Mozzer Matters: Review: The Uncaged Heart: Morrissey in Grand Prairie and Austin, Texas

Part 1:

You couldn’t get me out of town fast enough. Winding streets down to the highway drawled in a rush hour crawl and the airport remained a faraway prize. The early evening sky hung in looming confusion over rows of bland suburban houses, looking like a damp charcoal sweater. Still ... the evening sun battled its way through the gaps, and suddenly a sleek rainbow appeared, stretching felinelike into the beyond. I hoped it was a good sign.

It almost felt like a prison escape; the last trials before freedom. I had been watching the first 6 shows from afar ... my friends had sent videos and I loved them for it, but it wasn’t the same as being there. Nothing comes close. So I really wanted to get out of my hometown, and on to the Morrissey tour.

Morrissey in Austin

But of course, the first hurdle: flight delays. And the added stress of having to make the next one, and the one after that, as it would take 3 flights, including a red eye to Toronto, to get down to Texas. Chattering nerves in my head could barely be quelled by cheapo airplane wine, notes of bitter sediment and fuel, but my heart was more joyful than it had been in months... I would be seeing Morrissey in less than 48 hours!

A wall of wet heat hits as I arrive in Dallas, and in Canadian confusion I wonder how mid-September can blaze like the dead of summer. Blasting down the freeway, we pass billboards screeching Jesus, shotguns, psychics, fast-food, and rows of sagging Texas-sized American flags. It’s all reminiscent of the culture shock of my last visit here in 2017.

The next morning, we arrive early at the venue to queue, as it is a general admission show. I’m second on the list but still nervous because I want a good spot on the barrier, and there are often unknowns... like how many doors will open at once? Will chaotic venue security lines make the queue go out of order? I can feel nerves biting at my fingertips like frost.

Doors open. I go through security quickly – no one is ahead of me – but then I’m faced with an older woman holding a ticket scanner. She aims the scanner's blinding red beam at my ticket. Blep. Nothing. She tries again... the beam searches hopelessly... still nothing. Uh oh.

“Maa’aam, your ticket doesn’t work,” she informs me, in Texan drawl.

“That’s impossible. I got it at the box office!” I retort, adrenaline and panic racing through my veins, for this would not be the first time I am faced with failing ticket scanners.

“Well you better get on back,” she replies, with devastating nonchalance.

The box office is outside the venue: no way am I losing precious minutes. I run past her, clutching my ticket and a pit wristband, and am rather impressed at my own daredevil assertiveness. Another triangular-haired woman wearing an usher’s vest waves with schoolmarm terseness insisting I must put my wrist band on before running down a confusion of stairs to the pit. “You must!” I feel as though I might black out... yet somehow the wrist band makes it on and my feet find their way to the barrier, Jesse’s side.

Rules. Sigh.

But I am here... I made it!

I’m standing next to two tour friends, one of whom hails from Austin, so this will be a home state show for her. We are abuzz with excitement, and being reunited is another element of tour that makes it so brilliant. Our collective memories from gigs past add to the euphoric atmosphere... I feel like I’m on the tip of a dream – is anything real?

Paul Banks and Brad Truax of Interpol

Huge scarlet letters on the stage backdrop read INTERPOL and a disco ball hangs in the darkness. Tonight is my first time seeing Interpol, and in all honesty I did not research them much before these gigs, so have no clue what to expect. They walk out, dressed head to toe in black suits like hip undertakers, and wordlessly begin picking echoing minor notes. The frontman, Paul Banks, sings reflectively, exuding shyness from behind his dark sunglasses, and wiry guitarist Kessler dances on the more uptempo songs in a quick-footed solo box-step. I am most captivated by Interpol’s rhythm section: tall, strapping Truax plays a wicked bass, with intricate lines and a deep groove, and Fogarino, wearing dad glasses, rages on drums with expert precision. On this first viewing, I like them quite a lot – and in upcoming shows I grow to downright love their sets, finding myself dancing and singing along... but this first night, all I can think of is how much I can’t wait to see Morrissey again.

Broadway was less than 5 months ago, but summer dragged.

After Interpol, the lights drop again and pre-show videos begin. Always an eye into Morrissey’s incredibly good taste, there is a mix of Bowie, Siouxie Soux, and the Ramones, while the rarer side includes an upbeat song I have never heard before called Loop Di Love, featuring a dude with dazzling sideburns parading down the street surrounded by a bevy of curvaceous hot pants girls. It is so seventies! And I’m here for it! My favourite new addition is Chilean force Mon Laferte, who sings Tu Falta De Querer with unbridled passion, tears streaming down her face.

The past several months of my life surge towards this moment, as giant James Baldwins look down from the backdrop, and waves of fog roll across the floor of the stage. It can’t be written or intellectualized in any way – and the moment just is. Morrissey emerges from backstage, with his hands in his pockets, a vision of simple elegance, and I’m sure all breath leaves me as my eyes drink him in and my heart catches itself.

As the band takes their positions, he walks towards the microphone, and lights bathe him in a champagne wash. He leans in, and sings, “You gave up the only one who ever loved you...” adding a slight country twang to his voice... and the band jumps into the driving first notes of You’re Gonna Need Someone On Your Side. Morrissey picks up a glittering tambourine and it dazzles and crashes rhythmically against the palm of his hand. Jesse’s guitar fuels fierce coolness, and Mando’s bassline rolls on devil-may-care swagger. How I’ve missed such energy. In a flash of silver, Morrissey flings the tambourine over his head – luckily impaling no one – and I squeak with delight!

Morrissey charms his setlist with a great balance of songs from both his older and newer catalogue, from Hairdresser On Fire’s busy scissors to I Wish You Lonely’s last tracked humpback whale. It is an entire embrace of various decades and tempos, yet always timeless.

Timeless: Jack the Ripper in Grand Prairie

“Well, it’s not that bad for a Wednesday night,” Moz quips and “we love yous” erupt from the volcanic depths of the pit. His silver quiff catches threads of light and he has grown it slightly longer, wisps now touch barely below his ears. The look suits him, especially in person, and he exudes distinguished style with a kiss of vintage cool. His broad shoulders are complemented by a deep navy suit jacket adorned with a large glittering “M” and various other pins, including a cat. He wears a charcoal blue dress shirt and dark wash jeans, and appears much younger than his 60 years; in fact, he is ageless. And ... allow me a moment to gush: he is dreamy.

Tonight’s set also includes songs from new covers album California Son, starting with an ethereal rendition of Jobriath’s Morning Starship. This will be my first time seeing Lady Willpower live, and Morrissey’s voice ranges from soft and compelling on the verses, to soaring romantic crooner on the chorus. And then – he moves towards my side of the stage, bending down to gently shake my hand, and my friend’s hand, and in an instant, time truly stops. I am beaming, happy, and as my heart swells, every moment leading up to this one suddenly makes sense.

Lady Willpower in Grand Prairie

From the reflective, melancholic stillness of Seasick Yet Still Docked under somber blue lights, to Something Is Squeezing My Skull’s uptempo charging chaos, the music captures a complex realm of human emotion. The brokenhearted’s wounds are cleansed, and the troubled outsider is somehow unified. Mundane, everyday existence, which doesn’t welcome such facets of emotion, is, in these moments, a distant memory, and our newly uncaged hearts sing.

For the encore, Morrissey returns to the stage in a light blue jacket, embroidered with crimson birds and flowers, and a dark blue Texas merch tee. He stands before floor-to ceiling Bruce Lees as strobe lights flicker and How Soon Is Now? guitars wail those familiar pulse-raising notes. His voice begins the son and heir verse, smooth and slow, but as the song climaxes, it intensifies, and he adds yelps and “no’s” and impassioned “nows!” It becomes impossible to tell if thunderous thumps are coming from the floor, my heart, or Matt’s bass drum as Morrissey tears his jacket off, and then, his Texas tshirt, tossing it into the urgent limbs of the crowd.

***

Austin shouts boldly: cacti continue to fascinate me, and lit-up strips of bars boom with energy and youth, while whiskered guys in cowboy or trucker hats serve overflowing whiskey shots. I take most of it in from the safety of corner tables, as I haven’t consumed enough to escape my overriding introversion. Even at 10 pm the air is heavy with heat, and as much as I’m having fun, my mind drifts to morning queuing.

A friend from New York arrives, and the next morning, hangovers and jetlag be damned, we line up early at the venue to discover we will be given numbered wrist bands and can go wherever we please until one hour before doors. This does not happen often, and feels practically luxurious. It’s a calming reprieve from faulty ticket scanners and frantic ultra-panic. Not to mention, outside, wind storms rattle the 100 degree heat with swirling eruptions of prickling desert dust.

Tonight, from centre barrier, for at least a few hours, I escape the complexities of my own head, as well as the drear and dread of the looming outside world. The night is some parts exultant celebration, some parts catharsis, while my free roaming senses and heart drink in every moment. I can never understand people who claim Morrissey is miserable: he’s witty, clever, and authentic. His lyrics reflect upon the pains of human life, of unrequited love, loneliness, depression, most certainly – but – such reflection is not a miserable thing; for me misery lies in the burying of true emotion, that strange, unnatural requirement of daily modern life that suffocates the soul. Here, for just a few hours, I feel free.

Morrissey in Austin wearing The Vest <3

How Soon Is Now? opens the set, roaring back at a roaring Texan crowd. Always one to notice Moz fashion, I am all heart-eyes to see him don the vest (waistcoat to Brits) in person for the first time. He wears the vest over a light blue button up shirt and dark wash jeans, complimented by a bold pearl rosary. “I am human and I need to be loved...” he sings, bending down to shake our hands, and I feel near-certain I am dreaming.

Songs from California Son truly sparkle live, and Morrissey describes the album as a celebration of American music, adding, “I know you think American music... well, I don’t know what you think really, but many people think it’s Michael Jackson, Twisted Sister, and it’s NOT.” Guffaws erupt at even the mention of Twisted Sister.

Familia - in Austin

“Familia, familia, familia,”and the band launches into Break Up The Family to a rapture of whistles, cheers, and screams. Morrissey’s smooth, powerful voice begins softly, accompanied by shimmering guitar chords and echoing percussion: “I want to see all my friends tonight.”

Another new addition to the set this tour is dark rocker Never Again Will I Be A Twin. From the deluxe edition of Low In High School, this bass and drum driven track lurches with cascading guitars and hauntingly pessimistic lyrics that bite back. It’s been one of my favourites since first listen, and played live it's a luxuriously eerie trip through the depths of despondency atop a pulsating tempo that pummels the chest. And yet – through such depths – it heals and exorcises in breathtaking minutes. It’s nothing short of otherworldly.

Melanie’s Some Say I Got Devil follows Twin, opening with Gustavo’s muted trumpet, while wisps of smoke frame Morrissey under a single spotlight. The lights switch from ice blue to fire, angel and devil, and Morrissey’s voice fills with emotion: “some say I got devil, some say I’m an angel...” as phrases swell onto another spiritual plane. The song is well suited to him, a Gemini who penned “I Am Two People,” and one who is so deeply loved by fans, yet so horribly maligned by the press. And still... amidst such contrasting response he is ultimately and beautifully human - himself. There is no one else like him. Stage lights drop... and he stands still as Gustavo’s piano fills the atmosphere...

“and all the things, that I have seen can be hidden in a part of my dreams,

gonna hide it in this dream...”

I can’t help but feel as if my heart is in my hands, eyes – everywhere... is time even existent?

For the last song, Morrissey returns to the stage, wearing a black James Dean t-shirt and a pale pink jacket. “Why do you come here, and why... oh why... why do you hang around?” he sings, and Suedehead dances in our ardent ears. He rips his t-shirt off, flinging it into the audience, and showers us with “I love yous,” before disappearing into the hot Texan night.

I’m not sure if my feet even touch the ground til several hours later.