Top Ten Morrissey Moments 2018

I don’t mind New Year’s Eve as a holiday. It’s certainly not up there with Morrissey’s birthday, or Halloween, but it has its own charm. Perhaps I like it because it’s an excuse to drink lots of champagne (or maybe Fernet, a drink I discovered recently in Buenos Aires) and stay up extra late (a plus if you’re nocturnally inclined, like me) but I often do these things anyway. To be truthful, I probably also like it because it means I’ve somehow survived the tinsel tinged social awkwardness and forced joviality of obligatory Christmas gatherings and I don’t have to think of that for nearly another year. Phew!

What Will The Top Morrissey moments of 2018 be?

On the other hand, the passing of time and all of its crimes can be overwhelming, and it strikes me that years become shorter and shorter segments of time as decades pile onto my life. Not to mention, I find the fact I am hurdling towards 40 increasingly daunting – but don’t get me started on that. Anyway, New Years can be a time to reflect on the good parts of a year and hopefully, metaphorically at least, to close the door on some negative parts... or perhaps it’s simply another day bemarked as a holiday. However, since the concept of resolutions is ingrained into many of us, I thought I’d ask my Twitter followers, once again, if they bother with New Year’s Resolutions. It seems like not much has changed since last year, with 44% of 59 voters replying, “What’s the Bloody Point?”

Well, bring on the champagne.

Now, let’s get started on the true purpose of this blog post, which is to list the top ten Morrissey moments of 2018:

Every year someone freaks out about the order, and every year I make a point to say that there is no order and I’m just listing the top ten moments as they come to me... so keep that in mind... here we go:

Top Ten Morrissey Moments of 2018:

1. Latin American Tour

Morrissey played a 9-date tour of South America, including electrifying back-to-back shows in Mexico City and Chile. South Americans and Mexicans showered Moz with love, and after gigs in Peru and Mexico, he referred to the 2 ardent Moz-loving countries as his “heart’s lighthouse.” From footage, and the concert I attended in Buenos Aires, I can attest the fans are passionate, devoted, and full of vigour, and the rush of attending a Morrissey concert in South America is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

Morrissey singing Jack The Ripper in Buenos Aires

2. US Tour

This year, Morrissey played four dazzling sold out shows in Southern California, plus TV and radio tapings, starting with a Halloween date in picturesque seaside town Ventura. Each concert featured a versatile setlist and massive energy from Moz, the band, and the crowd. Tropicalia Festival was a long, hot day, but fans were fresh with excitement for headliner Morrissey, and some were even able to scale the barrier and towering festival stage for coveted hugs from Moz (no easy feat at a festival!) For the TV taping on The Late Late Show with James Corden, Morrissey and his band played new single Back On The Chain Gang. Hooray for Hollywood!

Morrissey at Tropicalia Festival

3. UK and Ireland Tour

Morrissey kicked off 2018 with an 11-date UK and Ireland tour starting in Aberdeen and wrapping up with 3 sold-out London dates in March. With Moz playing a good mix of intimate theatres and large arenas, fans got a chance to see him in a variety of venues, and many queued for hours in ice and snow, as a massive cold front struck the UK (the experience of queuing in below freezing temperatures in Brixton – with my friend from Indonesia who had never seen snow before - is something I’ll never forget!) The grandest jewel in the cap was March 10th’s gig at London Palladium: the packed theatre audience was beaming with love, and Morrissey wore an exquisite black jacket embroidered with a sparkling peacock, singing a 21-song setlist including November Spawned A Monster (for its first live outing since 2013). By the end of the gig, some of the seats in the pit had been ripped out of their hinges! Pure, unbridled, otherworldly ecstasy.

Morrissey in Newcastle

4. Glorious Setlists

2018 featured breathtaking setlists, with a great mix of classics and newer songs. In Aberdeen, there were some first (and only, at the time of writing) appearances of Low In High School tracks Israel and The Girl From Tel Aviv Who Wouldn’t Kneel, as well as powerfully poetic I Bury The Living, which became a setlist staple for many of the remaining UK dates. Classic live rarities such as Hairdresser On Fire (not played live since 2004), Sunny (last played live in 1999), and Break Up The Family (last played 2000) delighted in California, including the emotional live debut of Dial A Cliche. Years of Refusal’s All You Need Is Me and Something Is Squeezing My Skull were also tempo charging highlights.

On a personal note, a high point for me was seeing Life Is A Pigsty back on the setlist. I have longed to see Pigsty live since I first discovered Morrissey, and I got my chance for the first time in San Diego this year. It was one of the most moving experiences of my life.

Morrissey singing I Bury The Living in Dublin

5. A Big Year For Cardigans!

2018 was one of the biggest cardigan years for Morrissey ever, as he donned the dashing knitwear item at the majority of his shows on the Californian and South American tours. Be still my heart! Cardigans are my favourite Morrissey fashion look and he is very handsome devil every time he steps out in one. Other notable cardigan years include 2002 and 2009, the Grado cardigan of 2012, the Sparkly Bergen cardi of 2016, and 2017 – where Moz wore a navy and white number at some of his US dates and a peacock-feathered one on French TV. I keep track of these important details! There’s nothing like a good-looking man about town in a cardigan!

Charming cardigan Moz in Ventura

6. Chain Gang Single and Video

Since its debut at Maida Vale in 2017, Morrissey’s cover of Pretender’s song Back On The Chain Gang has been a fan favourite. This fall, Morrissey released the seven inch single version, including a reggae intro, and it debuted at #1 on the official vinyl charts, with terrific radio airplay in North and South America. The single was accompanied by a music video, aesthetically inspired by 60’s flavoured Everlasting Love by Love Affair, complete with pouty cat-eyed backup dancers and a swoon-worthy Morrissey strumming guitar.

7. Low In High School Deluxe Album

On December 7^th, Morrissey released Low In High School’s “edition extreme de luxe” (excuse my lack of french accents) on vinyl. Released on Morrissey’s label Etienne, the deluxe edition features teenage (or early 20’s) Morrissey on the sleeve, and is dedicated to Dick Gregory. It includes all 12 tracks from the original Low In High School album, plus an entire bonus record, which features three previously unreleased songs, a bevy of of live covers, and new single Back On The Chain Gang. Lover-to-Be has a 60’s feel, with flirty vocals and groovy organ riffs and This Song Doesn’t End When It’s Over is haunting high drama. My personal favourite is Never Again Will I Be A Twin, a bass-driven deep, dark piece with reverberant cascading guitars. The lyrics are Morrissey at his cynically romantic best, with lines like: “...the plastic art of falling in love, what a joke that was.” For the covers, Moz shows his prowess for dynamic vocal versatility, covering styles ranging from punk (The Ramones) to country classics (Waylon Jennings), while still making each song absolutely his own.

8. Covers Album Announcement

It’s great to have something to look forward to in the coming year, and Morrissey gave us an early Christmas gift by announcing the release of a new covers album, California Son, set for release March 2019. According to Morrissey Central, the album will include an eclectic variety of tracks from artists such as Jobriath, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Bob Dylan, and Dionne Warwick. I’m particularly excited to hear Moz cover fellow crooner Roy Orbison, and judging by the cover work spanning his career since the Smiths days, the album should be a gem.

Morrissey and Buffy Sainte-Marie - photo via TTY

9. Morrissey Announces He Is Returning To Canada

When I awoke on September 20^th, my phone was buzzing and blazing with notifications that Morrissey would be returning to Canada – as he had announced on Central that he had lifted his ban on touring the country. Due to the barbaric seal hunt, Morrissey banned touring Canada back in the mid-2000’s, and I've always understood and supported his reasoning, but thought I would never have the opportunity to see him appear live in my home country. This announcement felt like a dream come true, and what’s absolutely wonderful is Morrissey will be making donations to Animal protection groups, such as Toronto Pig Save and Vancouver Chicken Save, in each city he will play in. The last time Morrissey played in Canada was Toronto during the You Are The Quarry tour in 2004, and he hasn’t played the West coast, where I’m from, since a Vancouver date for 1997’s Maladjusted tour.

Morrissey with Canadian Pam Anderson

10. Morrissey Wears His Own Merch

2018 was definitely a dashing fashion year for Moz, as he rocked everything from tailored shirts and jackets to divine cardigans. In fact, Morrissey proved he can make casual wear look impeccable too, wearing his own merch tees with incredible style. He even customized his tees, cutting the necks and sleeves, giving them a 70’s feel – and also probably making them easier to tear off for the shirt toss! Vegan life is certainly treating him well, as he looks extra fit and youthful. The tees also pair oh so charmingly with cardigans.

T-shirt Moz photo by basia_ana via Instagram

This seamlessly leads us to our yearly favourite merch item, and no doubt, for me this year, it was the Morrissey Sugar Skull tee, worn by the man himself!

Happy New Year and thanks for reading!

Review: Morrissey in Buenos Aires

As the plane descends after 11 airborne hours, the land below appears surreal, a puzzle of earthy greens and clay reds. Flat for miles, with no discernible end, Argentina stretches massively and, from 25,000 feet above, looks nothing like any other place I’ve ever travelled to. With its vast spread of dust and rust, the landscape is reminiscent of scratchy Van Gogh brushstrokes; or, is this visual poetry derived from 29 hours of sleeplessness? Nico, 1988 plays in the corners of my mind; I watched the film in the sky somewhere between icy Toronto and central America, and Christa Paffgen’s low, warbling voice is my landing soundtrack.

While far in distance travelled, my journey itself has not felt long; it never does when you are on your way somewhere you want to go. Returning home is, of course, another story. This is my first time crossing the equator, and again, I have Morrissey to thank for yet another first. It strikes me as odd I am nearly 40 and have never been to the other end of the planet, but then again, some people never even leave their own hometown.

Morrissey in Buenos Aires

We are supposed to have a hired car waiting for us at Ezeiza International Airport, as alarmist posts on internet travel forums warn “taxis are corrupt!” all over South America. However, if one were to follow tips posted on most travel advisories, one would never even leave the safety net of bed. As we finally clear customs, it appears everyone else got the same memo, and there must be at least 3 dozen drivers standing with last name placards. Through a Kafkaesque procession of rickety luggage carts, business dads, screaming babies, and shivering lapdogs, my name is nowhere to be found – taxi it is.

My rudimentary Spanish is put to the test early, as our driver no habla ingles. I feel ashamed of how broken my once far more fluent tongue has become over the passing ... decades (yikes). We race along the highway towards downtown Buenos Aires, and the city’s looming police presence becomes obvious early. Flashing blue lights and bold text “Policia” blaze on white cars parked haphazardly across lush green islands, and bulletproof vests and gun holsters – are everywhere. It is a slight culture shock, and predictably, extra security generally serves to make one feel more insecure. However, nothing seems to be happening and I drink in the scenery.

High rise living complexes line the roads and motorcycles weave in and out of lanes, kicking up balmy late Spring air. The buildings are etched with time’s grime, but look well-loved and lived-in, complete with clothelines sagging with colourful laundry and balconies hosting requisite air conditioners. The cab driver murmurs something in Spanish... it is hard to make out while the radio is playing, or perhaps I am that inept, so I assume he wonders where we are from: “Somos canadienses,” I reply, slightly anxious someone will assume I’m American and bring up the orange president. As we near Palermo, familiar notes hug my ears, and like magic, by chance, The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get comes on the radio. I can’t help but beam a little; South America loves Morrissey.

“I’m going to see the one I love... so please don’t stand in my way.”

Buenos Aires Street Art

Resisting the jet-lag fuelled temptation to crawl into bed for an afternoon nap, I decide to tackle the business of acquiring some Argentinian pesos and my concert tickets. However, it is Saturday and nothing appears to be open. The streets bustle with people speaking singsong Spanish and I catch myself devouring snippets of words and sentences like a guilty eavesdropper, trying to re-familiarize with the language. Tiendas and street stalls pour with bananas, frutas, and colourful beads and mirrored hearts. Stalls sell everything from plastic wrapped computer magazines to prayer candles, and the delicate scent of incense wafts everywhere. People, even in the heart of downtown, are incredibly friendly and helpful. While it is a busy jungle of concrete and bricks, Buenos Aires has no shortage of trees and greenery, unlike many large US cities, which stand entirely grey and manmade. Buildings are painted with roaring jaguars and psychedelic cats, and colour is an integral part of life. On the main street stands a massive billboard of Morrissey, crooning in all-white. Yes, South America loves you.

Billboard in Buenos Aires

Having been unable to obtain a Brazilian visa in time for the Sao Paulo gig on Sunday, our first concert stop is Paraguay, and we fly there Monday evening. The venue is nearer the airport than downtown, and we stay in the lone hotel adjacent to it. I feel anxious about picking up my will call tickets for the concert, as there seems to be absolutely no information about where the tickets can be found on my order printout. I have heard panic-drenched tales of GA shows where people have queued all day long only to discover the box office doesn’t open until doors, and as any seasoned Morrissey concertgoer knows, those extra minutes will absolutely spell disaster for making the barrier.

We traipse over to the venue, beside the football museum, outside of which stands a massive 30 foot tall football. Mostly deserted like the hotel itself, no one seems to be around except a man wearing a black and white uniform, sitting in a hut down the road. Metal gates surround everything... but I really want my tickets, so I shrug and push on one gingerly – is it unlocked?- and it creaks open. Perplexed, I scan the area for the venue entrance, but it seems sterile and signless, with no box office in sight. I’m so concerned with trying to find my tickets that I don’t notice the uniformed officer making his way towards me, scowling with military sternness. Uh-oh.

“Documentos” he demands brusquely, his eyes shielded by mirrored aviators. I fumble for my passport and try, in creaky Spanish, to ask if the box office is open because I would like to pick up some concert tickets. He speaks quickly, and I can feel my bogus veneer of calmness cracking, as he doesn’t seem terrifically thrilled we are opening gates and wandering around on his turf. I understand enough words to piece together that today will not be our day for ticket acquisition, and slink off like a rejected alley cat longing for treats.

Hmmm how on earth am I supposed to get my concert tickets?

Paraguay

An internet search leads us to believe our best chance might be to go to a nearby shopping centre to see if someone there will print them. A taxi ride takes us past orchards, street vendors, and stalls, and we zoom past waving palm trees. Class division is unbridled here, and the mall, with its designer shops and overpriced boutiques stands in gaudy contrast to the weather beaten shacks on the town’s outskirts. The rich must profit and get richer, and the poor must stay poor.

Americanization also haunts everywhere, as noxious KFC fumes steam the air, and gluttonous whopper Murder King posters line the shopping mall’s walls. Ugh. I try to stay focused on task, and luckily find the ticket kiosco and fumble my way through the order – success! Snagging tickets and a bottle of Malbec, we make our way back outside to hail a cab. This particular cab has no back windows, its seat belts are merely dangling ornamental straps, and as I sit on the sun-bleached back seat, I consider my fate of possibly dying in a taxi in Asuncion. I shrug carelessly, but notice the driver pulls his seatbelt on as we accelerate to over 100 km/hr on the blustery highway, as my hair flies into my mouth.

Later that night, while sipping the Malbec, a message from a friend in Mexico appears on my phone. The Spanish stands starkly before my eyes; no translation necessary. Tomorrow’s show in Paraguay is cancelled due to food poisoning. Is Morrissey okay? What is happening? Concern and sadness knife me, erupting through the wine’s fog, and I crumble into tears.

36 hours later...

We land again in Argentina – I’m a bundle of nerves, but thanks to some friends I am nurturing a little thread of hope that Friday’s gig in Buenos Aires will happen. I am, of course, a serial pessimist by nature, but I try to keep focusing on that magical moment Morrissey walks on stage, and that it will happen Friday, rather than the looming black cloud of ending up crying in bed. Distraction is a must when you are an emotionally messy person trying to cling to optimism, so I am pleased to learn of a beautiful cemetery nearby: La Recoleta. I spent many younger years terrified of cemeteries, but now I find them calming for the soul; there is a peacefulness about walking in silence amongst decades-old tombstones and mausoleums, devotions to lives once lived, air one breathed. There is also an undeniable sadness to them, but one thing I’ve learned in my 38 years is that attempts to avoid confronting that emotion only drag one below the surface, further into despondency.

La Recoleta

La Recoleta is an urban cemetery, with very little foliage, stone built on stone. Eva Peron is buried there, and to this day people come in long lines to pay their respects, looping colourful rosaries and flowers through the tomb’s wrought iron facade. Evita helped bring the women’s suffrage to Argentina, and was tirelessly active politically, helping working classes gain rights. One can’t help but consider how vastly different she is from American first lady Melania Trump, and again it seems modern times fall hopelessly backwards. Tragically, Evita died in her early 30’s from cancer, but achieved so much in her short life, it is said she is an everlasting part of Argentinian collective consciousness.

La Recoleta

Towering white stone dazzles against Argentina’s blue skies in the form of delicately weeping angels, and as you walk from tomb to tomb, you can often see within. Some mausoleums seem like afterlife parlours, complete with family portraits, candelabras, and chandeliers; many are in a state of crumbling decay, and cobwebs frame their bars like intricate lace. La Recoleta is like no place I have ever been, and time spent there passes swiftly, to the point of entrancement. Sadly, tourists with selfie sticks occasionally make unwanted appearances, but other live creatures are far more appealing, and I am happy to meet a sunbathing cemetery cat.

The day of the concert arrives, and we are scanned into DirectTV arena’s huge property, which lies somewhat out of town. My overwhelmed heart flits in my chest like a startled bird, and all I can do is picture Morrissey’s blue eyes and hope that in a few hours I will be looking into them. I am happy to meet some new friends in the queue, and beaming-with-energy Argentine fans are decked out ultra cool in black Morrissey t-shirts, while others wear dapper tailored floral shirts in the style of their hero.

Is it real that I am at the barrier, looking up at Germaine Greer’s beads and curls once again? I wrap my elbows around the cool, bruising metal as more and more fans rush into the massive 15,000 capacity arena. The show is sold out, and fans have come from all ends of the earth: the US, Japan, the UK, Belgium, and other South American countries like Chile and Uruguay. Adrenalin isn’t everyone’s best friend: some fall running in to the pit, and fights break out early; it might be a rough one tonight.

Pre show videos and then... curtain drops ... and I wait breathlessly for the little flashlight beam which means Morrissey is coming... my eyes dance and dart through the darkness... and then... he appears, wearing a midnight blue cardigan, dark jeans, and a James Dean tshirt that is cut at the neck into a v. Silver flecks in his hair and colourful chains around his neck catch diamond glimpses of light. In this moment, every mile travelled and second waited feels so, so worth it: my love, I’d do anything for you. Soon, my lovestruck joy is thrown into another turbulent mix, and I am reacquainted with anxiety’s pangs as there seems to be a technical issue, and “will the show go on?” creeps into my consciousness. However, the issue is taken care of, and time regains its flow, and the band launches into the first song of the night, William, It Was Really Nothing.

The crowd cheers, “We love you Morrissey” and Moz takes the hand of a young woman teetering on her friend’s shoulders. Fans build towers with their own bodies to get a better view of the man who wrote the songs that saved their lives. They also undoubtedly want a treasured moment where their idol sees them – a precious acknowledgement of mutual existence. Outpourings of love come from both the verbal and physical, with outstretched arms, “I love yous,” and “marry mes” springing from the crowd. Joy, catharsis, bliss. A rush and a push from behind forces me into the rail, but it is not painful, and strangely offers athletic exhilaration.

“It’s my life to destroy my own way,” Morrissey sings during Alma Matters, flicking the microphone cord with whip-like precision. These words continue to soothe even at this time in life, as my parents continue to judge my very existence. Fans sing along, loudly, and mostly out of key, but warmly with love and excitement. Many hold letters, presents, flags, flowers, and at one point a stuffed animal of some kind tumbles plumply onto the stage from the depths of the crowd.

Moz dedicates I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris to the people of Paris, as the city is currently burning in the midst of riots and protests against Macron’s government. A towering back drop photo displays a masked, yellow vested protester waving the French flag with clouds of heavy black smoke framing the Triumphal arch. Morrissey reaches for our hands, singing, “in the absence of human touch” and I’m again part of a tower of people, as second and third row fans climb towards the stage, on top of one another, filled with dreamlike admiration and unbridled devotion.

The air wavers in my ears as a wall of sound - cheers, chants – welcomes the first notes of How Soon Is Now? Guitars crunch with delicious force, and strobe lights flash. It’s nothing short of pure rapture. Morrissey softly sings My Life Is An Endless Succession Of People Saying Goodbye over the instrumental, his voice haunting and smooth, in near-whisper merging two songs, decades apart, into one. As How Soon Is Now fires into denouement, Morrissey kneels in front of the drumset while the band plays with furious on point passion, and Matt thrashes a giant golden gong. The floor vibrates, part with musical rhythm, and part with excited arena feet. Morrissey, South America luffs you so.

First Of The Gang opens with its strumming guitar chords, and the audience claps in time with the rhythm, cheering as Morrissey croons, “we are the pretty, petty thieves, and you’re standing on our streets...” The lights engulf him like moonlight and rosaries looped around his pants sway enchantingly as he moves. One lucky girl is pulled on stage for a hug and a burst of intensity from rows of people heaves forward once again. If You Don’t Like Me, Then Don’t Look At Me is a strong middle finger to talentless tabloidists incapable of writing anything beyond boring, soulless slander pieces and to the complainer ‘fans’ who never seem to go away. But - right now the arena beams and throbs with supportive love, and there is no better place to be in the world than at a Morrissey show.

Ripper in Buenos Aires

The tempo slows and lights drop, then pour fiery red for Jack The Ripper, and Morrissey ties his cardigan around his waist revealing his toned upper arms. I cannot even still my heart as he toys with his cardigan sleeves whilst singing, each note phrased with emotional force. He stretches his arms, singing “crash into my arms,” and at other times points with passionate, punctuating gesture, “I know you.” Jesse's guitar solo soars as Morrissey falls back into the fog, laugh-singing rhythmically: is he perhaps momentarily transported into Ripper himself? It is mesmerizing madness. 

Then... those chords... so dark, and deep... Life Is A Pigsty. “It’s the same old S.O.S... but with brand new broken fortunes... and once again I turn to you...” Morrissey sings, his voice smooth and strong... and I do turn to his words, his lyrics, his spirit, when times are hard: lifeguard save me from life. Percussive tears drive like raindrops, lights dance, and at times Morrissey holds his hand to his head. I wish there were some way to return the help he has given me in life – and, even in this room full of people climbing over me, pushing into me with urgency - in this moment - I feel completely safe and serene in his presence.

Life Is A Pigsty in Buenos Aires

It is getting near the time to say goodbye, my love, as Everyday Is Like Sunday’s chords stretch and dance in the air; we have reached the encore. Last chance for now limbs clamour for his hands and fans sing along ardently. During the last verse, Morrissey moves the microphone stand over to our side of the stage, and I am again devoured by a sea of bodies, but my eyes won’t leave him even under the hurricane force of countless other humans – when will I see him again? He tears his shirt off, dabs it on his torso, and throws it into the air, and we pounce with catlike dexterity to claim a coveted piece. The battle is rough, sweaty, and semi-savage, and my finger gets twisted into the fabric and nearly snaps. But ... then the reward, a beautiful, slightly damp incense-scented cuff, complete with two little buttons. I hold it close to my heart as I return into the darkness of a warm December night, 11,000 km away from the question mark of home.

"No pisar el cesped"