List of the Lost Review

I’m still coming down from the high of my trip to England to see Morrissey and my friends last week and to be honest it’s quite the plummet. That was one of the happiest weeks of my life… and returning home to reality (whatever that is) is a bit of a slap in the face. However, I was very excited to have the chance to read Morrissey’s novel, List of The Lost, which was released just two days after my return to Canada. I don’t even have my own copy yet, as it isn’t due to arrive until October, but Boozey was nice enough to let me read her online copy.  Safe to say, this is the first time I’ve read a book twice before a copy is even nestled away on my overstuffed bookshelves.

I decided to stop reading the book reviews after I found them to be, predictably, full of personal digs towards Morrissey, with little focus on the work itself.  Because, of course, no reviewer appeared to be able to read the book and take it for what it is…and they seemed far more focused on who wrote it and whatever their personal views were towards the author. The personal jabs by the reviewers, who could barely piece together a 350-word review, just indicated that sadly, the world is indeed full of crashing bores. I will form my own opinions, thank you.

I read List of the Lost the first time so quickly I probably missed a fair bit.  But what struck me immediately was the prose style. I can’t quite compare it to anyone else’s, and that’s a good thing.  Stylistically, Morrissey’s prose is extremely poetic, and internal rhyme, rhythm, and alliteration are weaved intricately throughout his sentences.  As the real and proper poet laureate that he is, I can imagine that read aloud this rhythm and poetry would become even more pronounced and (nudge…ahem…begging) if a certain someone who has a lovely singing voice were to read it aloud for the audiobook format I think it would be quite breathtaking.

The novel is filled with metaphor and simile in its descriptions, which, to some reviewers, was perhaps a little overwhelming. While they found “fun” in nitpicking the metaphors, particularly the ones in the lovemaking scenes, I enjoyed this aspect of the writing.  Ok, the now-famous “bulbous salutation” line did elicit a bit of a chuckle, but then, you know, Mozzer can be quite funny sometimes, and we would be missing out if we didn’t see some humour woven through the text, an example being his inclusion of a valet with the name Chesty Normous.  Another amusing moment of wit-fueled word-play occurs with the line: "I could be at home pulverizing my wife at Scrabble, or scrabbling my pulverized wife."  I can imagine that the usage of metaphors and Morrissey’s vast vocabulary and word play may pose difficulties and subtleties that are harder for the non-native English speaker, but Moz is quite gifted linguistically, which of course we already knew.

The novel has also been critiqued for not being focused. My answer to that is a series of questions: is life itself focused? Is your own mind focused? How do you think?  Do you think entirely in order all of the time? Are your feelings in order, with a beginning, middle, climax, dénouement?  Well, probably not. Furthermore, writing is art – and why should art follow a standard, organized predictable path? I am blah-blah-blahing on here, but you see my point.  List of the Lost is a stream-of-consciousness journey that takes us through a maze of brilliant commentary on the human condition. And this commentary, whether you agree or not, is a bit like getting slammed in the face with brutal honesty about the state of the media, the police, the government, the meat industry, the ‘royals,’ aging, faith, our notions of sexuality. No wonder it made some people uncomfortable, because hearing the truth is uncomfortable; it makes you squirm a bit.  And that’s a good thing. Some reviewers may regard this as tangential to the storyline – BUT – the societal backdrop of life shapes our character for better or for worse, and with compliance or defiance we develop along with our response to that societal backdrop.

I’m not here to give away the plot, and I won’t, because not all of us have been fortunate enough to read it due to international availability (or lack thereof), but after two readings I can honestly say I enjoyed it because it was DIFFERENT to anything else I’ve ever read.  Thank goodness for that.  With all of the bland books we must wade through that are “popular,” like 50 Shades of Grey, predictable political “thrillers” where the president-must-be-saved-within-48-hours, or mind numbing “chick-lit,” it’s refreshing to see an author present something in a unique format and actually have something to say. Did you really expect Moz to do something expected? Like it or leave it, we can likely all agree that it is a unique work.

Some moments that stood out to me included his approach to writing about grief, suicide, and aging.  I found the passage about suicide particularly profound; "he shall travel this path without the strength to cope with anything else, no longer likely to explode from this intensity, yet ready to fuse the physical with the spiritual and to accept that the next moment will be unlike any other...Let the minutes spin as a tankard of vodka is clouded by a heavy overjolt of white and brown powder, both of which submerge like falling snow as they enjoy one another and whisper, I'm the right friend for you." These topics hurt, they torment, and admittedly plague our thoughts at some time or another, and he captures their ugliness with full force, and we see a line where ugly and beauty perhaps blur in his poetic description of the agony of these dark topics that ravage us as humans who are constantly left asking, why, why, why?   Perhaps what makes this ugliness beautiful is that in reading it we feel the anguish of our human condition is understood. I’m not sure.

Moz also holds up a mirror to the media, which includes Eliza’s astute torrent of rage towards TV news: “Have you ever watched the TV news, and listened to all of their scare-tactic propaganda … every story designed to frighten you, scare you off, make you feel small, make you feel alarmed yet hopeless … and then – bam! – ‘and now we have some sports news’, as if this ought to counterbalance all the shit that’s happening in the world.”  And isn’t this exactly how it’s presented to us? I remember the last day I ever watched the TV news, I saw countless minutes of footage of animals being tortured, humans being bombed out or suffering from AIDS in a homeless shelter, followed by a smiling blonde woman sharing her “famous lavender muffin recipe.” No more.

I think what we can surmise from all of this is that the critics don’t get Morrissey, and that’s totally fine.  I haven’t come across many fans who didn’t enjoy the novel, and those that didn’t love it seem more perplexed by it.  Innovation is inherently difficult to grasp, and List of The Lost shows us that yet again, Moz is always at least three steps ahead of the rest of the world, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morrissey at Hammersmith - Diary/Journal Style Review of Both Nights

I don't really know what else to call this, and you don't have to sneak into my room to read my diary, so here is my review. It is VERY long!

Timing is everything. It sounds glaringly simple; it sounds terrifically clichéd. But everyone in the queue for a Morrissey concert knows this.  When did you arrive? When doors open, how fast can you run in? Will you find your spot at the barrier quickly enough? What number are you on the list? We wonder these things as we all wait in line, our breath also held with anticipation for another “list,” Morrissey’s first novel, List of the Lost¸ which comes out this week.

Queuing is a tremendous experience, if not also, for a newcomer, a somewhat intimidating one.  I should know, for I’m quite new to all of this.  Living over in Canada, I didn’t discover Morrissey until about a year and a half ago.  There… I tore the bandage off… I’ve admitted it.  I find it nearly an embarrassing thing to admit when I talk with those I meet from all over the world, those who have been to literally hundreds of concerts, or those who have loved him since his Smiths days.  But this is my reality, and something I can’t help, as much as I would like to go back in time and somehow find him sooner, I can’t. Timing. I can’t change it. For my entire life, I had always felt like a bit of an outsider, and not understood in any way, but then I found Morrissey and suddenly, things made sense.  Or perhaps, more precisely, it suddenly made sense that I thought many things in life don’t make any sense, and thank goodness someone was finally pointing that out.

When I first discovered Morrissey, I bought every album or book about him that I could get my hands on.  I read every interview I could find.  It was 2014, and he unfortunately had recently been forced to cancel a number of tour dates due to illness.  I wondered if I would ever get the chance to see him sing live.  The worry of that ate at me, aching me, as I again chastised myself for everything that never quite seemed to come true for me, whether it be my fault or not. I was going through a rough time with depression, and he was the only person in the world who seemed to be able to get through to me. No one else could. Not many tried, anyway. But that was okay, because I had found something and someone that meant more to me than anything.

When tour dates were announced near me for the summer of 2015, I actually initially thought I had dreamt it – and those of you who have followed me on twitter or the blob know that I went to Seattle and Troutdale in July, followed by the two shows in San Diego on August 20th and August 21st. In Troutdale he took my letter, something that meant more to me than anything in the world ever has; it was and probably will always be the best moment of my life; it felt like he had saved me from drowning.

I was suddenly out travelling, seeing the world, making new friends, feeling something I was not at all used to, perhaps actually it was that elusive emotion we refer to as happiness.  This was a vast departure from the person who had spent nearly the entire past year hiding indoors, avoiding people.  So: two shows in London and a show in Hull over less than a week?  Why not?  And I went.

I’ve already posted a Hull review, so let’s get to the two days in London. The day after the show in Hull, the lovely Boozelette and her now-twitterandblob-famous husband, Dave, were kind enough to take me with them on their drive down to London.  We were all a tad hungover (such a shock, isn't it?) from the previous night’s alcohol-saturated antics at an after party in Hull, and we had a good time on our journey, listening to Morrissey, sampling an assortment of British crisps, sharing stories from past concerts and twitter, and bringing along in spirit or in finger décor any friends who weren’t able to come along for the ride.

I briefly explored Hammersmith that evening, enjoying a veggie burger and vodka with a touch of citron before retiring to bed. Then the DMs started to arrive:  “Queue already at 28 at10 pm.”  I considered going to queue then, but I was exhausted, and decided to chance the early morning instead, setting my alarm for around 6. No bother! Just before 3 a.m., a pounding, fierce, wailing siren rampaged itself through my eardrums, jarring me from the shreds of slumber I had finally found. Darkness and fumbling hands blindly searched for the light switch, what a horrendous sounding alarm clock in this hotel! But it kept going… and what was that smell? Faint… barely there… but burning… smoke? Pounding feet drummed down the hallway. It hit me – that was no alarm clock; that was a fire alarm.  I began trembling like a leaf, my fingers barely working as I grabbed the things I would need, pacing the room, not really knowing what to do.  My first concern was not even my passport, but to grab my concert tickets.  Passport and concert tickets in hand, and wearing my pyjamas, with self-consciousness still absurdly somewhat prevalent in spite of the situation, I opened my door to see people chaotically bounding down the hallway.  This looked real.  I could feel my heart thumping, moving up my chest to my throat and into my ears, and I began to walk down the hallway. Thankfully, thankfully, thankfully, as I was nearing the fire escape, we found out it was a false alarm.  I was awake now, and sleep was definitely not happening, my hands were still shaking fiercely. Why not get ready to go queue?

I made it to the queue around 5 a.m. and was 41^stplace. That is a considerably long list for 5 a.m., from what I’ve seen anyway in my limited queuing experience (it was my THIRD time queuing).  Most people had sleeping bags, except for myself and a friend I’d met in Hull who had travelled from Japan.  She had arrived just before me (also awoken by the fire alarm, apparently).  Throughout the day there was talk that some people would be going straight out after the first show was over to queue for the second concert. I began wondering if I would do the same, but I also knew I would have to gauge this on how I felt after the concert.  Orange kept everyone following the blob up to date with my updates from the queue and Boozey’s updates from the pub where she met Monsieur Rat with Dave and BBN.  I must commend Orange on a wonderful job, it was so interesting to see the concert day experience from various perspectives.

Emotions in the queue vary considerably throughout the day: excitement, anticipation, nervousness, tiredness, jitters - I could go on. Some people drink in the queue, which I can’t/won’t do before a show for various reasons (this may come as a surprise to some of you who know I love my wine) so I tend to feel it all full force.  By the time 5 pm rolls around, I can really feel the pre-concert jitters becoming intense.  Around this time are placed in our order on the list. Not long until doors.

When doors swing open, the true chaos begins. Everyone is almost running up the steps in pairs, tickets are scanned, then they run (in spite of security’s “Don’t run!” shouts) through another ticket checking set of bouncers, and beyond into the concert area of the venue. When I get up to the man scanning my ticket, the ticket won’t scan. No beep for mine. He tells me to wait. My heart sinks. He lets in another person who was after me in the lineup.  Timing is everything. He attempts to scan my ticket again, and again: no beep. Another person is let in.  My sinking heart stops. Still no beep. And another… and finally he just says it “must have worked, and [he] missed it,” and gestures at me to go in. I run in, my eyes scanning the barrier hungrily, desperately. No, it won’t be front row this time, and I didn’t necessarily expect it to be considering my number. I find a nice place in the second row on Jesse’s side.  More people are pouring in, however, and it predictably gets tight. It wasn’t until I looked up and behind me that I realized how gorgeous the Hammersmith Apollo really is inside.

  

But then something strange started to happen. I have no problem with the pushing and shoving and elbows that happen when you are in the front.  A little bit of it makes you feel alive in an unusual way, and even quite a lot of it is definitely bearable; you often forget the thumps and pushing as soon as Morrissey’s on stage anyway.  These things happen at the front and everyone knows this.  Hull wasn’t exactly gentle, and at least one of my nights in San Diego wasn’t either, but this time I could sense something different was happening. Before even the videos started, I noticed a heavy pressure down my spine: I turned around and was faced with a woman deliberately standing sideways and pushing into me, clutching a book.  This continued on as we stood there, into the videos, even though I asked her if she could step back a bit (there was room).  I wouldn’t give up my second row spot though, so I decided to just deal with it. However, when Moz appeared on stage, the opening chords of Suedehead ringing through the venue, she bulldozed herself behind me, pinning me to the person in front of me.  Some girls are bigger than others, and this was certainly starting to hurt (a lot!) I sensed she was literally crushing me – where she thought I would go, I don’t know, but I could feel my breathing start to become very, very tight. I looked up; Moz was whipping his microphone cord, his head turning in rhythm with the music, his silhouette against the dancing lights surrounding him. No, I refused to move.  She pushed harder and security stormed up, glaring at her over my head.  As soon as security moved away, she relentlessly pushed me so hard I was almost gasping for air, my ribs and chest feeling tighter than before. I yelled something out at security to come over, swear words escaping my lips… I noticed Morrissey look over in our direction.  Security told her she’d be out if she didn’t stop, and I believe she retreated slightly, yet continued pushing into me and now also Boozelette, who had somehow edged her way up near the front.  By the second or third song, she manically flung the now dog-eared book she was holding onto the stage, fainted, and was carried off by security.  Thank goodness she was gone. 

However, two more women showed up behind me. A bit of hair pulling, okay, a lot of hair pulling began, although I do believe that was accidental; however, it was possible I could end up with a hairstyle not dissimilar to Phil Collins’ by the encore if this kept up. One woman began to dig her elbow into my mid back really hard while the other tried to kick my feet out from under me – did they work in teams? This was insane! But, it was my fate at this concert; I spent a lot of time trying to ignore the pain or push back a bit to get some space. I also asked them to stop: one said no, her eyes chilled over; it was clearly intentional. Sigh. I don’t like most people, to be honest. I tried to make the best of the situation, I had flown all this way to see Morrissey, and even if I had to endure some pain, it was worth it.  The setlist was fantastic again, and included a song I didn’t recognize, and I wondered for a moment (with hope!) if it was a new song and perhaps he had found a record deal?  It turned out to be a cover of an Elvis song I had never heard of called “You’ll Be Gone.” Exquisite.

At then end of the show, Morrissey said something like, “You’ve survived World War I, tomorrow night is World War II.”  I felt a strange combination of emotions after the encore: after seeing Morrissey live I always feel like I’m glowing, yet this time I felt a little sad, perhaps a little defeated, a little deflated.  He had sounded and looked glorious, the setlist was filled with many of my favourites, but I knew I had missed some of it because of some of the people around me. There was a time when I would have left after the show, feeling wilted, walked into my hotel room, crumpled into a ball, and cried; my resiliency has all but eroded over the years (I’m not sure I had any to begin with!), so this is a rather typical response for me.  But no, not this time. It was clear what I had to do.

I wove between the crowds of people slowly stumbling out of the venue. I had to be fast; some people gave me funny looks as I wound myself through every narrow gap I could find, zig-zagging between bodies. Dishevelled, a little teary, legs nearly giving out, mascara under my eyes, hair that had been straightened earlier now wildly sticking up around my head, I decided to get back in the line. I needed to do everything I could to make sure that the next night would be amazing. Minutes after the show, I was already 19^thon the list; but that is a very good spot to be in. 

I chatted with some queuers and drank a beer after the crowd dissipated.  A slight chill bit into the air, but nothing I couldn’t deal with. I went back to my hotel to retrieve some things for the night – a couple of fleece tasselled blankets and a copy of Autobiography for something to read and to double as a pillow, my earbuds, an umbrella and some water.  Sleep was not in the cards for me that night, although I occasionally dozed for a few moments. Around 5 a.m. I was shivering considerably, but I knew it was going to warm up soon. This is as close to camping as I ever get.  I’m sure I looked a bit of a fright; any glamour I was deluded enough to think I had before had to be thrown aside, because some things matter more.

As the day went on, I felt especially excited for that night. Yet there was also a bittersweet atmosphere in the air: would this be Morrissey’s last show in the UK? And further, would he come around and tour in the US a bit more? And even more soul-wrenchingly: would this be the last night I ever see him? It had seemed as though not long ago I was scared I would never get the chance to see him, and now I was scared I might not see him again. It started raining as I walked back to my hotel to change my clothes for the concert; good thing I brought my umbrella, it also hid the couple of tears I let spill as I walked down the streets of Hammersmith.

Around 5 pm the List of the Queued was called again.  I’d moved up to 17^th.  Very nice, very nice, very nice!  Again, Fruit kept everyone up to date with live updates. The rain was starting to pour now.  Luckily, in a delightfully un-bitter gesture, BBN had kindly leant me his jacket the previous night for something warm to wear in the queue, and I still had my umbrella.  However, it was obvious my hair would not be looking too fantastic that evening.  7 pm crept up, and doors again. My ticket scans on the first attempt this time – first hurdle checked off, and I begin running towards the doors to the stage. A security woman pulls me aside, “Check your purse madam!”  And I see loads of people, yet again, running past me. “Please,” I plead, my heart sinking. Timing.

She says I’m free to go and I run into the theatre – the barrier appears entirely full, black silhouettes of bodies entirely taking up the length of it. Suddenly, however, I see a white slit of light glowing – it’s a very narrow gap, at CENTRE barrier, slightly towards Jesse’s side. I run, fast. A large security man holds his hands up and repeats the fruitless “No running” mantra, and my feet suddenly become very, very nimble as I run sideways and around him. He steps over to block me and I laterally run around him, my feet crossing over one another, my eyes darting from him to gap at the barrier. After all of my tweets lamenting how my boyfriend is always watching those boring American football games, it appears I’ve picked up some of these skills by osmosis; these were some fancy football moves.  I made it: it was tight, I squished one elbow onto the metal bar of the barrier, and then the other in.  I anchored my arms there. I had made centre barrier to see Morrissey at the Hammersmith Apollo. 

I would have loved to have gotten photos once the show started but there was no way these determined elbows were moving off the barrier.  The man behind me said I had probably the best place in the venue; I agreed. He was about 6’5” tall at least and it was like having my own personal bouncer for the whole show.  The pre-show videos began… the excitement mounted, and by the time the Dolls came on my heart was soaring.  Morrissey walked on stage and bowed, wearing the black/dark brown shirt with the orange lining; the night felt surreal and my eyes drank everything in that they could, as that delicate mist that seems to emanate from the bright stage lights danced across my vision.  The crowd surged forward – the barrier slammed tight against my ribs.  But this was a nice pain; the energy was perfect.

I won’t go into many details about the setlist, as Boozelette has already described the entire show gorgeously in her review ; I’ll just describe some highlights. Rather than Suedehead, Morrissey opened his set that night with the Elvis cover from the previous day.  Then, “Let the Right One Slip In,” which I can’t believe I’ve seen twice now; it’s only the THIRD time he’s ever played it live, I think.  Boxers was a surprise that wasn’t a surprise for the DDD.

Then… the “O” signs started.  I think I got confused about which songs they appeared during, but the ever-sharp Boozey helped me figure out exactly where.  The first one was during WPINOYB, and Moz made it directly at me.  I have no idea how I reacted to be honest: did my jaw drop, did I cover my face and start giggling?  I haven’t a clue, but then, when the lights dropped, I noticed he was looking right at me and was chuckling away at my reaction. 

Then, Kiss Me A Lot.  After the last chorus, Moz walked over to shake the hands of some of the guest list, who were a few people over from me, then walked towards me and the fellow who was number one in the queue (who Boozey asked to “look after [me]” at least FOUR times). Moz leant over to touch his hand, then mine.  I reached forward, looking at him, with my short arm stretched out (for someone who is quite tall, my arms seem to be rather short!) and he reached out and his fingers brushed along mine on my right hand.  It was a heavenly moment and was what I had hoped for when I was waiting in the queue the night before. It meant so much to me.

Staircase was next – with all of its threes and legs.  Although I wasn’t precisely sure where Boozelette was (I knew Jesse’s side), I couldn’t help but think he sang LEGS quite pointedly in her direction. More “O” signs followed. Often when he was standing directly in front of me (About THREE of them were in front of me, perhaps?)

Many more songs followed that I adore for endless reasons. I felt more than happy.  In some moments I felt pangs though because a bittersweet atmosphere did fall over the room at times. I felt more than moved.  I just kept thinking, I could never have even dreamed of this. Here I am, in London, watching Morrissey live from centre barrier, surrounded by tons of new friends I’ve made.  I was so transfixed in the moment I didn’t obsess about my fear of it ending, which is something I am rarely able to do.  Which leads us to… the encore…

When Morrissey walked out he was wearing none other than, Boozey’s favourite shirt, and Orange’s not-so-favourite shirt. Here is a photo she captured:

He walked nearer to the front of the stage with his band members and bowed; I saw a great deal of emotion in his face; I could sense what was coming.  He came forward to the microphone and confirmed the TTY statement about this possibly being the last UK date.  And then… The Queen is Dead.  It seemed like about half of the people in the first two rows jumped the barrier, one by one.  A few used my back as a launching pad, one even used my neck (it didn’t break thank goodness!) I didn’t mind – part of me wanted to jump the barrier too, and for a moment I lifted myself onto the tips of my toes, debating how to get over the barrier myself.  But I couldn’t quite do it.  He had given me so much that night, and I am very shy and not exactly young anymore and I can’t quite imagine myself jumping over a barrier, even with my emotions running so unimaginably high.  I radiated every bit of love I could out of myself towards him.  He had given us all so much that night. 

When the song ended, I scanned the room for Boozey, Rob, and Dave. I knew they were all leaving right after the concert, and I wanted a chance to say bye before I returned home.  I searched the venue a few times, and couldn’t find them anywhere. I walked towards the doors and then, through all those thousands of people, happened to run into the very kind Japanese woman I had originally met in Hull and queued with the first night in Hammersmith. I wanted to say goodbye to her.  She held her finger up as if to stop me, that she wanted to show me something, and gestured towards a corner.  She showed me her piece of the shiny shirt she had caught, then added, “I have scissors.” Now my eyes are welling up!  How sweet of her, I still can’t believe she gave me a piece.  She cut off a good portion, about half of what she had, and then buried the rest in my palm, the turquoise fabric glittering and slightly damp with a touch of sweat, scented with the perfected smokiness of Incense Avignon. (You know I tried to be subtle so no one would try to grab it off of me, but I couldn’t resist a sniff right away!) I hugged her, and thanked her, absolutely overcome.  Out of anyone I could have run into on my way out, it was her, and she had a piece of the shirt, and she was sweet enough to do this for me.  Timing.

For the second time in just over 24 hours, I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to find Boozelette. When I walked outside of the venue, I scanned the crowds for her and then I finally saw her and Dave… She told the rest of the story so beautifully I don’t think I need to tell it again, but I was so happy to give her a piece of the shirt. And I’ll never forget the look on her face when she realized I was going to give her a piece; I could see how much it meant to her.  So many tiny factors coming together, down to perfect timing, led to us each having a piece of Moz’s shiny shirt. It felt like somehow, someway, we were meant to each have a piece. 

 

Thank you, thank you, goodnight and thank you! <3

Hull Review

Hull Review: 

I’m sitting here tonight in my hotel room overlooking Hammersmith, nurturing my delightfully bruised ribs and sipping a bit of vodka (no, not Pinot Noir – a shock, I know – but I think after last night a break from red wine is in order).  I have no idea how this review is going to turn out, but I can’t imagine it will be stellar as my head is somewhere floating in the clouds whilst my body feels as if it’s somewhere in the gutter.  However, it’s best to shut up and just give it a go.  Please excuse if there are errors as I haven't had a chance to edit yet but wanted to post tonight.

I will begin with a very short description of my travels to arrive in Hull – if you find my ramblings/anecdotes/blah-blah-blah-ing boring (which I’m sure most of you do), please skip down to where the actual concert day review begins below, beginning directly above the queue photo.

As most of you know, I’m a notorious insomniac, which is usually something that I lament bitterly; however, it seems when I am travelling and queuing, my inability to sleep suddenly becomes quite useful.  The night before I flew out to London, I was so excited I only managed THREE hours sleep, and then my journey began.  My first flight connected to Calgary, where I had a six-hour layover.  The Calgary airport seemed to have bars or duty-free liquor stores every 15 feet, naturally, because it is Calgary and you must be drunk in order to endure being there.  This noted, in combination with the influence of some people who can resist everything except temptation, led me to the nearest bar in the airport.  It was a “Texas-style” bar, with a horrible Texas-style carnivorous menu, so I decided to skip the food and go straight for the booze.  The margaritas I ordered were massive and got me quite tipsy; however, this did not make the “new country” blasting throughout the establishment in any way more tolerable.  Luckily, my true goal was to be “relaxed” (drunk) enough to tolerate being in the dreaded middle seat on my 8-hour flight to London.  Luckier: I did not end up seated next to a crying baby, or anyone particularly chatty.  And luckiest of all, we got free wine on the airplane.

Airport Drinks!

After landing in London the next morning, I directly took a coach from Heathrow to Hull, arriving in Hull around 9 pm. Naturally, when I arrived at the coach station, and even armed with a map and the compass on my phone, I walked in the opposite direction of my hotel and found myself lost.  Thankfully, I ran into four football players (my man servants finally arrived!) and they carried my suitcase for me and walked me to my hotel. I think I basically passed out when I got to my room and managed to wake up quite early the next morning to queue.

Queue in Hull around 8 a.m.

The queue was already over 30 people by the time I arrived (8 a.m.).  Lots of familiar faces were there and I met other people I recognized from queuing in San Diego as well as some twitter friends, including BBN.  I had a wonderful time in the queue, and Morrissey concerts are the only time I love to socialize, so it went fantastically well.  To be honest most of the queuing part is a blur to me now, or it could be that I’m quite tired right now, or it could be that drinking with Boozey last night has somehow affected my memory.  So anyway, let’s get on with the concert review.

Firstly, at the doors we had to remove the contents of our pockets and put them into plastic bags provided at the arena.  It felt a little airport-y, but I think it actually did save time rather than security looking in all the purses, etc, which always slows the line down considerably.  I appreciated that the queue was separated from the rest of the line up, and that we were allowed in first.  I ran in and managed 2^nd row on Boz’s side.  Waiting for Moz to come on and seeing the videos makes the anticipation build up even more and I now know almost every word to the Anne Sexton poem, “Wanting to Die”, which is always very powerful.

My view

The atmosphere of this show was very emotional, which I think was due in part to Morrissey’s statement on TTY the previous night about these UK dates being likely to be his last shows here.  The crowd was very energetic, at times rough, and there were a lot of Morrissey chants happening. Moz came out looking gorgeous in a white shirt and opened with Suedehead, and the powerful surge from the crowd as soon as he started singing indicated I was in for an exhilaratingly rough ride. The atmosphere was immense and intense, and Morrissey was in top form, singing a glorious set list which included many songs I had really been hoping to hear.  The lovely Boozelette was kind enough to live update last night directly from the arena, which can be found here.

Setlist:

1. Suedehead
2. Alma Matters

3. Speedway

4. Ganglord

Moz showed the video of American police brutality and described the police as “America’s Taliban”

5. Staircase At The University

Moz made the “O” hand signal – I believe during one of the "three" lines during this song

Screen capped via Twitter - will credit if I find out its yours

6. Kiss Me A Lot

7. World Peace Is None Of Your Business

8. Istanbul

9. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris

(Jeremy Corbyn speech)

10. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores

(I’ve mentioned before how much I love this song - and the United King-dumb backdrop)

(band introduction)
11. Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed

12. I'm Not A Man 

13. The Bullfighter Dies

14. Yes I Am Blind (with piano intro)

I love this song so much – every time I see it live I can feel it so deeply.

15. Oboe Concerto 

This was his 3^rdtime singing this song live I believe, and my first time seeing it live. I started crying because I remember hearing it at the soundcheck in San Diego and thinking how much I want to see it live one day.

16. Meat Is Murder 

17. Smiler With Knife 

I found this song extremely emotional also, and I could see Morrissey was very emotional for this song. 

18. Everyday Is Like Sunday 

Crowd became very rough in this song, lots of crowd surfing and attempts to get on stage.

19. I Will See You In Far-Off Places 

He took my friend’s letter during this song – and I was so happy for her!



Before the encore Moz said: "In 10 minutes my arse will leaving Hull, be on it"

Encore: What She Said/Rubber Ring

I was very pleased to see THREE songs from WPINOYB I had not seen live yet: I’m Not a Man, Oboe, and Smiler.  I would like to thank Morrissey from the bottom of my heart - he was incredible last night and I deeply hope with every shred of my being that he continues touring but I also understand his reasons if he decides not to. My heart aches at the thought of possibly not seeing him again after these shows have ended - and I can't even let myself think of it right now. There is nothing on earth that moves me so much, or makes me feel the way seeing Morrissey in concert does, and I am forever grateful for the impact he's made on my life. Here are some photos I managed to take:

After the show, I was very tired and emotional and I went back to my hotel room, and considered going right to bed.  However, it seemed that Boozey (who I had only met briefly before the show) was at a nearby pub and invited me to join her for drinks – and who am I to resist?  We also went to a tremendous afterparty where I met many more friends from Twitter.

Ok… I am fading and need to get some sleep for tomorrow. I will end with a photo of the piece of Moz’s shiny red shirt that I did not catch but got to admire over a rather hungover breakfast this morning. We all sat there and passed it around sniffing it – divine!

Now I'm going to (hopefully) pass out to prepare for tomorrow!

San Diego - August 20 Concert Review

I’ve decided to split my reviews into two parts, as I have no idea how to ever say anything in a concise fashion.  I’m surprised I can handle twitter at all with its character limitations, and I’m sure if I ever manage to complete my goal of writing my own novel one day, it will be so long no one will ever bother reading it.  Anyway here we go!

I’m finally starting to organize my thoughts after what was a very spur of the moment trip to San Diego.  I haven’t even unpacked yet but who cares? I’ll just pretend I’m still travelling and that I’m going to FYF tonight while I slosh back a bottle of Pinot Noir and watch Benicassim.

As I was saying, I have a tendency to be rather long-winded, so I’ll try my best not to go into all the details of my travels – even though I have enough stories there to blab on for hours. Oh, you all know I would – and I probably will somewhat.  I had some very interesting switch-ups occur, including being promoted to first class on my fight from Seattle to San Diego (they give you free food, hot towels, and “linens!”), and having to move hotels at the last minute after the cab driver seemed legitimately concerned for my safety if I stayed at the hotel I had initially booked.  I adored the place I ended up staying at, as it had an old-Hollywood, glamorous feel, with portraits of 1950’s and 60’s starlets, chandeliers, and a piano in the lobby (obviously, I’m never looking at my Visa bill again)…

When I finally settled into my hotel, I decided to walk down to check out the venue.  I noticed people were already queuing the evening before the show, and some had been there all day; I recognized some of them from the Hollywood High show, which was quite exciting. I spoke to them for a while and then returned to my hotel, a little concerned that I would not get a good place in line if I waited until the next morning, but I knew I should try to get some rest. I attempted to allay my pre-concert jitters by sipping some room-temperature vodka out of a plastic cup and turning my ancient, panting lap-top on to watch the Larry King interview I had been aching to see all day. 

The Venue

The next morning I woke up and got ready, making it to the venue by 9 a.m. I was pleased and surprised to see the line-up had hardly changed overnight.  As someone who has never queued before, I found the experience initially somewhat intimidating, but I soon realized it’s truly enjoyable.  Let me put it this way: I’m intensely introverted and honestly feel uncomfortable around people most of the time, but I loved talking to the people in the queue and meeting them.  I think there is an instant bond between many Morrissey fans (the word “fan” doesn’t quite seem right here… because it goes deeper than that) and it was wonderful to share stories and encounters.  I showed photos and the video of Morrissey taking my letter last month and everyone was so happy for me.

It also suddenly dawned on me that I was sitting cross-legged on a towel in the street, talking to tons of people for 10 hours and I ADORED every second of it.  I’ve alluded to being somewhat high maintenance in the past, avoiding people is a fierce addiction for me, and I’m rather particular about cleanliness – but suddenly none of these charming traits I'm afflicted with mattered in the least.  I was almost... relaxed? And I was having fun... my self consciousness nearly evaporated.

Around 5pm we had the delight of listening to the sound check through a side door.  When Morrissey started singing we leant our heads as close as we could against the door – and we were surprised and full of anticipation to hear them sound-check Let the Right One Slip In and Oboe Concerto. By the way, Oboe sounds absolutely glorious – I feel tremendously lucky to have even heard it sound checked. Now for the review of the first show:

They opened doors around 7 p.m. and I ran in as fast as I could, securing a spot in second row near the centre, slightly towards Jesse’s side.  The venue was built in the 1920's and had a certain elegance to it, with merlot coloured walls and ornate golden accenting.  I made sure to stand behind the shortest people I could find, as the barrier was already full.  It got squishy, but I was surprised by my resiliency (perhaps 32 is the new 17!) and I hung on, hung on, hung on…my heart pounding, eyes dazzled, and elbows sharpened, watching the pre-show videos, waiting for Morrissey to arrive on stage. My ability to stand my ground in spite of all the pushing, and on almost no sleep, makes me wonder if the mind does in fact rule the body… 

When Morrissey and the band walked out there was a massive thrust through the audience like a jolt of energy, or a wave.  It was rougher than the other two shows I had been to – and it was a thrill for me.  The band was wearing the Sea World Sucks tshirts.  Morrissey’s shirt was black with a white V and when he came close to our part of the stage I happened to notice he peeled the collar back a few times to expose what appeared to be orange lining… I made a mental note of this for our resident official fruit, naturally.  Moz sounded and looked gorgeous.  Again, words fail me here.  When you’re that close, seeing him live, there is nothing like it in the world.

Gustavo wearing the Sea World Sucks Tshirt

Staircase is always a chuckle for me and for many of our deluded selves because of all the THREES, which, if you read this blob enough, or hardly at all on that note, you’ll notice has become somewhat of a theme. He did flash a three with his fingers in my direction during that song, which made me want erupt in peals of giggles, but again, it can be tempting to read into things too much, which most of us are guilty of around here on practically a daily basis.  Oh quite true...but it’s fun though isn't it?

Well, we were an exceptionally lucky audience that night because Morrissey sang LET THE RIGHT ONE SLIP IN (and yes that’s all in caps because it’s only the second time he’s ever played it live, and the first time since 1992).  He sounded incredible and so did the band – hardly anyone can say they’ve seen this song live! He also sang Will Never Marry, which I was intensely pleased about, as it wasn't included on the sets at the other two shows I attended.

Setlist:

1. Suedehead

2. Alma Matters

3. Staircase At The University

4. Ganglord

5. Speedway

6. Kiss Me A Lot

7. World Peace is None of Your Business

8.Let the Right One Slip In

9. Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before

10. What She Said

11. First of The Gang To Die

12. The Bullfighter Dies

13. Now My Heart is Full

14. Will Never Marry

15. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris

16. Istanbul

17. I Will See You in Far Off Places

18. Meat is Murder

Encore:

19. Everyday is Like Sunday 

I took quite a few photos at this first show, which isn't typical for me as I usually take very few. I don't want to spend an entire concert behind a camera, which some people tend to do. The ones I took turned out fairly well considering there was a fair bit of pushing. Here are some of my favourites:

At the end of the show, for the shirt toss, he threw the shirt exactly in my direction. I saw it, in probably the slowest 3 seconds of my life, fly towards me through the air and hover above my head like a delicious Avignon-drenched Dries Van Noten cloud of loveliness.  Then it entirely seemed to disappear (I thought it landed in front of the barrier somewhere maybe?).  I found out later the person behind me caught the shirt, and hid it down his pants.  Sigh… how I wish I could have even got a hint of a cuff.    

A fantastic evening... and I adored every moment of it!

I will post my review of the second show hopefully tomorrow

Troutdale Review

What a road trip!

I am back from my trip to see Morrissey in Seattle and Troutdale and currently wading through laundry.  As you know, I don’t tend to pack lightly, and now I am stuck with the unglamorous task of trying to wash all the clothes I have apparently worn over the past 5 days. I’m beginning to sound terribly high maintenance, aren’t I?

This review will be quite emotional for me because this show was the most beautiful night of my life.  Let me temporarily go back to a week ago, to try to convey the mindset I had been in for a very long time.  A week ago, I believed nothing good could ever happen for me, because I had been through an exceptionally hard year.  When things go wrong for you continually, and you’re prone to depression, you begin to entirely believe you are doomed. It is a cycle, and it is incredibly hard to escape.  Now, I don’t want to get too dark here because I want to keep this blog enjoyable. However, I want to give you the emotional backdrop to convey how much this experience meant to me.  I have spent a lot of time listening to this song, hoping so much for something amazing and deeply meaningful to come true for me.

Tuesday night was a dream come true for me.  To get to see Morrissey in concert, and so close up made me realize that good things could in fact happen for me.  The next day, driving to Troutdale, I did start crying a few times because I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.  When we arrived in Troutdale the night before the show we looked around the venue and had veggie burgers at the pub on site.  The atmosphere was immensely different from Seattle as it was quite rural.  Anyway, on to the night of the show:

It was already fairly crowded when we arrived around 6 because people show up early (doors were 5pm) to get good spots on the lawn. However, we were in the reserved section in the THIRD row.  I noticed a few people were standing at the barrier, mostly regulars with wristbands.  There were still a lot of spaces at the barrier, though, and I noticed not everyone at the barrier was wearing the wristbands, so around when the videos started I decided to take a chance, leave my third row seat, and go and stand at the barrier as well. THIS IS THE BEST DECISION I HAVE EVER MADE. Thanks to those who gave me tips on how to get to the front as well, I am always in your debt. 

When the New York Dolls video switched to Lypsinka I took my letter for Morrissey out.  I knew this could be my only chance to ever get it to him. When he walked out with the band I could not believe how close we were.  We were on Jesse’s side of the stage.  I did not take many pictures because I wanted to experience the show fully, but the ones I got I’m very pleased with. 

“Welcome to our picnic, I am the menu,” he said, I think after the opening song, Suedehead. 

 Setlist:

1. Suedehead

2. Alma Matters

3. Staircase at the University

4. Ganglord

5. Speedway

6. World Peace Is None of Your Business

7. Kiss Me a Lot

8. Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before

9. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris

10. Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed

11. Istanbul

12. Yes, I Am Blind

13. The Bullfighter Dies

14. First of the Gang to Die

15. I Will See You in Far Off Places

16. What She Said/ Rubber Ring

17. Everyday is Like Sunday

18. Now My Heart is Full

19. Meat is Murder

Encore

20. The Queen is Dead

Morrissey sounded absolutely gorgeous again. The band was tight. I just feel this amazing glow in his presence that I have never felt at any other time in my life.  The experience is so profound.  As I’ve been saying, there are no words to do it all justice.  This is a strange thing for someone who enjoys writing, like I do, to admit, and perhaps it’s because I’m still a little in shock. It hasn’t all sunk in. But I feel at a loss for words to describe how powerful seeing Morrissey live is.

The space between the barrier and the stage at this show was far enough that it made handshakes a little harder, I think, because he had to lean over quite a bit, so there weren’t as many as in Seattle, only a couple maybe.  Earlier in the show he accepted a card from someone at the other side of the stage.  However, I began to stretch my arm out far so he would hopefully notice me holding my letter.  Just after Bullfighter he gave me a gorgeous smile (to let me know he noticed me I think).  I almost couldn’t believe it: was Morrissey just smiling at me?  The woman behind me was in disbelief herself and exclaimed, “He just smiled at you!”  My knees trembled, so thank goodness for the barrier to lean on.  I am tearing up just thinking about it.

Then, during First of the Gang to Die, he started to come over in my direction.  I held the letter out for him, stretching as far as I could, and he knelt down, still smiling at me.  I’ve never felt so happy or safe in my whole life.  He tried so hard to reach it from me, my heart was touched in way I didn’t know possible: I could feel it so warmly in my chest. He took my letter and began holding it up, unfolding it, and looking at it while he was singing, before putting it in his pocket.  It was and will always be the most beautiful moment of my life.  I cannot compare it to anything.  It meant the world to me. 

There was a stage invasion just after and I have no idea how the girl scaled the barrier because it was so high. I’m not that short and it came up to almost my chest. I have some delicious bruises at the backs of my upper arms from the barrier that I hope don’t get better for a while. I’ve never felt so attached to a set of bruises in my life.

Every song was glorious. Now My Heart is Full and Speedway always flood me with emotion. The footage during Meat is Murder is always agonizing to see, but so important for the message it sends about the horrors of the meat/dairy industry. I'm certain he converts people to Vegetarian or Vegan at every show. There wasn’t a shirt toss this time. Before the encore, Morrissey compared the royals to a Nazi regime again and said that the US was lucky not to be under a “boil family.”  I love it when he speaks his mind in this way.

It was the best night of my life on the best week of my life.  It made everything I’ve gone through worthwhile.  It was a dream come true. 

When I arrived back in Canada, the sky was a grey wall of rain.  No, I didn’t really want to come home.  “The rain falls hard on a humdrum town…” poured through my car’s speakers as I was nearing my street.  Coincidence? More than likely.  But more importantly, now my heart is full. 

Thank you Morrissey!

Morrissey at Benaroya Hall - Review! Updated w/ setlist

NOW MY HEART IS FULL!

 

 

You guys, it’s happened, I’ve finally seen Morrissey in concert! In all seriousness, I’ve had one of the worst years of my life, and being able to see him in person finally has been one of the most profound and powerful experiences I’ve ever had.  The line “I am a ghost, and as far as I know, I haven’t even died,” through this last year has struck me intensely and immensely, because that’s how I’ve felt. So for this to happen means everything to me.  But enough about me, oh where do I begin? Where? Where Where?

I feel as if I’m in a trance, or dream right now, so I hope this turns out; I may not be at my most eloquent.

I felt so nervous all day – I was shaking, I could hardly eat, (in a surprising turn of events somehow, your resident insomniac didsleep the night before); I have it bad, my friends. I was so out of sorts I began to believe the venue was actually called Bena‘roya(L)’ Hall.  

Anyway, when we arrived at the venue, I could NOT believe how close our seats were. It was reserved seating, so we were 6^throw centre – DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE MICROPHONE! Actually, when the lights went dim, a bunch of people rushed ahead, as is usual at a Morrissey concert, and I temporarily made it into the 5^th row, but then the late people showed up and I had to move back AND I nearly got a black eye! Tremendous! And at this venue, I should add, the rows are very close to the stage, so it was really magnificent being so close.

When he walked out, I could not believe how gorgeous Morrissey is in person – so strikingly handsome. I was awestruck.  This is the man whose words have helped me through the hardest times in my life and spoke to me when no one else could.  Now he was standing in front of me; I was overwhelmed.  

And he sounded BEAUTIFUL. I do have to admit I do not have the setlist memorized – although some highlights were One of Our Own and Yes I Am Blind, which were not on the previous set list from Utah, although the setlist was fairly similar. I will post it when I find it in detail.

Setlist:

1.Suedhead
2. Alma Matters
3. Speedway
4. Staircase at the University
5. Ganglord  
6. Kiss Me A Lot
7. World Peace is None of Your Business
8. One Of Our Own
9. Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before
10. Istabul
11. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris
12. I Will See You in Far Off Places
13. Yes I Am Blind
14. Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed
15. Bullfighter Dies
16. Now My Heart Is Full
17. People Are The Same Everywhere
18. Meat Is Murder
19. Everyday is Like Sunday
Encore:
20. The Queen is Dead  
       

Some interesting moments for those of us who may be looking for “coincidences” were during Staircase at the University, where during the “If you don’t get 3 A’s” line, he made a THREE gesture with his index, middle, and ring finger down at his side with his left hand. Now, I may be reading into this one a bit much, because it is in the lyrics, but with all this 3 and 4 excitement lately, I did find it extremely interesting.

You may also appreciate that someone in the front row had a bunch of gladioli. He looked at them and asked, “For me?” and added, “I’m sorry I can’t accept those.” Hmmm.

For those of us who look for signs, I should add this Oscar Wilde quote I came across the other day that really spoke to me: "you know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.” (My fonts are all over the place, but I'm too tired to figure out why).

One extra thing that I'm quite sure I imagined in my throes of ecstasy, but I'll just add it in because it gave me some personal enjoyment; I'll just let myself believe it. He appeared to point in my direction during the “stylish and glum” line in Istanbul. I've referred to myself as "stylish and glum" on this blob. Although to be honest me thinking this is probably quite insane, as I have only on one instance put up a photo on twitter (which I promptly deleted, as I love “flying under the radar”) and my flaxen hair was curled in it, while tonight I wore it straight. The only people around when I tweeted the photo were Kerry and Astraea. I highly doubt he would ever recognize me, but the more you start reading into things, the more you seem to, well, read.

Meat is Murder was so intense for me, and it did bring me to tears. Seeing it in person is so powerful, and I am seriously considering taking the next step (I am already a Vegetarian) and becoming Vegan.  I am so moved by it just thinking about it makes my arms shake a bit as I type.

I HAVE NO IDEA HOW YOU CAN ATTEND A MORRISSEY SHOW, SEE THAT FOOTAGE, AND NOT BECOME VEGETARIAN/VEGAN.  I just don't see how you could ever eat dead animals again when you see the horrors that occur in the meat industry.  

Now, for the shirt toss.  I think Orange will roll all the way out of his fruit bowl when he hears about it. Morrissey came out for TQID as the encore, with a blackish/dark grey shirt with an orange sticker on it, with what appeared to have orange lining under the collar. When he ripped it off, and my goodness it was hard to tear my eyes away from that torso, I noticed, quite blatantly, that the entire lining appeared to be orange. He then turned the shirt inside out, lining exposed, and very flauntingly waved it back and forth for ages before tossing it into the crowd.  

I’m very, very tired and emotionally overwhelmed right now.  I still can’t even believe it happened for me.  I should add I got my pillow case, which I probably need to crash into now.  I still have my letter, as I couldn’t get quite close enough to give it to him.  I genuinely hope I am able to one day, because I can’t imagine how I could have even survived this difficult year without him.  I yelled out “I LOVE YOU” at the top of my lungs at one point, but I have so many things to say. This has been a beautiful, intense, profound, religious experience for me. Unquestionably, the best day of my life.

AT LAST I AM BORN.

And now, onwards to Troutdale.