. In the same way, the music videos, “Cherry Bomb” by the Runaways, an interview of David Johansen, lead singer of New York Dolls, a movie clip of Divine singing “You Think You’re a Man,” some criminal in a courtroom saying “I died,” a 1960s era woman singing a ballad, grainy rockabilly videos, this weird tune “Birthday Party” by Stinky Toys of some woman constantly pulling at her red tube dress to a whack guitar and bass rhythm, an over-the-top song about a motorcyclist, an over-choreographed music video of this dude in a tailcoat and maybe spats from the 80s, David Bowie in the Ziggy Stardust era singing about his death, some skit clip of a comedian in a blond wig, and whatever order they ran in it ended with a looped clip of this dude who looked absolutely terrifying his gaze cut across with a swelling loud amplified feedback rumbling the theatre as the lights dimmed, before Morrissey and band walked out happily taking their places on stage. Never have I seen such a cool pre-show. I preferred it to many openers I’ve sat or stood through.
Together, the band played three as yet unreleased Morrissey tracks, “I am Veronica,” a relaxed, flowy one, “Sure Enough the Telephone Rings,” and “I Ex-Love You,” both of which I really loved and demand a streamable listenable released version of NOW. I need them.
The backing band was international, with some from the United States, others South America, and the drummer, who wore a tee-shirt with Lou Reed's Transformer cover art on it, was from Chicago. The guitarist, a bleached blonde from a Latin American country, which I don't want to guess because I forgot to write it down, played an expert lead guitar, especially crisp during “How Soon is Now." Another memorable moment was the drummer banging a gong a few times before hammering a drum roll on a huge, huge, massive drum. And Morrissey had a tambourine. His voice sounded as smashing as ever.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t share the sentiments of most of the lyrics he sang, especially classics from The Smiths: “How Soon is Now?” “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” and “Shoplifters of the World Unite”–especially its bridge–though I was happy to sway and dance, I couldn’t get past the glum truth of how they were true for me, and probably still true for Morrissey, therefore why he still loves to sing them and sang them all through the tour.
Still, Morrissey has positive empowering songs like “Alma Matters”--though even the chorus: “To someone, somewhere / oooooooeeeeeYes / Alma Matters in mind, body, and soul / in part and in whole” things did get desperate with the improvised pleading, “To somebody / anybody, anybody”--and the confident “I Wish You Lonely,” which you’ll have to hear whole to understand.
The funniest part was that for the song, "Dear God Please Help Me," the backdrop was a painted Jesus close-up with the legend something like, "Remember that everyone hated me before they hated you." Not that Morrissey necessarily was comparing himself to Jesus. Raised Catholic, I think he meant he was the You and not the Me, and he meant it as an encouragement for any listeners out there feeling hated. It made me feel empathy for the guy. Obviously, he feels or has felt hated. Thankfully, though a lot of Morrissey's glum lyrics apply to me, I haven't felt hated lately. That was some encouragement.
Toward the end, Morrissey sang “The Loop,” a cool, smooth, rockabilly tune, and one of my favorite of his songs. As he shook some maracas, he sang, “I just wanna say / I haven’t been away / I am still right here / Where I always was / So if one day, if you’re bored / By all means, call me.” At the end threw the maracas behind him at the pictures of a woman perpetually and confidently shrugging on the screen, as if she was indifferent to being ignored, if I were to tie it to the song.
A most beloved Morrissey song, “Jack the Ripper," was treated with immense billows of fog and red light, obscuring Moz himself as he strolled across the stage, occasionally and casually posing at the mic or elsewhere during instrumental breaks or watching the other musicians as he had throughout the show. I was caught off-guard at the last chorus when he broke into a tirade describing the object of desire in “Jack the Ripper" as a scruffy rat with red eyes, “you miserable thing," which detracted from the catharsis I was expecting from the end. Can't say what his thoughts were in this change, but you can attempt to puzzle it out with the video.
In spite of the dreary lyrics, Morrissey seemed happy. The concert, the last of the tour, closed with those of the band who knew the language thanking the audience in Español, as Morrissey has a large Mexican fanbase, and Morrissey expressing his gratitude for the love his fans give him. For the encore of the song “Speedway," Morrissey appeared wearing a shirt featuring the tour poster art of his own self holding a gun with a black suit jacket over it. At its conclusion, the musicians departed under dimming lights, and the concert closed with loud swelling feedback and a looped clip from an art film of a shirtless guy putting a gun to his head, the footage cutting to his head sinking from the recoil of the pistol. On loop, over and over. Cheery. Though were it me onstage I’d probably have a similarly bleak end clip, even if I ended up being in a good mood.
My dad was impressed by the performance, saying after hearing his voice for decades how cool it was to finally see Morrissey sing there in person, still sounding great. Me, I'm glad I got to see an authentic Morrissey concert, which dispelled the fears others put in my brain. It was pleasant. It was funny. It was relevant. “I will see you in far-off places," as Moz himself sang, “If the USA doesn't bomb you."
Pre-show footage:
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