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