Review: Morrissey and Starcrawler in San Diego - and a 2018 Tour Fashion Poll

I’ve had Blue Dreamers Eyes stuck in my head for days. Two lines especially stand out and my innermost thoughts are yet again revealed to me with much more clarity through someone else’s words: “I wanna go somewhere, where nobody knows me” and - “I’m scum and I’ve always been scum.” It’s a relief to hear these thoughts outside of my own head ... and I feel less lonely, less confused. I admittedly feel trapped by my daily life right now, and long to escape from the streets of the town where I grew up, and its looming suburban checklist where any divergence from the ‘norm’ simply blacklists one as a “loser.” Meanwhile, I drown in pessimistic snags and insecurity – shouldn’t I have life sorted out by 38? My soul feels 80; my soul feels 18.

Morrissey in San Diego

The strange streets of LA are the perfect place to forget about my hometown. There’s an anonymity to city life that strips away layers of judgment; part of me wants to disappear forever into this concrete jungle. As I walk around Hollywood, I'm enamoured by the glam trash atmosphere of vintage shops pouring with 70’s tassels and corduroys, and the vinyl shops where you can actually buy tangible records. Lingere-clad mannequins pout on street corners and the tinted-out windows of psychics lure you to find out your fate (I’m too afraid to ask). Scum and glitter taint pink-starred sidewalks, and I happen upon blonde bombshell Jayne Mansfield’s star and snap a pic. Men wear hot pants and women have beards and all the 'basics' back home evaporate from my memory as every intersection screeches “there is no such thing in life as normal.”

Hollywood

Morrissey albums at Amoeba Music

I’m in Hollywood for the James Corden show, where Morrissey will sing Back On The Chain Gang. Prior to the taping we are sent a detailed dress code, best followed by wearing something black and sophisticated. We wait to be seated by TV staff, and it feels unnerving - like waiting to be selected for a pageant, as seating seems neither random nor based on arrival time. In the same holding area congregates a gaggle of garish extroverts, waiting for the Price Is Right taping; most are dressed in atrocious Christmas sweaters. Clearly, they were given a different memo for dress code.

After Corden, I’m on to San Diego for the last concert of the California tour, and I realize these two weeks have raced by with such brevity that my memory grasps desperately to hang onto every detail, and I feel completely unprepared to say goodbye. The concert, at Copley Symphony Hall, is seated, and I have managed to snag a front row ticket at the last minute. Oddly, seated shows offer a panic dimension all of their own, as venue security can be very strict about the audience remaining in their seats until the moment the band hits the stage, and things can get rather messy. Further, rather than focusing on the queue list or racing to and from your hotel to get ready, for most of the day you are left to your own devices, meaning you might just end up being eaten alive by nervous butterflies until the rush of doors.

Copley Symphony Hall

The Symphony Hall is located directly below our hotel, and we take a few jitter-fueled jaunts past the venue, trying to make sense of where the entrance is, amongst pink marble and gold donor plaques. My hunch is this venue is far more familiar with french horns and orchestras than electric guitars and rock concerts, and I can’t help but wonder if they will be unprepared for a passionate flood of bequiffed Morrissey fans. While trying to find a sense of order externally by scoping such things out, internally I am a churning mess of moods: the inevitable post-tour crash is starting to haunt me. I am already missing Morrissey and my friends before the night even begins, and all I can do is stare at the ticking clock and feel increasingly overcome by the strange mix of emotions tugging at my spirit.

We wait with tense excitement, across four rows at theatre doors. More international playboys have arrived for this final date of the US tour, with Belgium, Mexico, and Texas marking the map. While politely smiling, I slowly wilt and die inside as a lovely elderly usher with fluffy white hair tears my ticket stub, seemingly in slow motion. “It’s a seated gig,” I remind myself – but tranquility is futile as I skip down stage steps and already find a number of people standing against the stage. However, there is a little gap of light where I’m meant to stand, directly in front of my assigned seat – and I am safe. Tonight’s stage is extremely low, hitting waist level for me, and there is no barrier. I rest my elbows on the lacquered wood of the stage, ready to settle in for the evening, but venue security has other plans, as they begin a policing prowl in which they demand we sit down in our assigned seats. Sigh... clearly they aren’t used to Morrissey fans, and I feel in no rush to let go of my coveted spot. Yet again, I’m convinced seated shows pose a unique kind of stress.

San Diego Barrier

Finally, venue staff is successful in ordering us back to our numbered seats like unruly schoolchildren. I perch on the very edge of mine, anticipating a jump back to the stage at any instant. Inside I’m a churning storm of highs and lows, but on the outside I’m a leaping cat ready to pounce. Again, my scattered and tattered heart is no match for this external sense of ‘order’ and structured seating plans feel hopelessly impossible, artificial. But ... before I can succumb to overthinking, opening act Starcrawler takes the stage. Time to pounce.

Starcrawler is the best new rock band I’ve heard in ages, refreshing in a 21^st century where most new acts tend to be reality show rejects. The band members are straight out of high school, and I could easily be their mother, and I find myself momentarily fretting over stage lights highlighting any dowdy crows feet around my eyes. But... I hear a voice...“age shouldn’t affect you, you’re either marvellous or you’re boring, regardless of your age” and Morrissey’s words come to my rescue once again. Phew... and I’m able to redirect my consciousness towards gig excitement. I am forever learning and relearning how to stay in the moment and drag myself out of the murky quicksand of self consciousness.

Starcrawler

The four piece opening band is an LA-based glam punk rebirth, featuring heavy Black Sabbathesque walls of layered guitars fused with Ramones-quick tunes. Frontwoman Arrow De Wilde slinks on stage, seemingly barely alive while simultaneously being far too alive all at once, in moments creeping insect-like and barely moving, and in others shuddering in spasmic bursts of energy. An ectomorphic blonde, she wears what looks like a rhinestone jock strap and crawls on all fours, periodically spitting on the audience. During one song she chokes herself with the microphone cord as her eyes fully roll into the back of her head.

Their songs are high-speed and intensity and they play loud, as the guitarist, decked out in vintage clothes, Chuck Berry duckwalks along the edge of the stage, the soles of his shoes barely missing our faces. Their set list includes I Love LA, a love anthem for the sprawling city of misfits, and criminally vulgar raunch-fest Pussy Tower, the topic of which begs no further explanation. Another highlight is Chicken Woman, a horror-show bass driven crawl during which Arrow shakingly draws a bloodied cross on her forehead, apparently possessed by some demonic force the rest of us can’t see. The set ends as abruptly as it began, with Arrow diving headfirst into the crowd, leaving people wondering if she is “okay.” Brilliant.

Morrissey’s pre-show videos start up, and venue security begins a second assault, demanding we must sit back down, although naturally we just can’t hear them. The guards strobe flashlights into our eyes, and ignoring them becomes an act of pure will. It feels as though Lypsinka will never arrive... but then... like a miracle... she does...

Curtains drop and crumple, and now... now... I’m carrying my pounding heart in my hand. Out walks Morrissey and the band, which is donning smart black button-up shirts, suspenders, and grey trousers. My love drunk eyes drink in Morrissey, who wears a dark blue cardigan accented with pins, a cut up merch tee, and a rosary of white skull beads. This new cardigan and cut-tshirt combo is very handsome devil!

The band launches into William It Was Really Nothing, and my mess of moods melts into pure in-the-moment bliss. I want to feel like this forever: I like it here can I stay? Morrissey is timeless and ageless as he thrashes the microphone cord around the stage, his even-bluer-in-person eyes surveying the crowd. His voice fills the symphony hall, from pillared walls to gilded ceiling, and every inch of atmosphere transcends supposed reality into someplace otherworldly.

“I left the north, I travelled south,” sings Morrissey, and I remember my own journey from Canada to Southern California, two weeks earlier. I’m torn between wanting to take snapshots with my phone, and snapshots with my memory... and I realize either way, I will be living off of memories for a while after this last date of the US tour. To me, it seems strange I only discovered him 4 years ago, as I feel he has always been with me in a sense, a lifeline, anchored in my heart, and such a solid part of my foundation. In between songs I want to shout “I love you,” but only little shrieks slip through my lips, and while he is in front of me I long to jump on stage to hug him, yet my feet feel welded with shyness to the symphony floor. I don’t know why I am so shy, or trapped inside my own self consciousness in such moments, because my heart beats fierce, flooding love and gratitude through my veins. I feel overcome, and wish I had a way to convey such love to him, to thank him for all he’s done for me.

Next up on the set list is Hairdresser On Fire... “can you squeeze me into an empty page of your diary and psychologically save me... I’ve got faith in you...” Fitting – as I am in dire need of such salvation myself. We sing along, and Moz playfully tugs at his cardigan, leading to excited squeals. At the end of If You Don't Like Me, Don't Look At Me, he adds a cheeky "so don't get your knickers in a twist"... and - as any Morrissey fan knows, one of the coolest things about live shows is the lyric switches. We reach towards him, a stretching sea of lovestruck limbs, as he flips the microphone cord to the rhythm of How Soon As Now? and strobe lights dazzle in time with guitar riffs. Before singing newest single Back On The Chain Gang, Morrissey brings out a 7-inch record, its cover emblazoned with feminist icon Germaine Greer, and playfully teases us with it, dangling the new release over our heads, and like kittens we reach up, til he passes it as a gift to one very lucky devoted fan.

Jesse Tobias in San Diego

Jack The Ripper’s smoke machines evoke London fog in 19^th century knife-plunging back alleys, and no matter how many times you see it live, such mystique inspires awe. As the fog erupts towards the audience in volcanic billowing clouds, Morrissey disappears, snaking into the floor of the stage with the agility of a dancer. When he re-emerges, his quiffed sihlouette stands in semi-mist, and he stretches his arms towards us, contorting, and wrapping his cardigan around the microphone, his waist, at times over his shoulders. “Crash into my arms...”

Jack The Ripper in San Diego

We are blanketed by semi-darkness as Morrissey and the band disappear backstage, and wait in thunderous anticipation, begging for their return with all the voice and applause we have in us. Encore-time is approaching, always tinged with the sadness and desperation of goodbye-for-now. On his return, Morrissey addresses the crowd, dedicating the next song to “our friends in Thousand Oaks.” The Southern California city had been through multiple tragedies over the last week, including a shooting that killed 12 people. Even with over 300 mass shootings throughout the past calendar year, many Americans claim gun ownership is a ‘right,’ blaming everything and everyone except the guns themselves for this unending rampage of senseless violence. In the same week, wildfires ravaged the Thousand Oaks area, undoubtedly afflicting numerous innocent non-human animals as well. Simply put, the increasing frequency of fires is undoubtedly linked to climate change. As we see a planet engulfed in despair, with many humans are unwilling to change behaviours based on greed and arrogance, it’s undeniable that we are the most destructive species this planet has seen.

Photo by @basia_ana

Morrissey stands before us as dark, accented piano notes fill the room – so melancholic, cathartic. Then, awe strikes, as I realize which song he is about to sing... “It’s the same old S.O.S....” he begins, and my heart clamours against the cagey walls of my chest like a startled bird... Life Is A Pigsty ... I have longed to hear this song live since I started following the Morrissey tour in 2015. My eyes tear, yet I am too entranced to fully cry – and my senses hungrily grasp onto every surreal moment of being here, in person, to see him sing the song that made me sob the first time I heard it on Ringleader Of The Tormentors, because it so completely reflected my own feelings. Pigsty has guided me through the darkest moments of my life, so many of which piled on through my 30’s: the unmoving depths of depressive episodes, the loss of my cat, the decay of relationships - and during all that pain, I felt as though Morrissey was there holding my hand, because he understood. And somehow, I could find my way out of the fog, because it was okay to admit life is a pigsty, and I didn’t owe it to other people to lie that I felt differently, because many times in life it is more painful and certainly more exhausting to feign happiness than it is to say: “Life is a pigsty... and if you don’t know this, then what do you know?” This in itself was freeing, life changing ... everything.

"Can you please stop time, can you stop the pain?"

“Every second of my life, I only live for you...” And... Morrissey tears off his tshirt, throwing it into the crowd... and disappears backstage... while I ache for more... and my memory longs to engrave each thread of this night, somehow defying the impossible and making every experienced moment tangible, accessible, forever.

And for one more song, Morrissey returns, this time in a button up shirt patterned with tiny flowers. Everyday Is Like Sunday’s opening notes sound, and the rest is a blur, as bodies tumble and rush over the stage, reaching for contact: handshakes, hugs. Will I try to hug him tonight? My heart pulsates, racing... and yet... shyness... and in split seconds I am stampeded by a fury of feet, and am pinned to the stage by another lunging, frenzied wave of bodies.  But not tonight, my love... and he is whisked away backstage... before I have a chance to say goodbye.

... and a 2018 California Tour Fashion Poll:

Now, before I start packing and preparing for a week in South America, I have some other extremely important business to attend to. With a new tour, setlists, and pre-show videos, comes new fashion. Before every tour, I’m excited to see what Morrissey will wear on stage, and he has certainly brought some dazzling and dashing looks so far this year. I decided to embark on yet another ultra-scientific run of Instagram polls, to see what your favourite look was in California. Here are the results:

For Round 1, we had

Patterned Shirt vs. Cut Tshirt

Tshirt pic by @basia_ana

and

Brown Jacket vs. Cardigan

Results were:

With a total of 74 votes, 37% were for Patterned Shirt, and 63% for Cut tshirt, with the tshirt being the clear winner.

The other poll was a true edge of your seat nail-biter: with a total of 86 votes – 48% were for brown jacket – and 52% for cardigan.

On to the final round...

Cardigan and Cut tshirt Battle

Over a total of 77 votes, cardigan won with 56%, and tshirt was pretty close behind, with 44% of the votes. There was, however, an absentee write-in vote for cut shirt, which changed the final result to 55% for cardigan and 45% cut tshirt. Such fashion drama!

Luckily, we can have both, as Morrissey often pairs the cardis with the cut tees. This has to be my favourite fashion combo of all time.




Places to visit in Ventura, LA, and San Diego:

Ventura:
Ventiki Tiki Bar

LA:
Donut Friend (vegan donuts)
Crumbs & Whiskers (cat rescue and cafe)
The Cat & Fiddle
Amoeba Music

San  Diego:
Soulshine (vegan restaurant)
Sushi2 (good vegan options)
Donut Bar (good vegan options)

Ultimate snuggle person, Kitty Purry
at Crumbs & Whiskers LA