Not long back from the Royal Festival Hall, and Mozzer opening the first night of his Meltdown (or 'Meltup' as he kept calling it). The last time I saw him live was way back in September 2002, at the Albert Hall, with Bengali. This time felt tangibly different, partly because Morrissey's in a much more confident position (2002, he wasn't even signed to a record label; 2004, his new album's been released to rave reviews, and the Great British Public seem not only to have noticed his return but embraced him - as a true homecoming queen), and partly because it was Xoc's first experience of Morrissey Live. Bengali was a superb Moz-companion, but Xoc's altogether more maulable. We mauled. A lot.
In the end, after much deliberation and hand-on-hip 'stitch to wear' bemoaning, I'd decided to forego the kilt and pinstripes (thought I might get too sweated up) and just go for jeans and my most gut-concealing Fred Perry. Reasonable choice, looking around at the assembled throng queuing to get in: fewer skinheads, fewer old-skool Morrissettes (quiffs and NHS specs, but no gladioli or hearing-aids); lots of ageing indie kids and faux-Mexicana. I suspect that, with Meltdown being sold out so quickly and tickets going for such high prices on eBay, any young fanbase he might've garnered in recent years would've been priced out of the auditorium. Surprising number of women. At one point, a straight couple in front of us started groping each other, and I surprised myself with a faintly bristly 'but this is a queer space' inner gut response.
Anyway. The bar-staff were all wearing 'Morrissey's Meltdown' t-shirts with 'the more you ignore me, the closer I get' on the back. The bar was mobbed, and didn't serve champagne (not as clarssy as the Royal Albert, then) but was a good vantage-point for observing the comings and goings of the fanbase. Fewer Brylcreem dykes than last time, but some sexy quiffsters, and an alarmingly large Goth girl (from all over Battersea, one supposes) in crackling, dragging black.
Support act was one Damien Dempsey, an attractively chunky Oirish bear (hmm, what did Moz see in him?) with a whacking great pair of lungs but risibly Oasis-level lyrics. His last song was, he explained, about being nice to one's kids, and included the memorably facile chorus, "love yourself, today, okay". Hmm. Okay. Dr Spock it was not.
The set-changing soundtrack in a Morrissey gig is always intriguing. There was a distinctly Euro-friendly theme, with two unidentifiable French disco ditties (I think the first might've been Serge Gainsbourg). They also played Nancy Sinatra's rather pleasing version of 'Quarry' single, 'Let Me Kiss You', with Moz on "ohhh, oh oh" backing vocals. All in all, a more upbeat selection than last time (no Nico).
All the while, the backdrop was covered up, but the cover was removed to reveal a big, glitzy, lightbulb-studded 'MORRISSEY' sign a la Elvis's Comeback Special - as well as an enormous J Arthur Rank style gong. Fantastically camp.
Oh yeah, and at this point, Krishnan Guru-Murthy and (male) friend arrived to take up the seats next to us. Oooh, celeb! He's shorter than he looks on the telly, and can't dance. Doesn't seem to be gay either (unless he's incredibly good at keeping his hands off his boyfriend). Nice stripey shirt, though.
The usual atmospheric cranking-up, with football terrace chants of 'Morr-is-ey! Morr-is-ey! Morr-is-sey!' then lights down and an almost comedically Scouse female voice began intoning a long, motley (and rather '80s) list of hates: amongst others, Stock, Aitken & Waterman, Section 28, Jimmy Tarbuck, the Royal Family, losing keys, Bonnie Langford, sexual harrassment, Scouse impersonators and, pointedly, racists.
Thought this catalogue of crapness might be the lead-in to 'The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores', but no. Moz and band appeared to deafening applause/chants/hysteria, red-lit 'MORRISSEY' blazed into life, and we were straight into the stonking 'First Of The Gang To Die'; bi-i-ig singalong (and apparently the next single). He was looking bloody good too, less paunchy than previously, in jeans, dark blue shirt and black brocade smoking jacket. Bizarrely, he sang the first few numbers with what looked like a sprig of blue silk wisteria bouncing jauntily in his button-fly (an affectionately ironic reference to the days of more authentic trouser-foliage?), before flinging it into the audience.
The band were all suited and booted, looking older and less rockabilly than usual. Alain Whyte had been replaced by a geeky-looking guy who was later introduced as Little Barry (Alain apparently having become unwell in Dublin). Deano, the beefcake drummer, was particularly sexily-mohicanned.
The Mozzster seemed on good form, with much vigorous microphone-lashing, and a nice line in in-betweeny banter. Nothing quite like the Dublin gig where he announced the death of Reagan and opined that Bush should've died instead - but some nicely bitchy inter-audience sniping at fellow Gawd-bless-'em Queen Mothers, Elton John ("In a world overburdened with crashing bores, who's the biggest? Elton John, you say?") and Cliff Richard (after a particularly enthusiastic response to 'I Have Forgiven Jesus', "I smell a Christmas No.1. I'll have Cliff on his knees. For a change...").
In terms of the set itself, it was a mix of old and new Morrissey with some vintage (if slightly B-sidey) Smiths thrown in - and, interestingly, the Smiths stuff didn't stand out as being better; if anything, the new songs sounded fresher, punchier. Having said which, it was good to hear 'Hairdresser On Fire' again, with its London-centric lyrics altered to "I am depressed, but I'm remarkably dressed" and "here in London" changed to "back in the US, home of the flash, outrageous and free", and perhaps the Moment of the night happened early on, a piercingly beautiful version of 'Everyday Is Like Sunday', when he wandered up to our end of the stage (we were in the third row, just right of centre) and seemed to sing right at both of us. Eeeeeeeee! Hairs on the back of the neck prickling, eye-moistening, near knicker-soaking momment. Sublime.
Afterwards, making a self-deprecating reference to the new album ("in bargain bins all over the country"), the usual cryptic dedication "if the one from Bermondsey's here, you are the quarry". Jake! Surely! (The soap-opera matchmaker in me desperately wants him to get back together with his sunny, skinheady, ex-boxer 'companion' on the payroll). Also joked about his new-found recognition: "They say I'm the talk of the town. Unfortunately the town is Sunderland. Funny? Not really...".
(Other, more opaque bon mots included "and if anyone with the surname 'Keane' ('Keen'? 'Keene'?) is here, they can get out now" and "I can be a bit annoying. But I don't mind. *pause* No disagreement there, then". And directing "sorry about that" comments at one "Julia" much of the night.)
'Irish Blood, English Heart' was spine-chillingly good (Krishnan's friend got very air-punchingly excited), and segued nicely into 'The Headmaster Ritual' (after a who-could-he-be-talking-about comment about "the past, full of dark shadows; small shadows, small people"). He also played 'Rubber Ring', 'A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours' and, as a glorious finale, 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out'. And, amazing as it sounds, they actually didn't dwarf the solo stuff. They blended remarkably well with the likes of 'How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?' and 'America Is Not The World' (he changed the "I still love you" lines to "I once loved you"). 'I Have Forgiven Jesus' was particularly plangent, and the "you must be wondering how the boy next door turned out..." intro to 'Crashing Bores' was even more abruptly affecting, sung live.
Couple of new-ish, non-album songs: 'Don't Make Fun Of Daddy's Voice' ("it should be 'Don't Make Fun Of Mozzer's Voice" coupled with later self-jibe, "if you think my singing sounds off-key... that's because I sing off-key") and (I think) a cover of an old Raymonde song 'Nobody Holds A Candle To You', which he dedicated to living piece of Smiths history, James Maker.
There were several costume-changes. The smoking jacket came off after the first song and, once the dark blue shirt got sweaty, he swapped it for a white, floppy-cuffed number ("otherwise I'll get a nasty cold and miss the New York Dolls"). At the height of the penultimate song, the swoonsome 'I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday', he ripped it off, buttons pinging in all directions, and chucked it into the mob (incidentally, I've seen fragments of such shirts auctioned on eBay, One True Moz style), before appearing for the encore in a boxfresh Jobriath t-shirt.
Security was incredibly tight this time, and I missed the regular stage invasions. It wasn't until the 'There Is A Light' encore (at the height of crowd-bellowing "TO DIE BY YOUR SIDE") that anyone seriously attempted to reach out to the Mozhead: massed security easily blocked the guy clambering over the front-of-stage barriers, but one enterprising individual managed to drop down from the wings of the stage, climb over some speakers and jump onto the stage - only to be dramatically rugby-tackled by a security bloke who got him in a nasty-looking choke-hold. Still, he got to touch the hand of Moz before being returned to the audience, where he promptly tore off his t-shirt and capered bare-chested, like a true religious ecstatic.
And Deano, the appeallingly rough trade drummer - who apparently already has a growing fanbase of his own - chucked his drumsticks into the threshing, heaving Mozpit.
So... it was a triumphant Morrissey performance, with gorgeously-rounded songs and crisply witty asides to audience. Sadly, he didn't sing 'Mexico' or 'Come Back To Camden' but I've a feeling he hasn't performed either of these anywhere else on the tour. The latter, which I reckon is a yearningly bittersweet Jake-song, may be a little too hearfelt for public consumption; I dunno.
Aaanyway, we tumbled out, still exuberant, and spent a small fortune on Morrissey merchandise (favourites were the t-shirt with 'QUARRY' on the back, and the 'I ONLY BRAKE FOR MORRISSEY' car-sticker). It was nice to have experienced this one with Xoc: it was all very touchy-feely. Lovely lovely lovely. |
