Favourite Morrissey Moments 2016

I'm sitting here in pink cat-print pyjamas thinking about what a strange year this has been. Firstly, I am glad Christmas is over with, because at this stage in my life I'm just not a Christmas-y person, although as a child I certainly was. At this point, however, it just seems like an obligation, chore, or fa la la la bore - and I've heard this view echoed by many. I do feel some sense of accomplishment due to the fact I cooked my first entirely Vegan Christmas dinner, and also that I managed to avoid being subjected to bullying from carnivores who seem to relentlessly be under the remarkably disturbing impression that Vegetarians eat fish.

Now we blaze on towards 2017, and I can't help but think the majority of people can't wait for this year to be over. It's not been an easy one, in many respects, reflections, and spheres - anywhere from personally to globally.  When a number of negative blows occur in life, it can be very hard to cling to hope, and this is perhaps one of the great emotional difficulties racking the human heart... how do we keep going in a world that often feels senseless? What can we look to when the unavoidable thought strikes... "Oh, what's the bloody point?" I will just let those questions hang here, because I can feel myself crawling off on one of my moody doomy tangents, and my purpose here today is to actually talk about some of the lovely things that happened in 2016.

This year there were some truly wonderful Morrissey moments; as Moz said on TTY, even though it was"scarred at the end," it was absolutely "drenched in beauty until then." I thought I'd list my favourite ten moments, although... I've decided to put them in random order... as I'm unable to rank precisely for many of these - and many are special in their own way.  In that sense, memories are akin to snowflakes. I've linked a number of my choices to concert reviews to describe in detail the experience, and included some links to video footage. Enjoy!

1. Moz Puts The M in Manchester 2016

There is literally nothing comparable to being there on this night. Sometimes I still can't believe it. The surge from the audience was electrifying - and Morrissey sang his life for us with passion, pain, intensity, and humour.
Manchester review
For SER's footage of the concert click here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkKKegbEDPg

From footage by Sam Esty Rayner

2. Morrissey wears a sparkly cardigan in Bergen

Judging by photos I've seen, Bergen, Norway is a place I would love to visit one day, with its colourful buildings, hilly cobble streets, and jewel-toned fjords.  On August 6th, the Bergen audience was treated to the first Morrissey concert of the year (aside from January's Las Vegas show). Moz arrived onstage looking stunning in a sparkly cardigan. This was the most beautiful cardigan ever to bless my eyes, and I know my cardigans. There's nothing that gets my heart soaring quite like cardigan Moz!
Setlist and cardi excitement are here.

Photo by gaffa_no on Instagram

3. Morrissey in Berlin

This one was a favourite for me because it was the first time I'd seen Moz in 8 months! And it was also my first time travelling to continental Europe. The night boasted a unique venue and glorious setlist.
Berlin review

Morrissey in Berlin: with thanks to photographer

4. Irvine, Night 2

The second concert in Irvine, California was a beautiful night for many reasons, and for me this choice comes to the importance of a personal moment.  My friend and I had handshakes, and my other friend got her letter taken during Alma Matters. These are memories to cherish for life. <3
Irvine Night 2 Review

With thanks to photographer

5. Good-Looking Moz About Town

Oh this was brilliant - Moz uses a handsome devilish photo of himself in a tux as backdrop for Good Looking Man About Town. This first appeared at the concert in Newcastle, Australia, and we were lucky enough to see it a few times in the US as well.
Newcastle review by my friend Aine here.

With thanks to photographer

6. Jack the Ripper 

Yes, I know Ripper came back in 2015 during the South American tour, but the addition of the smoke has been breathtaking. There's something about watching Morrissey's silhouette emerging through the fog to sing that's powerful and symbolic. As he moves, twisting through thick billowing clouds, it impresses upon one the beauty and pain of struggle. I can't find a video that quite captures how remarkable it is in person, but every time he sings it live, it's definitely a transcendent, captivating moment.
Video from Santa Barbara here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6ViqDg_YEM

Photo by @plainchant_w

7. The Great Jardigan debate

Speaking of cardigans, which I do often, we were treated to a bit of a fashion mystery back in May when Moz arrived at LAX with a piece of clothing draped over his arm that resembled something in the realm of a jackety-type cardigan. I even made a poll to discern what the fetching fashion item actually was, although the majority considered it a jacket. Sigh of sighs. Luckily, later in the year, we did find a photo of Moz from a few years ago wearing what was mostly believed to be a jardigan. This gave us something to think about while hoping for tour dates.

Mystery sweater item

8. Trumpshifters 

Trump being elected as US president is honestly beyond confusing - appalling is probably a better word; it's actually frightening to think so many could vote for such a person. Every time I think of his being elected I think "What the hell?" It still makes no sense to me... 4 years is a long time.  At the concert in Reno on November 11th, with our collective shock still fresh, Morrissey changed the lyrics of Shoplifters Of The World Unite to "Trumpshifters of the world unite and take over."
Reno Review.

9. Morrissey at the Santa Barbara Bowl for Día de los Muertos

Moz in a dashing suit and the band with sugar-skull painted faces, including Boz donning a priest robe!
Santa Barbara review

Photo by michaelxmoz on Instagram

10. Morrissey Xmas Photos

"Morry Christmas from Merrissey"

We all love a good Moz Christmas photo - and this trio of photos snapped by Sam Esty Rayner was a fantastic Xmas gift for all of us. The photos are a bit cheeky, a lot iconic, and have just the right amount of devastating handsome devilishness. Love the Bruce Lee sporty yellow jacket too - as I've got a bit of a thing these days for Mozzer wearing sportswear. In fact, my new holy trinity of Mozwear might be cardigans, sportswear, and checkered coats. Then again, floral shirts are ever so charming as well...

Photo by Sam Esty Rayner

and...

My vote for favourite Moz merch of the year undoubtedly goes to the cat necklace, which manages to combine my two great loves in one sleek lovely piece. This was a really popular item with many people. Meow me a lot.

Now I'm off to find a bottle (or more) of mediocre champagne or not-too-bad prosecco.  Of course, this New Years Eve won't be as special as last year's night with Moz in LA ... but it still certainly requires the makings of a semi-decent hangover. I'll leave you with this clip from that very concert:

Happy New Year!

Rubber Ring: In Defense Of Music As A Personal Lifeline

Some people consider me to be a pessimist.

I suppose they might be right, at least to a certain extent. It’s hard to find the line where my depression washes over my world view, or perhaps the two are so overlapped I can’t find where one ends and the other begins.

It’s easy for me to grow hopeless: despair is my default mode, but maybe I’m looking at this in the wrong way.

Depression is one thing, because it exhausts you, it drains you, and such dragging lows can make it extremely difficult to even look after yourself. Disenchantment, or dissatisfaction with the world, however, can be something quite different.

I dreaded waking up this morning; anyone who is depressed knows that feeling upon waking up: you’re slammed with exhaustion as soon as you’re conscious. Any drive for life becomes virtually nonexistent. Great.

Things could be better right now: before the shows were cancelled by management, I was supposed to be planning a trip to Texas next week to see Morrissey.

You see, Morrissey always makes me feel better.

Photo by Jonathan.Weiner photography on Instagram

The people who don’t get Morrissey won’t understand what I’m saying here. Desperate deadline-crunching journalists have passed down the “Heaven knows he’s miserable now,” and “pope of mope” descriptors for decades. Dial-a-cliche. I’m not sure they’ve ever listened to him properly. But that’s fine – it’s their loss. Because to me, well - he’s my lifeline.

So, I’m still crushed right now – because I wanted to see him again before I had to face all those nasty things I don’t enjoy: like attending dismal holiday gatherings, being under the firing squad of "What are you doing with your life?" questions, or getting my antidepressants refilled (one being necessary to survive the others). Well, what can be done?

I had to drag myself out of bed today, not with any desire, but because I had some errands to attend to. So, I reluctantly went out, and I didn’t like anything I saw: walls of traffic, zombified Christmas shoppers piling into bland box-stores, caffeine-fuelled road-raging businessmen, and fast food families waddling under the 10 billion-served-and-slaughtered death-arches of McDonald’s. There was a lot of rushing, but to where, and for what? It’s a bit overwhelming, if you stop and think about it.

Modern life has no soul.

It’s easy to feel very alone.

It’s very easy to feel detached.

Life is presented and packaged to us in a certain way, and there is a certain order in which we do things, or so they tell us. It can get old very quickly.

Most politicians, the media, ‘authority’ figures – are all terrified that you might think, or feel for yourself, or that you could possibly want something different.

That’s where art comes in.

Art appeals to our longing for something more – something that acknowledges our struggle with – yet our understanding of - reality. I think it’s best when it tells us something about our raw feelings, or speaks to a certain ache.

Music is art. And it’s one of the only authentic expressions that’s all-encompassing of the mind, the heart, and the soul.

So why, why, why – is its distribution controlled by these major record labels, industry bores, and major media outlets, that don’t want us thinking or feeling or having our own opinions?

We are force-fed pre-packaged music – and it is essentially chosen for us and thrown in our faces and into our ears.

Most ‘artists’ today are uninspiringly manufactured; they come from reality shows. Hell, even the next American president, spray tan and all, comes from a reality show. Kardashian Kulture.

But if someone else in a drab air-conditioned office somewhere is choosing it for us, or telling us what to like – how is it art? Is it even still art if it doesn’t speak to us on any level?

If a singer’s voice is distorted by auto-tune to the tune of 100 “oh baby’s” layered over synthesizers, will that ever tell us anything about the state of our world or our own feelings?

Oh, but it's image. Someone from OK! Magazine thought it was...okay.

No wonder it’s so easy to feel alone, or bored, or despondent – because everything that’s presented to us is the same.

And that’s why there’s nothing wrong with feeling disillusioned – because those who feel that way are often the ones who look for more.

My late 20’s were dreadful because I felt so lonely. Teenage angst wasn’t really a teenage thing at all – it was a life-thing – and I was overcome by the knowledge that the world is a painful place, and my feelings of being an outsider would never really dissolve. I wanted something to speak to me, and along with books, music was always my favourite escape – but nothing ever reached me in quite the right way. I just couldn’t find my place in the world.

Then, relatively late in life, I found Morrissey.

How did he know?

“What She Said...How come someone hasn’t noticed that I’m dead, and decided to bury me, God knows I’m ready.”

Oh my God, he’s singing about me! Well, not exactly, but – it felt that way. It was like someone reached into the depths of my heart and found a diary in there, unlocked it, and was reading it back to me.

I immediately bought his whole catalogue. It was absolutely life-changing.

Life Is A Pigsty.

Earth Is The Loneliest Planet.

The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores.

Who else was saying these things? This was the ultimate catharsis. He can make me laugh and sob in the same 4 minutes of beautiful music. Some hope and some despair – woven together – a reflection of life, actual life. He speaks to the parts of me that are broken, yet somehow remain strong because of this brokenness – because these fractured pieces make me unique. More than anything, I finally feel understood. How could I not love him?

He is the strength I never knew I had.

The winter I discovered him, my dream was to one day see him sing in person. Several months later, the first night I saw him walk on stage, from sixth row, in Seattle, I nearly burst into tears - he had rescued me, and here he was, in the flesh. Since then, I’ve seen him 15 times – and somehow – every time he walks on stage, it still feels like that first time. I am genuinely alive, even if it’s just for a few hours. I couldn’t ask for more than that.

Looking up at Morrissey on stage, singing, thrashing the microphone cord, the darkness and light surrounding his frame, there’s of course something supremely godlike about him, but there’s also something very vulnerable and exquisitely human about him. And he speaks to us, his audience, like intelligent, caring, humans. Somehow, that’s rare.

I wish in a week or so I could be watching Morrissey on stage, in a far-off place, surrounded by the friends I’ve made, other Morrissey “soulmates” from around the world. But for now, I’m at home.

Yes, I’m depressed, and yes, some days are struggles. But, at other times, I feel inspired and understood. Strangely, what led me to this place was my overriding sense of despair about the world. At times it’s crippling and I feel hopeless – but, if I didn’t experience this despair, I wouldn’t look for change - I’d simply just accept things.

I don’t want art to be boring and contrived. I want art to challenge my ideas. I want music to speak to me. Yet somehow... out-of-touch execs are making these decisions for us – and the true artists don’t have record deals.

I felt my heart break when I read True To You the other day, because I could tell that these dates being cancelled was gut-wrenching for Morrissey and the gifted musicians in the band. For days I didn’t want to look at any of the NME, Guardian, (et al.) articles being re-tweeted onto my Twitter timeline. The truth is, there will probably always be the predictable negativity from journalists, or from anon69 in the comments section of online music mags – or from those who are fed up they can’t get all the money back for their room at the Holiday Inn.

But remember, artists are human beings too.

It’s cold, dismal, and grey here – and my heart somehow still believes it's travelling to Texas; it’s wandering around confused while my luggage stands empty by the door.

I’m going to go listen to World Peace Is None Of Your Business.

Morrissey Tour November 2016: Reno

November 10, 2016:

When I was a little girl I thought casinos were the most glamorous places in the world. I'm not sure if this was something to do with hopelessly tacky 1980's cinematic imagery, or just an overactive childhood imagination, but casinos seemed to be a world of all flash and dice and sequins. I had, of course, never set foot in a casino at that point in my life, and now I have - I can't exactly say I see the casinos the same way.

Fast forward many (many) years to today and casinos actually kind of freak me out. Maybe it's because I'm such an introvert and I get overwhelmed, or perhaps it's because they are really smoky, or maybe it's even because they boast "all you can eat" restaurants. However - maybe there is some kind of appeal to neon casino tackiness and slot machine whirs, because it's just so very different from most other environments - and a bit, or sometimes a lot - of distraction can be a good thing.

I'm in Reno to see Morrissey and hang out with some of the lovely people I've been travelling with. But - while I'm here, I am going to give casinos another chance.

Morrissey concert poster at the Grand Sierra Resort

Reno is like a mini-Las Vegas. A glimpse of the airport will tell you this much - because there are rows upon rows of Wheel-Of-Fortune slot machines dinging by the flight gates. If you can resist anything except temptation, this might – or might not – be the place for you. There are also taxidermied animals in this airport, which make me rather uncomfortable. I immediately worry about how exactly they ended up here, and hope whatever caused it was natural.

The Grand Sierra Resort holds the venue Morrissey will sing in tomorrow night, so we stay there. As soon as we enter the casino (hotel check in is reliably adjacent to casino floor) we are greeted with posters and screens filled with photos of Morrissey.  I snap a few photos of the Moz posters before heading up to my room. Somehow I snag a room on the 19th floor, and my ears pop on the sky-high elevator ride up. The rooms and the desert views are pretty nice. My theory is that casino hotels (which often don't cost very much to stay in) make the rooms sprawling and lush to give you the impression you are well-off, and therefore you'll believe - incorrectly - that you have money to burn at the blackjack tables. Sneaky.  For this portion of the trip, I've brought high heels, which I haven't worn in years, so tonight I will attempt to wear them. The heels last approximately one hour - and my feet far less than that.

As casinos generally don't like you camping out on their swirling psychedelic-patterned carpets, we have to do list check-ins on the night before the concert. I've snagged number 7, which is my second highest spot ever on list, aside from when I was in Berlin and was 4th. I hear that the venue stage is long - which is rather reassuring as that means it will hold a lot of people in front row.

I do badly at video poker

The casino floor is a pretty fascinating spot for people-watching (even if you don't like people, to be honest) - and everyone from uniformed marines, to women wearing sequined dresses, to a chain-smoking drunk guy wearing a Jesus t-shirt, to children singing "if you're happy and you know it" (a very absurd sight) are present.  It's a surreal mishmash. One terrifically drunk man nearly mistakes a phone booth for a urinal - a moment never unseen.  Chandeliers and chaos.  I try my hand at video poker, and do quite badly. For some reason the zombifying lure of slot machines does little to attract me, and I'm bored before I even begin.  Of course I also feel overwhelmed by all the people, sounds, and flashing lights and decide to go to bed rather early.

November 11, 2016

I wake up feeling much better and so excited to see the concert tonight.  I meet a lot of lovely people, including a teenage girl who has brought an LP for Morrissey to sign. The casino floor becomes a makeshift beauty boutique as we apply makeup to get ready. Today I attend to most of this up in my room, but since I've been lining up for Morrissey concerts, it's not unheard of for me to be seen in public with curlers in my hair, applying mascara.

Everything is wonderful except the moment when a couple approaches the front of the line and asks us if we think Moz will show abattoir footage during Meat is Murder, and at what point during the concert does this happen? They add that the footage is 'a bit much for a Friday night' and their attitude disturbs me.  I explain the reasoning behind the footage - that it shows the horrific reality these innocent animals must endure. The couple claim to be "sympathetic to the cause," and then they simply walk away. I wonder if it hits them that the millions of animals slaughtered for the meat industry don't have any say about their own fates on a Friday night. 

Just before doors we get wristbands that allow entry to the venue's lounge 15 minutes early and 2 drink tickets. I decide to hold off on the drinks until after the show and that familiar nervous, excited energy is flowing through my limbs. I always feel a bit like I'm at the starting line of a race. There are two doors to the floor of the venue, which always inspires anxiety in queuing concertgoers, but Morrissey's security is awesome and helps to ensure only one door will be opened so that we can enter safely in order.

Past doors there is a narrow dark hallway that leads to a small series of steps down to the floor. The little steps are uneven and I go flying over the bottom two; however, I remain unscathed and this actually gives me a bit of clearance. Cool! I nab a great spot on front row Boz’s side and the pre-show ritual begins. I know all the words to "Wanting To Die" - and Anne Sexton's dark eyes haunt as she recites the last lines of her poem on the special language of suicide. Funky 70's fireball "Nutbush City Limits" always ramps up my excitement and I can't imagine anyone will ever look as smashing as Tina does in a red pantsuit. The pre-show videos invoke a vast spread of emotion and are a mini preview for how seeing Morrissey in concert feels - joy and despair - and everything in between.

Reno barrier view

Tonight Morrissey opens with Shoplifters - but with some special lyric changes. As the band drives into the chorus - Morrissey sings "Trump-shifters of the world, unite and take over." As an audience, we cheer and catch on quite quickly, singing along "Trump-shifters" ourselves. He also changes "6 months is a long time" to "4 years is a long time." And - he's right. 

Next up is Alma Matters and a friend beside me stretches her arm out for a glorious Moz handshake - it turns into a group handshake with me and a few others. It is absolutely lovely. The young girl I met earlier also gets her album signed further into the show. I've never seen anyone interact so much with their audience as Morrissey does - and it means the world to us.

Setlist for Morrissey in Reno, November 11, 2016 (via setlist FM):

1. Shoplifters Of The World Unite
2. Alma Matters
3. Speedway
4. Ganglord
5. Jack The Ripper
6. Kiss Me A Lot
7. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris
8. World Peace Is None Of Your Business
9. Everyday Is Like Sunday
10. Suedehead
11. Ouija Board, Ouija Board
12. One Of Our Own
13. Irish Blood, English Heart
14. The Bullfighter Dies
15. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores
16. Meat Is Murder
17. How Soon Is Now?
18. You Have Killed Me
19. What She Said
20. First Of the Gang To Die

Encore:

21. Judy Is A Punk

"Jack the Ripper" blows me away every time I see it live. I remember when I first watched "Who Put The 'M' in Manchester?" a few years ago, I would think to myself how it would make my life to see it live one day. Tonight, as Morrissey emerges out of thick billows of heady fog, he casts a transfixing dark outline, grasping and clutching as he moves forward. He is raw emotion - a struggle of passion and pain - and I feel completely engrossed in the moment. 

Crash into my arms
Photo by @mischievousnose w/ edit by @sadglamour

While I'm doing my best to spend the night in every precious moment, little etchings of the past strike me in strange chords at certain times. As Morrissey sings "How Soon Is Now?", I think of how just a couple of Novembers ago, I was in a deep depression and I used to listen to this song on solitary walks along the seafront. At the time, the simple fact I dragged myself out of bed seemed to be something. As it was a Canadian November, the sky and sea were steeped in sombre shades of grey; there was very little colour to anything and the surroundings matched my mood. But Morrissey's words spoke to me and urged me forward: "I am human and I need to be loved." I became more engrossed in the music than the dismal drizzly rain of my humdrum town, and whatever corroded my heart was somehow channeled into strength.  During that time I often forgot I was human, and my confusion about the world made me feel so isolated - but Morrissey was like a wise and caring best friend that helped me get through each day. And now, this November, I am in Reno, looking up at the stage and watching him sing "How Soon Is Now?" live. I feel actual happiness - something I don't feel very often - wash over me as I hug the barrier.

Photo by aggrolily on Instagram

Sometimes I am singing along surrounded by friends, and other times I feel like it's just Morrissey and I. The balance enchants me. I never want the night to end.

The night does, of course, end, but with a bang as Moz and the band finish with "What She Said", "First Of The Gang To Die", and Ramones encore "Judy is a Punk".  For the encore, Moz, in a white shirt, looks part angel, yet he sings with just the right amount of punk-spirited bite. The band is all blitz and grit. Moz gives us a 'ciao' and a bow. I miss him as soon as he's off-stage.

After the concert we decide to go hang out at the bar for a while - and we run into Boz Boorer. This is not my first time running into Boz at a casino bar - but it is my first time being less shy about asking for a photo with him. He is a pleasure to speak with and even gives us a few guitar picks as presents. 

After Boz leaves we have a few drinks. The casino is a chaos of distractions for the lucky and the unlucky, but I'm not entirely here - I'm still thinking of How Soon Is Now? and the many shades of November.

Morrissey Tour November 2016: Irvine Night 2

November 8th, 2016

It's Election Day in America. Being a Canadian in the US on election day is a little like being a fly - albeit an opinionated one - on the wall - and all you can do is watch and absorb what's going on around you. When I reflect on what kind (if any kind) of leadership could allow for human beings to at least attempt to live harmoniously together, it's apparent that Trump makes absolutely no sense as a world leader. I still believe Trump running for president is an unfunny, unappealing joke of some sort - he's a 'reality' T.V. star with a bad fake tan - and as comical as these traits might be, there are much more serious issues lurking beneath the tip of this iceberg.  Because of our proximity to the US, the president elect does affect Canadians quite strongly but I am in full belief that Hillary will win by a landslide simply by virtue of the fact Trump's views are extremist and could readily set basic human rights back half a century. Who could possibly support him? I get dressed in my World Peace Is None Of Your Business t-shirt - fitting for today - and we head down to Bren Centre where people are already hanging out in anticipation of the concert the following evening.

The perfect shirt

I'm 15th in line and we spend the afternoon sharing Morrissey memories and play a seemingly never-ending (but fun!) card game called Skip-bo but eventually have to disperse due to campus rules about camping out. Slowly, election results begin to trickle in. Well... this can't be... but the states first reporting are traditionally red... so don't panic yet...but then.... confusion sets in as it appears Trump may actually be winning the election? People joke that they would like to come back to Canada with us... can I set up any sham marriages? The Immigration Canada website actually crashes - and so does the dollar. Will he really build a wall? Suddenly, the Trump joke isn't funny any more, and feelings shift into nervousness - and even further into - fear, dread, uncertainty. We are going to meet early the next day at the venue - and everyone I've spoken with is concerned at this point about the election. Perhaps somehow, some way, things will change overnight, for how can someone touting and spouting disdain for so many groups of human beings be elected as president of the US in the 21st century? Have we learned nothing from history?  Or do we all lose?

"Oh, you poor little fool."


November 9th, 2016

The general mood in the queue the next morning is more somber than usual.  People are afraid. I see an article on my Twitter timeline that there has already been an increase in trans suicides. Future Vice-President Pence promotes barbaric electro-shock 'gay conversion therapy' that seems to be catapulted out of 1950's psyc-horror films. Did the human rights movements of the 60's, 70's, and beyond even occur?

It feels frightening to be anything other than a macho, right-wing, gun-toting, straight white male.

I have friends who are worried their marriage will no longer be valid because of their sexual orientation. Why should stiff-suited government officials dictate matters of the heart? How can some pompous, soulless bore in a courthouse tell other people living miles away, who may as well be worlds away in spirit, what they should do with their bodies, their minds, their lives? "Love, peace, and harmony, are very nice, very nice, very nice, very nice... but maybe in the next world." News outlets say Trump got the working-class vote: but what can a billionaire businessman who resides in a 5-star hotel emblazoned with his name in gold tell the working class about their own lives? The tactic used by Trump is power by route of fear - the story is old.  And oh, the lies and faulty promises we are told - and that some believe - when we are so disenchanted... "The rich must profit and get richer, and the poor must stay poor."

"We never have Anne Sexton or James Baldwin types running the country. They'd make far too much sense." - Morrissey, List of the Lost.

It is hot in Southern California today: we search for pockets of shade beneath trees and against building walls, yet little eyelets of scorching sun still invade even the coolest spots and throw lacy patterns of heat on the skin. At midday we dash back to the hotel to change but there is a conference happening, making it difficult to find parking, and I must weave through overpowering crowds of business and marketing-school extroverts to return to my room. I decide to wear my yellow cardigan and spritz on smoky layers of Incense Avignon, and I take the little glass midnight blue bottle of fragrance back to the queue to ease nerves with scent-therapy. The afternoon trots on and we snack on decadent vegan donuts (as I said before, California is vegan food heaven) and muse over what Morrissey might say about the election.

As dusk rolls around we hear telltale microphone murmurs and drum pops indicating that the road crew is setting up for soundcheck. We wait with eager ears and our already quickened pre-show pulses gallop faster as the opening chords to "Shoplifters Of The World Unite" pour up the darkened concrete stairwell. We sing along - "now, today, tomorrow, and always..."

It's time for doors, round 2!

Security assures us wristbands will go more smoothly tonight than they did for the first show - and they do. We are scanned in and wristbanded and in the darkness I see the glossy stretch of floor ahead of me leading towards barrier - I speed walk once I'm past the gate. Somehow, quite luckily, no one interrupts my path, and, as my eyes hungrily scan the barrier, a blaze of energy flows through my limbs; I pump my legs and arms into a sprint and run the rest of the stretch. I've made it to a terrific spot on Boz's side of the stage - and I curl my arms around the  barrier and embrace it in a flesh, bones, and metal hug. The race is won, and I feel a serene bliss wash over me that makes any remaining tiredness from waiting dissolve entirely.

View for Irvine Night 2

Tonight some wonderful friends offer to give me a boost for a handshake (the barrier and stage are a bit high) - and I hope with my entire heart that tonight is my night. While we are waiting, Gustavo comes out to say hello and take photos. It's my first chance to meet him and he's an incredibly sweet guy.

Outside the venue, it feels like the rest of the world might be falling apart, but inside, on this night, we are all here and united by our love for Moz. Pre-show videos begin and Alice Cooper's "Elected" tears across the screen flashing with stars-and-stripes monkeys, overflowing cash mounds, and Cooper's white pimp suit and top hat - and the audience sings along with defiant gusto.

When Morrissey walks on stage tonight, I suddenly feel so reassured and safe; his presence soothes the uncertainty and anxiety that so often corrodes my spirit. Our gazes are upon him, and I think we are all aching to hear what he has to say.

"Today is the first day of the rest of your nightmares," Morrissey, wearing a deep blue shirt paired with dark jeans, astutely sums up the grim truth of this election in one sentence. The band, donning Mercy for Animals' "Don't Eat My Peeps" t-shirts launches into Shoplifters... and Moz begins to sing. Time stops spinning somehow - I want to absorb this - and I try to stay in the coveted moment. I feel especially emotional hearing the lyrics, "tried living in the real world instead of a shell, but before I began, I was bored before I even began" live for the first time because I relate to them so much. Morrissey has a way of making me feel understood and less alone: it's as though he's reflecting my own heart and mind back to me as he's on stage. Every time I see him it's a cathartic embrace.

Alma Matters is another song that makes the outsider feel understood - I've felt dragged down and drowned out by the lashings of other's often unasked for opinions and judgments, but deep down I've had to remind myself this is "my life to wreck my own way." I look up at Morrissey as he walks towards the side of the stage I'm on - he shakes a few hands, including one of my friends' hands - and then notices my friend from Mexico and I. I am leaning across the hard steel of the barrier and stretching my hand up towards him. I'm almost floating - but so lost in the moment I hardly notice that somehow I feel nearly weightless (my friends are helping to boost me up) and with a microphone whip, Morrissey steps back in my direction. I look up at him and into his kind blue eyes - and see him lean down to me, "to someone, somewhere..." and he takes my outstretched hand in his and squeezes it. He then takes my friend's letter. We are beaming. My eyes well up with happy tears: the moment brings me so much joy - and means the world to me.

I see Quarry gem "How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel" live for the first time, and then  Morrissey addresses the crowd again regarding the election results: "Statistically only 20% of Americans voted for you-know-whom, so don't be too hard on America, America doesn't actually like him or want him. No, No. No. But here it is, and what the hell are you gonna do?" Gustavo's digeridoo rumbles down to the roots underground and the opening notes of World Peace is None Of Your Business fill every inch of the venue, up to the ceiling, and wrap around us. People around me start crying. I'm not even American, and I'm tearing up too, because I know how detrimental these election results may be to so many lives - to the lives of many people standing beside me at this moment. The world feels like it's in impossible pieces, yet Morrissey helps us feel less alone in our grasping attempts to make sense of things. We need him tonight - and I want to reflect the love and understanding he transmits to us, back to him.

Photo by @mischievousnose

Setlist for Morrissey in Irvine, November 9th, 2016:

1. Shoplifters Of The World Unite
2. You Have Killed Me
3. Speedway
4. Ganglord
5. Jack The Ripper
6. Alma Matters
7. How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?
8. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris
9. World Peace Is None Of Your Business
10. Everyday Is Like Sunday
11. Ouija Board, Ouija Board
12. One Of Our Own
13. The Bullfighter Dies
14. Don't Make Fun Of Daddy's Voice
15. First Of The Gang To Die
16. Meat Is Murder
17. Because Of My Poor Education
18. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores
19. Suedehead
20. What She Said

Encore:

21. Judy Is A Punk


Morrissey dedicates "One Of Our Own" to Jennifer, a woman he met back stage only a few nights ago, who has since tragically passed away.  I never met Jennifer, but I had heard of how she was fighting for her young life, and that the dream of hers - to meet Morrissey - had come true this past Friday. I hope she has somehow found peace.

"Bullfighter" and "Meat is Murder" make me reflect on the fact that as long as animals continue to suffer senseless violence at the selfish hands of humans, the world will remain in turmoil. Animals look to humans for protection and humans continually focus on their own greed and profit. If the majority of humans treat other beings without empathy, how can we expect the world to ever change from its cycle of exploitation and unnecessary pain? Will we forever be mired in misery?  I've met many people who have chosen vegetarian and vegan lifestyles after seeing the heartbreaking abattoir footage shown as Morrissey sings Meat is Murder. Lives are changed - and saved.

For the encore, "Judy is a Punk," Morrissey emerges onstage wearing an olive green shirt and the band dives into deliciously jarring punk tempo - the rhythm section drives and thrives as Mando thrashes the bass. At the end of the raging Ramones cover - Moz flings his shirt to a grasping sea of lunging bodies, somewhere near the middle of the crowd. It's juuuust a little too far over for me, so I don't get a piece this time, but I'm pleased to hear a friend of mine who missed out on a piece at the Las Vegas show grabbed herself a nice big length of Moz-scented fabric.

Morrissey once said, "I'm still trying to make sense of a world that makes none." So much of life - and this world - makes very little sense, but tonight - in this moment - I feel understood, saved, and less alone all at once. As we walk out of the venue and back to the car, I can still feel the touch of his hand. Now my heart is full.

Photo by uurssaa on Instagram

Morrissey Tour November 2016 - Santa Barbara

November 5th, 2016

The Santa Barbara concert is the day after Irvine and my original intention is to wake up very early to drive there and queue. The problem is, I can't peel myself out of my comfy white hotel bed because I seem to be tired after not having much sleep for the past few nights. Frustrated with my own laziness, but succumbing to the allure of more rest, I awake a few times in the morning but don't actually get out of bed until around 10 a.m. Finally well rested, I feel strange and a bit nervous at the thought I won't arrive until just prior to doors at 5 p.m.; usually I'm there at least 12 hours before the venue opens.

About to hit the road sometime after noon, I stop to pick up a coconut milk latte and realize it is dazzlingly hot out. It's November but to this Canadian it feels like full-on summer and the thin purple cardigan I'm wearing may as well be a puffed-out parka. Strangely, it is not necessarily uncomfortable and the warmth spreading across my skin matches this strange contentment that's usually so foreign to me. The sky stretches infinitely with celestial azure and the silent and grey blah Novembers I am used to fall away from my mind. And don't even get me started on the palm trees, which mesmerize me with their long, lithe trunks and pretty grassy green leaves. I can't stop photographing the palms and feel quite embarrassed by how nerdy my fascination with them is - but, of course - we don't have many palm trees in Canada!

Road trips require music so I bring along the Morrissey Parlophone Singles album I bought in Manchester this summer (perhaps as hard to find in Canada as palm trees) and as we merge onto sprawling multi lane freeways, I discover that even on the weekend there are A LOT of cars trafficking about L.A. Walls of them, in fact. The two-hour drive is looking more like a three-hour drive and the promise of getting near the front of the audience is dwindling. We drive the full time save for a quick stop at a mall to freshen up and I am faced with a blitz of air-conditioning and the reminder of unwelcome seasonal stressors I'd rather forget for now (and always): yes, it's early November, but Christmas wreaths, jumbo-metallic bulbs, and fatso Santas have already infested the shopping centre. Jingle-bell tunes are blasting through the bustling busy foyer and this merely conjures my estrangement from my own childhood and the nauseating pressure on us to feel, or at least feign "merriness." I laugh a bit at the absurdity but cannot wait to get out of there and back on the highway.

The last stretch of the drive lets us see the California coast and sihlouetted surfers cresting frothy-capped waves. It's past 4 p.m... but we make it to a parking lot near the venue and there are loads of people slinking up the streets. The venue is a bit different in that, rather than being downtown, it seems to be flung into the middle of suburban streets lined with terracotta roofed houses. Already I see people face-painted with elaborate sugar skull makeup and brightly coloured Día de los Muertos headpieces. It's a mosaic of vibrant veils, flowers, and colours in honour of death and life: the rhythm goes round. Approaching the entrance, I quickly realize doors have already opened before the 5pm start time and as soon as we are wristbanded with fluorescent pink bracelets, I run up the sienna clay hill towards the bowl entrance. I start considering the possibility that I will probably end up further back than I expected, but there's no time to fret and I keep focused as I weave through people traipsing up the hill under waving rainbows of intricate swinging banners of papel picado. The folk art is beautiful and there is a Mariachi band wailing with rolling guitar chords to my left - but I will check that out later - I want to grab myself a good spot.

I rush past the overflowing beer line-ups and towards the stone entrance of the Santa Barbara bowl and, with no time to check out what's behind me, I dash over to the pit area - and I'm met with the glorious realization that the pit is not yet as busy as I expected. There are still spots in second row centre - and this feels like amazing luck. My eyes are wide with surprise at such fortune - until the man in front of me, who was resting, stands up and I see that he's extremely tall. Hmmm... I thirstily scan the rest of the pit and notice an empty stretch of space to my left that is actually on barrier, Boz's side; it is directly in front of the speakers but my view won't be obstructed there. I switch places and grow even more pleased with my position.

Santa Barbara view

Finally I take a look around me and see that the venue reminds me of a smaller version of the Hollywood Bowl - with levels carved out of the hill behind. As the sun slowly begins to lower in the sky, dancers dressed in bright skirts and scarves twirl on stage and towering skeletons cavort at the rear of the pit. This is a different response to death than the weeping funerary blacks, impending-doom anxiety, and dread-head luckless horror that had been reliably instilled in me throughout my youth from my mostly British-descent family. Well, we need to cling to something. On Day of the Dead, the departed are, of course, mourned, but they are also celebrated as death and life are eternally and seamlessly linked. "But there is no end..."

Dancers

The Mexican Institute of Sound plays a fierce set boasting a throbbing bass that punches you in the chest and the drummer looks like Dave Grohl's raggedy-coiffed long-lost Mexican hermano. It's electronic dance music meets traditional folk and the highlight might just be when a bad-ass Mexican girl in a ruffled hot pink skirt and black combat boots smashes the hell out of a Donald Trump piñata until ragged streams of paper and gold coin candies fly across the stage. The couple next to us admits they don't speak any Spanish - and a blonde woman, whose name I unfortunately cannot remember, tells me it will be her first time seeing Morrissey so close up. Her excitement is palpable and throughout the pre-show videos we shout-sing lyrics to "God Save The Queen" and "Looking For a Kiss" as Johnny Rotten and David Johansen snarl and sneer against the massive backdrop screen. Meanwhile, we are somehow inching slowly towards centre.

Smashing Thump - photo by @mischievousnose

Excitement mounts as thunderous howls and applause indicate for those uninitiated that after Lypsinka, Morrissey will take the stage. My heart - he walks out wearing a beautiful black suit with a white shirt and exquisite silver jewelry: skull necklaces and dangling rosaries - and he's a devastatingly good-looking man about Santa Barbara. The band is decked out in jet black jackets and their faces are painted black and white sugar-skulls - their hollowed-out dark eyes make them look a daunting bunch. Boz is the only one not sporting a dinner jacket, and instead is wearing a long black priest's robe and rosary. This will be a religious experience.  Do I have the words?  Description always seems to pale compared to what I actually see, feel, and hear - all I know - for lack of eloquence on my part - is that this is gonna be so bloody cool!

Photo by michaelxmoz on Instagram

"...And to you, I say, Happy Death Day!" Morrissey announces, before the band drives into "How Soon Is Now?" Pulsing lights and that familiar exhilarating crunch of the guitar riff send us into spheres of sensory rapture as I watch the dark, captivating silhouette Morrissey makes as he leans into the microphone stand. Then, his voice fills the air with the lyrics that saved our lives, and our ears are deeply blessed. Some monumental moments engrave themselves in a way that defies time.

A few songs in and Moz rattles a shimmering tambourine for the opening to "You're The One For Me Fatty" - this is the first time I get to hear this gem live and there's a bounce to the audience as we sing along. Then the whirling harpsichord of Ouija Board fills the night air and my eyes well up as this song reminds me of my precious black cat I lost to kidney disease this year. As always, a Morrissey concert lets so many emotions rise to the surface from the depths of the soul. Some hope and some despair.

Setlist for Morrissey in Santa Barbara, November 5, 2016 (via setlist FM because I can never remember the order of anything):

1. How Soon Is Now?
2. Alma Matters
3. Speedway
4. Ganglord
5. Jack The Ripper
6. Judy Is A Punk (Ramones' cover)
7. You're The One For Me Fatty
8. Ouija Board, Ouija Board
9. Kiss Me A Lot
10. Don't Make Fun Of Daddy's Voice
11. I Will See You In Far Off Places
12. The Bullfighter Dies
13. World Peace Is None Of Your Business
14. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris
15. One Of Our Own
16. Suedehead
17. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores
18. Everyday Is Like Sunday
19. First Of The Gang To Die

Encore:

What She Said

Photo by @mischievousnose

Photo by mozllie on Instagram

At one point a man in a poncho seemingly appears out of nowhere and flings his arms around Moz. At another, a woman with a sky-high lime-green mohawk is carried over the crowd clutching for Morrissey's hand. For Suedehead, Morrissey grasps a Mexican flag offered by an audience member and tucks it into his front jacket pocket. He also makes a witty lyric change that reminds me of one of my favourite quotes of his (the blank notebooks one from Australia last year) singing "it was just to see, just to see all the things you knew I'd written about you, Oh so many blank pages." "Everyday is Like Sunday" and "First of the Gang to Die" bring eclectic electric energy surges from the audience as daredevil limbs fling and fly from crowd surfers trying to get a touch to be cherished for life.

As the encore approaches, Morrissey and the band bow and "What She Said" is introduced as Moz remarks "I need a stiff drink and a hot bath, or a hot bath and a stiff bath."  The quote immediately reminds me of something Rims said in List of the Lost. We lean over the edge of the barrier and teeter partially suspended in the air as Moz comes over to our side of the stage; the hard metal digs into my ribs and I like the feeling - but the towering black speaker is in front of me and it's just so far to reach for a handshake. Right before the end of the song, Morrissey takes my new blonde friend's hand and holds it for a moment, and she beams with bliss from her first-ever handshake. I'm so pleased for her and grasp her hand after.

Matt's tribal drum thump for the Rubber Ring outro rings through the Bowl and Morrissey and the band are off-stage.

It was divine.

Santa Barbara, being near the ocean, has a crisp dampness to the air and in sweaty numbers we stagger out of the pit and spill onto the streets with a kiss from the night sky, so fulfilled and anticipating the next show in Irvine on the 9th.

And of course, I couldn't resist visiting a cat café in Hollywood between the shows...

Morrissey Tour November 2016: Irvine Night 1

I'm back in Canada from almost 2 weeks of travelling in the US for Morrissey's concerts in California, Reno, Boulder, and Texas.  While all 8 shows didn't go through because Gustavo fell ill in Boulder, I have some amazing memories from this trip and want to write down my thoughts about my travels and the Morrissey tour. The first thing I want to say is that I hope Gustavo gets well soon. From meeting him before the concert in Irvine on November 9th, I can see he is a really kind person and I can also see how much he means to Morrissey and everyone else in the band; they are like brothers.

I'm no professional writer but the process of translating experience or the imagined into actual printed words on a page gives you a certain feeling. One neat thing about writing is that it allows you to live amidst different planes than the actual reality that surrounds you. If your piece is fictional, you can feel yourself meld with the characters you create, and in some sense you live their pain, their happiness, their thoughts - vicariously. If your piece is a concert review or personal journal, as you're writing, you remember things with burgeoning clarity as you go - and moments, visions, and sounds, with each fine detail, fall into place, and maybe, just maybe, if you're very lucky, for a moment you'll feel as if you are right there all over again.  My reality is currently the dismal erratic clank of an overworked washing machine and dryer and chilly feet (Canada is NOT California) - but some part of me is standing in line with my concert ticket waiting for the rush and push through unknown doors and hallways to the metal hug of barrier. Reality is not real to me.

Morrissey in California

I want to go back in time two weeks - because two weeks ago - I was beaming with excitement.

November 3rd, 2016:

It's just after 2 am and normally I'd just be going to bed, but today is different, and today I'm just waking up. I feel that unfamiliar emotion flowing through my veins and pumping from my heart: happiness. It begins to take over the strange poisonous feeling that churns within me most of the time - a tiring blend of depression and anxiety. I've often likened my mental health issues to wearing an itchy sweater under your skin - some strange affliction that can't be ripped off, that others can't always see - although maybe that sounds a little trite. I wonder if 'normal' people feel this unusually soothing happiness I'm experiencing today far more frequently, or perhaps the truth is there is no such thing as normal.

The cab to the airport is coming at 3 am. I want to get out of my little suite that and onto that airplane more than anything in this world. Last minute items are thrown into carry-on bags and we are just out the door when... oh... the door knob breaks off the front door in hand and leaves a hole in the door. I can imagine some of my friends will find this amusing - usually, somehow reliably, it is the airplane that is broken - today it is my house. The yellow cab breathes foggy white exhaust into the cold night air - waiting - and there is nothing to do except leave the doorknob hanging half off its hinge for dear life. Oh well.

I live on an island so nearly every flight I ever take includes at least one connection. The plane we board to Seattle is a relatively tiny silvery white tube compared to the massive jets that cross oceans between continents and still - after takeoff the sky engulfs us with pitch-black velvety darkness. Golden lights of a sleeping city dot below through smoky straggles of cloud and I feel relieved to be finally travelling away from my dismal hometown.

On landing in Seattle I need coffee, although I am already full of a certain energy I always forget I have. I browse an airport bookshop and see US election-themed covers mixed amongst sci-fi, chick-lit, and self-help yawners. A massive "ew" breaks through my lips and I gesture towards a paperback titled "Great Again" which features Donald Trump's grinning orange face (the grin is sinister!) staring back at me. I momentarily think - we aren't in Canada any more - does it matter? My distaste and disgust for Donald is a reflex going back some 20 years. He won't win anyway, I think to myself.

The second flight lands us in Orange County and as we touch down I feel that much closer to seeing Morrissey and my Moz friends. I want to check out the venue as soon as we are settled at the hotel to see if people are already queuing: as it's California and the afternoon on the day before the show, I assume they are. No, I haven't had much sleep, but I really do want to be near the front.  On Twitter the venue is already informing us we are not allowed to line up overnight so this will make things tricky. We will meet up early the next morning and hope for the best.

I'm already discovering vegan food in California is glorious - it's a cruelty-free junk food mecca of burgers and fries and ice-cream sandwiches WITHOUT animal flesh or products. Shamelessly, I decide to stuff my face with these delights in bed while looking out at the golds and peaches of a Southern California sunset. As I'm a bit airport-stale, I crash into a nap quite early as I want to be ready for queuing around sunrise the next morning.

November 4th, 2016

I jump out of bed as soon as the alarm goes off to get to the venue at the Universit-ay. Arriving just before 7 a.m., I snag #24 on the list, which is a decent spot, but might not secure front row. However, as with everything in life, there are no guarantees, so I try to stay in the moment and reflect on how much this day means to me. I've recently been through another bout of deep depression: losing my cat and emotional traumas have harangued my spirit and through early autumn life plummeted into that grey bleakness that makes getting out of bed and facing the world a marathon of impossibility. Having tickets for these Morrissey shows gave me something in the future to focus on - and his words and music held my hand through the pain.

It is lovely to see some friends I hadn't seen in nearly a year, and also some of those I had seen in Europe and the UK this summer, along with meeting some new people I only know from (anti) social media, or perhaps not at all. One of the things that makes going on tour to see Moz very special are the connections you make - while we can be different ages, from different countries and experiences in life, we are all united by our love for Morrissey. It's fascinating to hear first-hand about the Asian and Australian tour some went on last month, and exotic and far-off places crystallize through the words of others. As morning tumbles into afternoon, the sun beams and beats down on me and I remember what it feels like for sun to touch my pale back bedroom-recluse skin (my bedroom is sunken so it's always night somewhere).

Bren Centre is the home of the Anteater

The energy and jitters before doors runs straight through my fingertips and my heart is percussively pounding in ecstatic rhythms. We have a concrete staircase to run down to the general admission floor area and at this point I don't know exactly what lies beyond the big cobalt blue metal doors to venue entrance 5. We have discovered which direction the stage is in, which is helpful in planning our routes to get to the front. A mental map of where to head is extremely important when each second counts in getting to the barrier - a faulty ticket scan or wristband fiasco can mean bodies will race past you and you lose your spot. We share stories to the wide-eyed terror of first-timers - oh, and make sure you ditch your purse, as that will slow you down too when you go through security. Minutes count down.

School's about to start.

Doors! My ticket is scanned through (always a relief after London) and immediately to my left I see a cluster of people as we are told we must wait for wristbands. It's a bit messy as two venue attendants are placing neon yellow wristbands haphazardly on the wrists of concertgoers and it seems like the queue order is slipping away and luck is going to play a leading role. I thrust my wrist between two tall men waiting to be wristbanded and there is absolutely no one around to band me on either end of the table. My heart is in my ears yet dropping to my stomach and shoe soles are slamming onto the sports court floor as I wait and fragments of seconds spin and churn by. A young woman with a big white box full of canary bracelets walks up to the middle of the table and I look at her with pleading, desperate eyes. A wristband angel; my urgency is conveyed to her and she attends to me first, tying the cool plastic around my wrist and with this secured, I dart towards the barrier. I obtain a spot on Jesse's side, quite far over near the speakers - but I'm very happy to have gotten front row and wrap my arms around the hard loving metal, leaning on it a little breathlessly. I'm back in my favourite place in the world.

Joan of Arc and barrier Irvine night 1

Anticipation mounts as Maya No, No, No, No's with poetic force (don't ask me about the time I curiously recorded myself reading my own poetry, because it was really quite embarrassing; I am no Angelou) and the pre-show videos blaze up the screen, that familiar ritual of punk and genius and cinema in an orgiastic mosaic of sound and images.

Klaus Nomi, my life is opera... and a circle of white light guides Morrissey and the band out. It's him, in the flesh, and he walks towards the front of the stage to bow, wearing a navy-blue shirt with silver eyelets down the collar and chest. His presence soothes my heart; I immediately feel embraced and so much less alone. Being here on this night is everything to me.  Well-meaning people often tell me to "be careful in the pit" (because there is stage diving and occasional pushing) but when I'm in the front at a Morrissey concert, it's the only time in my life I ever really do feel safe. At some point near the beginning of the show Moz says "Welcome to Irvine night 2" or something to that extent, which makes me giggle, because although this is the first show, it was announced second after the show on November 9th sold out so quickly.

Photo by Andrew Gomez

The music wraps itself around my ears and heart and Morrissey and the band sound beautiful. My spirit is alive and I'm singing along with friends from far-off places. Tonight's setlist is one of the best I've ever seen, and I get to hear "Don't Make Fun of Daddy's Voice" (with the lyric switch "someone got stuck in his throat"), "Because of My Poor Education", "Good Looking Man About Town" (he uses a dapper handome-devilish photo of himself in a tux for the backdrop during this one!), and a cover of The Ramones' "Judy is a Punk" for the first time.

Morrissey in Irvine November 4th, 2016 Glorious Setlist (Via setlist FM)

1. Suedehead
2. All You Need Is Me
3. Speedway
4. Istanbul
5. Don't Make Fun Of Daddy's Voice
6. Because Of My Poor Education
7. I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris
8. World Peace Is None Of Your Business
9. Kiss Me A Lot
10. One Of Our Own
11. I Will See You In Far-Off Places
12. The Bullfighter Dies
13. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores
14. All The Lazy Dykes
15. What She Said
16. Ganglord
17. Meat Is Murder
18. Jack The Ripper
19. Good Looking Man About Town
20. Oboe Concerto

Encore:

21. Judy Is A Punk (Ramones cover)

We are getting an education more meaningful than anything you could ever learn in school tonight, and Morrissey brings up the subject of history, questioning how much of what is written and relayed to us is actually true?  The fact is, information is filtered for us, possibly dramatically, always subjectively, and we can't know the extent to which history is censored and sanitized, likely in the interest of those preaching this unknowable, unreachable past.  Moz addresses the crowd with, "from history we learn, that The World is Full of Crashing Bores," which leads into the opening chords of one of my favourite Morrissey songs.  I lean over the barrier and sing along, full of emotion - I think of how I've never really felt a part of the world, and how I just can't relate to many others and find the things and lifestyles that attract most people unappealing. "What makes most people feel happy leads us headlong into harm." I think of the straggly snippets of blah business airport chatter I overheard back in Canada about the stock market and company policies, or my own numb unspoken disquiet at family gatherings when housing square-feet and babies-with-rabies are discussed. But, then that lingering insecurity creeps in that perhaps I'm a crashing bore too, for why am I so isolated and stay indoors most of the time? "You don't understand... you don't understand..." Maybe it doesn't matter, because Morrissey is singing how I feel, and my heart is somehow put into words in front of me.

Screen shot from video by Beto Martinez

I realize by the end of the show my face aches from smiling, because in every day life these muscles are woefully under-used by me, and also that black mascara is flecked across my cheeks from crying. At a Morrissey concert you feel every emotion; it's a cathartic experience that nothing else can come close to.  I message some dear friends overseas with gratitude for helping me through the rough times leading up to this night. I am alive, in California, and there are 7 more concerts coming up, including one tomorrow night in Santa Barbara.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Photo by @mischievousnose w/ edit by @tonymerchison