Review - Part 1: Morrissey in Phoenix

A review of Morrissey at The Orpheum Theatre in Phoenix 

Winter months in the Pacific Northwet drag in never-ending cloud and drizzle, with daylight merely a grey midday gasp before darkness seeps in not long after 3pm. It’s easy to feel discouraged and moody, and combined with the dismal state of the news – quite suffocated and hopeless. At some point, it becomes difficult to function without something to look forward to – a light – so I knew, with no other Morrissey shows announced yet, it was time to cave and buy tickets for Cruel World Festival. I’m not typically a festival girl: it’s often a long, hot day, and the stage always feels impossibly high and far away – but I was missing Morrissey and my friends – and I needed a light, and some hope.

As spring finally teased the sun out, and as the birds returned and blossoms plumped expectantly, a Moz Vegas Residency for 2022 was announced, and shortly thereafter – in April – two last-minute small theatre shows, in Phoenix and San Luis Obispo – were announced for the week leading up to Cruel World. In my heart there was no debate, no debate – and even though our flights for the festival were already booked – last minute travel changes had to be made. The light, at one point so distant, felt nearly within grasp.

In the air on the plane down to Phoenix, I’m lighter than air, with an energy that would have seemed unimaginable back in January. I continue to feel somewhat haunted by “is this really happening?” thoughts post-2020. I want to rip away that part of my spirit that was so darkened by almost 2 years of hiding and restrictions because I don’t want to be restricted from doing the things I love any more, or ever again, and I still sense the fear of it creeping up when I experience joy. I felt it on the way down to Vegas, and I feel it, however with slightly more distance, now.

A wall of thick heat envelops air conditioned skin as soon as I step outside Phoenix Sky Harbour airport, and I drag my typically overpacked suitcase across the rideshare islands. My legs feel a little wobbly – is it from economy’s cramped lack of legroom or from excitement?  My bets are on excitement. Soon I will see my friends: some coming from overseas that I haven’t seen in nearly 3 years, and in not much more than 24 hours: Morrissey.

The day of the gig, I awake fairly early, a rarity as I’m nocturnal by nature, and decide to take a walk down to the venue. Tonight there will be an intimate GA pit at the front of the stage, so queuing begins not long after, and familiar faces beam with anticipation, jitters, and life. The Phoenix sun beats down mercilessly on terracotta pavement, dancing in mirage, and little black birds skitter about sparse trees thirsting for the promise of shade. Looking up at the Orpheum - a Spanish baroque style theatre, I note dehydrated gargoyles open-mouthed and frozen in stone, baking under the bluest sky I’ve seen in almost a year. I’m uncomfortably hot and yet – it’s beyond glorious.

Showered and vibrant at 6 pm, we line up for pit wristbands at the side of the venue. I’m buzzing with pre-show jitters and am barked at by a joyless older woman working in the box office, who seems bizarrely intent on further shredding my nerves to pieces, as I shakingly put on my wristband. However, most of the other venue staff are amiable, and we find our places in line and prepare to zoom into the lobby as soon as doors open. Inside, rich burgundy carpets line the floors with 1920’s and 30’s cinematic glamour, and gilded pillars and pediments give the impression one has been shrunken and is standing inside an intricate velvet jewellery box. As we wait, the usher, an older gentleman, finds our passion and nerves somewhat endearing, and imparts a brief history of the venue, the details of which escape me as soon as I hear them. Nervous anticipation eats my fingertips with fine electric jolts, and my heart beats forcefully against my ribs.

As theatre doors open, we are, as usual, advised not to run through the darkness.  I manage to snag a place on the barrier, between centre stage and Jesse’s and Gustavo’s side. I am surrounded by friends from all over the world and we catch up under atmospheric blue lights, taking photos, and gazing ahead at the stage, and I notice the vivid yellow bass drum head is bestowed with a young Mr. Burt Reynolds sans moustache, and some very familiar handwriting: “Why... Por Que?” It is not until someone mentions “look how beautiful the theatre is” that I take in the world behind and above me: ornate and rounded theatre walls leafed with gold impart Romeo and Juliet romance, and the ceiling above is painted to appear a lofty blue sky, softened with wisps of cloud.

Pre-show music fills the air, and as minutes count down, we begin wondering if there will be no videos tonight. Could our reunion be in mere moments? And... as the lights drop further, and that familiar dramatic chord thunders a low rumble, Morrissey and his band emerge from backstage, eliciting famished screams of excitement, joy, and admiration. He gives a swift, playful kick towards the audience, bows, and walks to the microphone stand. This evening he wears a classic black tailored suit and white dress shirt, finished with a black and red bow tie, and I feel my heart overflowing into my eyes... somehow... as I have no other words to describe such a beautiful sensation. He looks so handsome, and the world around me seems to disappear, even though it is screaming, urgent, and present. There is a light – and finally, he is here.

1-2-3-4 snaps off the drumsticks and the band launches into We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful, that Your Arsenal ode to music scene spurred jealousy, which hasn’t been played live since 1992! Morrissey swings the microphone stand to the numbers' upbeat tempo and Alain's and Jesse’s guitars riff energetically above the crowds exuberant cheers. “Ha... ha... ha... ha... ha...” we sing along with delicious emphasis and on those last accented notes, ecstatic cheers dazzle my ears. Pure bliss... and we are only just beginning.

Next up is slower tempo-ed Disappointed, with its pulsating, nearly tribal drums and swaying, echoing instrumentals. The last time this Everyday is Like Sunday b-side was played live is 2014, and tonight is my first time seeing it in concert. And... those lyrics! My soul is unshackled from a lifetime of “people who are ‘nice’,” as we sing with Morrissey: “don’t talk to me no... about people who are ‘nice,’ because I have spent my whole life in ruins because of people who are ‘NICE.’” The cathartic release at a Morrissey concert is monumental, because for many of us, his lyrics keep us sane on a planet that is anything but sane. To share his words with him in the flesh, as he sings them, so beautifully, is a feeling like no other.

Tonight we time travel, as we are next propelled 30 years forward to two songs from 2020’s I Am Not A Dog on A Chain: with Knockabout World reminding us we have, somehow, indeed survived, and Once I Saw The River Clean’s transportive descriptions of walks with grandmother. Songs spanning the breadth of Morrissey’s extensive catalogue captivate throughout the setlist, evoking human emotion and thoughtfulness in such rare depth and capacity; he is truly one of a kind. And we, his fans, know this – and share a special dialogue with him – as he shakes our hands, and we pass gifts and letters up to him: there is no concert on earth like a Morrissey concert. The theatre overflows with outpourings of love and joy, and as much as clickbait papers steeped in sour negativity try to unjustly drag his name – our bond stands firm: we luff him.

“It’s very hard to believe in these ridiculous times...but we are about to release a new single...” and to the audience's lucky roars of anticipation, guitars and hi-hat draw us in to the bright, uptempo opening of I Am Veronica. First listen - I am entirely enraptured. “I... I... I... I... I... am Veronica. The game I play is older than America” Morrissey sings, blessing our ears with the immeasurable thrill of hearing the debut of his brand new song. It is vibrant and catchy, with feisty backing vocals, accentuated percussion, and radiant guitars, and Morrissey’s voice soars above all, captivating. The “top-bell” line plays off the bell-tone style guitar riffs and the lyrics are enigmatically engaging, and fans well-I-wonder their meaning after the gig.  I can’t stop singing it in my head and hear it all night and as soon as I wake up, replaying it to the best of my bewitched and bedazzled memory. Its magic makes me even more excited for the new album, Bonfire of Teenagers, which I hope is coming soon.

The Loop is a spirited crowd pleaser, and Morrissey is super-ultra dashing in his suit whilst shaking maracas, eliciting squeals and shrieks, while the audience sways to rockabilly beats. Juan Galeano Toro is ablaze on upright bass, the band is tight, and Phoenix is on fire. “I just wanna say, I haven’t been away... I am still right here, where I always was...” gives me goosebumps every time. And then... the tempo slows, as I Know It’s Over’s mournful lines make hearts and eyes raw with lifetimes of unrequited longing. Tonight is my first time seeing I Know It's Over live; it is one of my favourite Smiths songs, and Morrissey sings it with such honest, sorrowful emotion. I am transported back to the first night I heard his music, in summer 2014: it was as if someone opened my own heart and explained it back to me for the first time... I am not sure there is another way to explain it. This was one of the first songs I heard that night, and I went home and hungrily bought a number of Morrissey and Smiths albums – at last I was born! Morrissey’s lyrics are a lifeline for so many of us, for where would we be on this lonely planet without them?: “it’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate, it takes strength to be gentle and kind.”

The show continues with beloved beauties from 2004’s glorious You Are The Quarry, including Irish Blood, English Heart and First Of The Gang To Die. The ardent energy of singing voices, outstretched arms, and jumping bodies soars to the sky, and living in the moment, living in the moment, makes all the waiting months before worthwhile. “I’d like to say thank you for wheeling yourself down here tonight. I hope you didn’t mind coming all this way,” Morrissey takes off his elegant black suit jacket to screams of I love you, and the band envelops us with Jack The Ripper’s haunting phrases.  Cacti-encrusted Phoenix morphs into back-alley sooty Victorian East-end London, as clouds of fog billow towards the theatre’s gilded walls. Morrissey swings his jacket in hand with the teasing playfulness of a cat, and his shirt is unbuttoned to expose his gorgeous neck; a rosary given to him by a young fan earlier in the show dangles from his back pocket, swaying with the music. We crash into his arms, entirely hypnotized. Moz “ha, ha, ha’s” wildly, devilishly, leading into the fierce guitar solo – it is devastatingly, deliciously intoxicating, and the crowd is all limbs of raw vitality.

Photo by Erich Bloenk on Instagram

For the encore, Morrissey reappears in a LaWanda Page “Watch it Sucka!" tee under a dark blue blazer, and the punk percussive energy of Sweet and Tender Hooligan swells the frenzied audience to the point the pit floor trembles - “and in the midst of life we are in debt, et cetera!” A friend gets on stage for a hug, and Morrissey removes his blue jacket and flings it into the screaming, adoring crowd. “Et cetera... et cetera...” he rips open his t-shirt, and moves across the length of the stage. We lock eyes, and he comes over to shake my hand, and for that moment, the chaotic crowd entirely disappears, and I am certain my feet are not touching the earth. I immediately dissolve into the happiest, most grateful tears.


I can’t wait to do it all again in San Luis Obispo <3

With thanks to those who encouraged me to write after a particularly long stretch of writer's block, and thanks to friends who helped by sharing photos and videos <3

All photos my own unless otherwise credited