Top Ten Morrissey Moments 2017

As 2017 draws to a close, we find ourselves attempting to make sense of yet another year soon to be cast into the history books. How do we wrap our heads around this one? On a global level, the year was fraught with chaos and palpable concern that things may not improve any time soon. Being pessimistic by nature (or is it learned - how can we ever truly know?), it’s always been difficult for me to feel hopeful, and I know it’s this way for many of us... so, if you’ve survived 2017, that in itself is something to be proud of.

The dawn of a new year is traditionally considered a time of reflection and resolution (a bit daunting, no?), so how do we extract ourselves from the quicksand of obsessing over the year’s pangs? In actuality, there’s nothing wrong with feeling sad, or lonely, and perhaps in denying these emotions we merely intensify negative affect. You are allowed to feel. I guess the point is to find a degree of balance, and that, for some semblance of well being, we ought to remind ourselves there remains some beauty in the world, whether it be found through art, nature, or even something as abstract and elusive as our own dreams.

Beauty through art: Morrissey at Madison Square Garden

And yes, sometimes those of us who are considered ‘downers’ get a bad rap... the other night while scrolling through Twitter I saw a quote, splattered across a stock photo sunset, urging people to “stop living in your head!” I think I can almost grasp what the motivational types were getting at, but there were no helpful hints explaining how one can extract oneself from the mind – so... at best it felt like another useless reminder I can’t do anything right.

Hmmm... well that’s enough reflecting for now. As for making New Year’s Resolutions, I wasn’t sure if people were still doing that, so I took to Twitter to ask the admittedly lacklustre question, and found that most people are so bored by the idea of resolutions, they couldn’t even be bothered to answer the poll – and many of those that did, just can’t see the bloody point.

Do you make New Years Resolutions?

Yes every year - 16 %
Sometimes - 25 %
No, because I can't keep them - 16 %
What's the bloody point? - 44 %

"Oh, what's the bloody point." - Kenneth Williams

Whether you’re spending the night prowling around a packed sweaty nightclub, making a to-do list for 2018, or sighing into a dry glass of mediocre champagne on your couch, I hope you at least find a few hours of enjoyment this weekend...

Now, let’s get started on what I’m really here for, which is to list the Top Ten Morrissey Moments of 2017.

Unfortunately, the press made this a difficult year at times. I can attest that a large number of fans are tired of whiny, negatively-slanted articles published by The Guardian, NME, and Slicing Up Eyerolls, that seem to just cut, paste, and splice each other’s misleading headlines together. It is one thing to disagree with something someone says, but it’s quite another to twist their words, insert meaning that is not there, and attack their character. You have to wonder if those spewing such hate have made any effort to understand anything about Morrissey and his art.

"It takes strength to be gentle and kind"

However, there were many beautiful high points this year. Let’s take a look at some of the best moments of 2017:

1. Low In High School

Recorded in Italy and France during the summer of 2017, and released on November 17^th, Low In High School is a thought-provoking masterpiece album that shows Morrissey and his band in excellent form. Lyrically, the record covers everything from war, to the media, to opened legs, to the police, and Moz demonstrates his unmatched agility with language, forming words into electric poetry that strikes every chord, touched and untouched, in your heart. Combine such lyrical prowess with his voice, smooth and powerful as ever, and the polished, ear-catching instrumental creativity of Boz Boorer, Jesse Tobias, Gustavo Manzur, Mando Lopez, and Matt Walker - and the result is goosebumps and a record you can’t help but want to listen to on repeat. The addition of Mando Lopez is especially noteworthy, as his innovative basslines provide a central heartbeat to the album, and he has a writing credit on the stunning, soul-stirring track Home Is A Question Mark (probably my favourite!)

2. US Low In High School Tour

Morrissey’s US Tour to debut Low In High School ran from October to December and featured two sold-out nights at the sprawlingly glamorous Hollywood Bowl. While the last three shows were not meant to be, the concerts were vibrant nights filled with energy, and the new songs sounded spectacular. I was lucky enough to attend 7 of the concerts, and for me, the nights at the Paramount Theatre in Seattle, The Masonic in San Francisco, and The Theater at Madison Square Garden in New York City were breathtaking. 

Morrissey wearing a sparkly jacket in Seattle

Morrissey in San Francisco

3. Spent The Day In Bed

September saw the release of the first single from Low In High School, Spent The Day In Bed. A Morrissey/Manzur compilation featuring catchy intricate keyboards and zeitgeist-fuelled lyrics, the song promotes self-care in the midst of a potentially draining world. Moz demonstrates his career-spanning talent for weaving self-deprecating humour into his lines: “I’m not my type but I love my bed” and his voice is in top form. Spent The Day In Bed debuted at Number One on the Vinyl Charts with Ramones cover Judy Is A Punk as a b-side.

4. Morrissey gets his own Day!

November 10^th, was declared Morrissey Day in Los Angeles. I think Mayor Garcetti says it best:

"Los Angeles embraces individuality, compassion, and creativity, and Morrissey expresses those values in a way that moves Angelenos of all ages... Morrissey Day celebrates an artist whose music has captivated and inspired generations of people who may not always fit in - because they were born to stand out." 

Photo via lowinhighschoolmorrissey on Instagram

It’s fantastic to see Moz looking so happy. Check out the video by SER (watch til the end for the little dance):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-CDCNId_aU

5. Morrissey Returns to Mexico

Mexican fans love Moz – and they were overjoyed this March, when he returned to Mexico for the first time in nearly six years for a four date tour including Monterrey, Puebla, Roxy Fest in Guadalajara, and a sold-out concert in Mexico City to a crowd of 22,500. Some highlights of the tour included There Is A Light That Never Goes Out and When Last I Spoke To Carol (both played live for the first time since 2012), Moz playing with a black bra that was thrown on stage, the band decked out in "Fuck Trump" t shirts, and Moz wearing a stunning sparkly jacket. The sparkly jacket was, in fact, so magical, that I considered giving it its very own position on this Top Ten list. It reappeared, in  all of its glorious glitteriness, in Seattle (see photo above), and then the Hollywood Bowl, where Morrissey threw it to the crowd and it was caught by a very devoted long time fan.

Crowd in Mexico City via farkomalarco on Insgragram

Morrissey in Mexico by violetisha on Instagran

6. Brand New Videos!

In October we were treated to the video from lead single Spent The Day In Bed, featuring cameos by David Hoyle and Joey Barton, and Morrissey being pushed around by his bandmates in a wheelchair. Many of us mused over the symbolism of the wheelchair: did it allude to the shackles of the music industry, that Moz feels most free while he’s singing, or was it connected to the theme of spending the day in bed?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rmAi9XmlIo

Following quick on the heels of Spent The Day In Bed, the video for Jacky’s Only Happy When She’s Up On Stage was released in late November. Jacky features go-go dancers and a vibrant colour scheme reminiscent of the late 60’s and early 70’s – and Moz is much more mobile than in the previous wheelchair-bound vid, swaying his hips and looking oh-so-dapper in a pinstripe suit stitched with a butterfly on the sleeve. The band dons turquoise satin suits and shows off some semi-choreographed moves, and Boz ... almost falls over.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZuB5TWrSv4

7. The Return Of The Cardigan

2017 has been an exquisite year for cardigans, with Morrissey stepping out in a peacock-feather embellished cardi by Alexander McQueen on French TV show C à Vous Live in October, and then appearing on stage during his US tour in a dashing navy blue and white cardigan not once, not twice, but three times... in San Francisco, Salt Lake City, and New York City (2 of which I attended – how I didn’t swoon right there in the pit, I’ll never know!). As far as I'm aware - and I like to keep track of these very important matters - we haven’t seen so many on-stage cardigans in the same year since 2002 and 2009, which were both very big years for Moz cardis. As a bonus, we were also blessed with some Handsome Devil Hollywood Bowl sound check photos taken by Sam – with Mozzer wearing the debonair knit wear item yet again – sigh... my heart is all a-flutter.

Cardigan Moz on French TV

Moz in San Francisco - Photo by mischievousnose on Instagram

Moz at Hollywood Bowl soundcheck - photo by SER
https://www.instagram.com/sam_esty_rayner_photography/

8. Morrissey Covers Back On The Chain Gang

It’s well known that animal lovers Morrissey and Chrissie Hynde have been good friends for many years, so when Moz and the band appeared on BBC6 and covered The Pretenders’ 1984 tune, Back On The Chain Gang, it was an extra special moment. They nailed the cover and kept it on the setlist for the US tour. In Autobiography, Morrissey describes Chrissie as “by far the funniest person I have ever met.”

Morrissey and Chrissie Hynde

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkc9jRc69SM

9. Heavenly Set-lists

Many rarities were included on the setlist this year, with songs spanning Morrissey’s solo and Smiths career. Back in April, in Dallas, we were treated to Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me for the first time since 2012. At the Portland concert on Halloween, Morrissey and his band performed (yes, I know only seals perform, but I’m mixing up my verbs here) Smiths number I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish live for the first time ever. More catalogue highlights include I’m Not Sorry (first time live since 2012), Munich Air Disaster 1958 (first time since 2004), Hold Onto Your Friends (first time since 1997), Glamorous Glue (first time since 1992), and In The Future When All’s Well (first time since 2007).

Moz and Boz performing I Started Something I Couldn't
Finish in Portland, Oregon via babyj on YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUs_3-EPTXY

10. Live At Maida Vale

In October, divinely decked out in a smashing Gucci jacket, Morrissey appeared on BBC 6 Live at Maida Vale studios and introduced a number of songs off his new album, including Spent The Day In Bed, I Wish You Lonely, Jacky’s Only Happy When She’s Up On Stage, When You Open Your Legs, Home Is A Question Mark, and All The Young People Must Fall In Love.

Morrissey at Maida Vale via mozoccasions on Instagram

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGQh7bYXDcI

And... my vote for best merch items of the year goes to the black cat pin, and the Low In High School scarf.

Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year!

East Coast Tour Part 2: Morrissey at Madison Square Garden in New York

I’m walking through the lobby of the Hyatt in Boston, and there are Christmas wreaths, bows, and bells everywhere. That I can handle, but the music, it permeates everything... perhaps because music evokes emotions and memories much more strongly than any other medium. Santa Baby (I’ve always found it creepy) sends me over the edge towards panic and I momentarily feel like blacking out. The same tired Xmas music and advertising jingle bells hell reminds me that December really feels like a drag.  It all just seems so forced. When did I become so jaded?

As a child, I enjoyed Christmas, but now in social anxiety driven adulthood, I dread it – it seems like code for something I’m not part of: I just can’t feign frivolity - and I know I’m not unique in feeling this way. I've heard if you have kids it's different. Maybe, maybe not.

I wonder if I will see Morrissey again before having to face Christmas. The fate of the Boston concert seems uncertain, as Philadelphia was cancelled two nights before. Within minutes of finding out about the cancellation in Philly, our airbnb cat, Soren (named after existentialist philosopher Soren Kierkegaard) comforted me by settling her warm, purring body onto my lap. It’s the first time a cat has sat in my lap since my own cat passed away last year.

“Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”

- Kierkegaard

Soren the cat

As usual, I need to try to live in the moment, and somehow not stress out. Free from tinsel’s trappings and into the open air, one of my goals is to visit Boston Common, a park in the middle of downtown Boston that features a bronze sculpture called “Make Way For Ducklings.” There’s also a massive duck pond and a number of extra friendly chubby squirrels that respond when you talk to them or blow kisses. My mood lifts and I buy a little bag of cashews to share with them. In my head I naively feel very Snow White as I hold a cashew between my fingers and a fluffy squirrel leaps towards me, with no coaxing necessary. Before I can even blink, the brazen squirrel does a crazy Bruce Lee 360-degree turn mid-air and ... tears the cashew (and the skin) from my hand, which is now bleeding. Boston squirrels are intense.

Make Way For Ducklings

Some Squirrels Are Bigger Than Others

Not long later, there is an announcement that the Boston concert is cancelled. I’m glad I’m not alone and am with a friend. My heart sinks: it’s a seated show and I had front row tickets – but more than that, I wasn’t mentally prepared to say goodbye – not yet. Most importantly, I hope Moz and the band are healthy and that it’s nothing too serious. The news really hits when we are at Whole Foods later that evening, and Spent The Day In Bed fatefully pours over the speakers – I can almost feel tears start to well. It bothers me how some faceless people online will criticize, because I know it hurts Moz to cancel: “I put myself through torture. One cancelled show and I lower my face on to a hot stove for six weeks.”

While the tour didn’t end as I had hoped, I had some wonderful times with some great friends, and the concert in New York City was one of the best nights of my life.

Let’s go back...

I’m in an uber travelling from La Guardia airport to our hotel in midtown Manhattan and to be honest, it’s simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Moments in, I let out a teensy yelp as a car cuts us off, with seemingly no room to enter. New York traffic: it’s wall-to-wall cars across 5 lanes and constant honking horns and gestures that are absolutely vile. We're already immersed in inky darkness and the famed skyline glistens in the distance as we crawl towards our destination. A large bus (not double-decker, unfortunately) nearly drives on top of my side of the car: by the time our uber ride comes to an end, I’m pretty sure I've nearly died at least 3 times.

The buildings in New York City tower, black, sooty, casting shadows upon shadows. They suffocate from above, and on the zooming streets below, countless people walk and wander, from tourists to businessmen to the homeless. The class juxtaposition is disturbing: a woman drenched in diamonds may be only a few steps away from a man sleeping under a crumpled blanket of newspaper. The rich must profit and get richer, and the poor must stay poor. Stands crammed with faux-designer handbags and sweaty food trucks pepper the sidewalks, ground floors typically remain behind wrought iron bars, and second floors beam neon signs for palmists, psychics, and variations on ‘massage’. A chain-smoking man selling Egyptian cat statues from the back of a van screams obscenities and pizza stands sling slices nearly the size of truck tires. It’s overwhelming even by big city standards.

Early in the morning, well before sunrise, we make our way to Madison Square Garden to line up. It’s freezing, and I’m swaddled in double scarves and blankets. I am 9^th on the list, and I gingerly lay my sleeping bag against a wall peppered with cigarette butts and onyx grime. Oh, the things I do for this man, I giggle. My love I’d do anything for you. In all my 30-something years, I had never camped or slept outside before Morrissey. Queuing makes me feel content, as strange as that may sound to some; I wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world

People think we are street kids and offer us food – we politely decline and explain we are lining up for a concert. A man with swaying dreadlocks gets a massive kick out of us: “You guys are crazy. If you are so determined you can do this, you will go far in life” he laughs, taking a long sip from a dented mega-can of beer. I consider the fact that I’m not-so-sure in other moments in my life I’m tremendously determined, but the thought is nice. Tumbleweeds of errant garbage twirl and swirl in the wind, and as the sun begins to rise, plump Penn station pigeons strut about like tiny businessmen in shiny grey suits.

A friend from Japan surprises us with some beautiful presents: a magazine from Singapore, some Japanese Tour Posters, and a vinyl. Morrissey has changed my life in so many ways, and the great friendships I’ve made all over the world are a huge part of that. We are all from various backgrounds, life experiences, ages, but our bond of loving Moz means that, in a sense, we immediately understand each other. Hold onto your friends.

As we count down to doors, I sense a familiar feeling pouring down my arms – that rush – a blend of anxiety and excitement. I can tell other people have it, by the way they shake out their limbs, like racers lined up at a track. As the glass doors open, we rush to separate lines at metal detectors. I make a habit of NOT bringing a purse because it slows things up... I throw my lipgloss and a few items into a dish placed before the detector. A grey haired security man, looking slightly like a grouchy Bob Barker, barks at me.
“THESE ARE METAL DETECTORS – WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
I gasp, wide eyed, confused.
“YOUR PHONE!” He adds.
Oh – it was still in my hand – I fling it into the dish and walk forward... I had no idea cell phones contain metal, which is apparently supposed to be common knowledge. There’s something else to check off on my list of shortcomings that render me virtually useless at everyday life.

Pretty little orange Madison Square Garden bracelets are snapped onto our wrists, although the clasps make it fumbly for some venue workers, and valuable seconds slip away. I speed-walk up to the barrier and claim a spot on Jesse’s side. Now it’s time to absorb the feeling of the pre-show music – the build up is exhilarating, and any feelings of exhaustion from a long day slip away.

The pre-show videos are a ritual – and as the Ramones burst onto the screen with Loudmouth, the floor starts to jump in time with the beat – the pit is set on a bouncing dance floor. A really great thing about the pre-show videos is they give you an eye into Morrissey’s influences and interests. I decide I should check out 60’s girl group the Paper Dolls when I get home. The screen is filled with Warhol stars like “we’re rich, we’re famous, we’re beautiful, and miserable” Candy Darling and spiky head-thrashing punk icons like The Sex Pistols.

When Morrissey walks out on stage tonight, he is wearing a dashing navy blue cardigan with white trim and dark jeans with rosaries and chains hanging from the belt loops – I'm filled with delight – because I LOVE Moz in a cardi. The blue suits his eyes, brilliant eyes that somehow pierce and delve into your soul when he looks into yours, if only for a moment. A friend later coined his style that night as “Madison Square Cardigan” and I’m kicking myself for not coming up with that first.

This New York City show is already feeling awesome!

Photo by Violeta Preciado

The songs from Low In High School are such high points for me live: Mando's pulsing bassline in I Wish You Lonely is accented with Morrissey's microphone cord whips: “turn the key slowly, remember how I can’t sleep” and “romance gone wrong...”

The lyrics somehow identify feelings I’ve never been able to articulate outside the diary of my mind: “free in the truth of make-believe,” “the news contrives to frighten you,” and “the more I wish for someone the less likely they come.” These beautifully sung snippets of poetry start to etch themselves seamlessly into my consciousness, like tattoos on my soul. Sing your life, our lives, my life.

Tonight the lyrics of My Love I’d Do Anything For You are really speaking to me – I wonder how many people really do teach their kids, or even themselves to recognize and despise the propaganda of the mainstream media? It’s so hard to extract yourself – and be yourself - when outside forces are battering you from all sides on a daily basis – surely life isn’t destined to be lived in a one-size-fits-all format? Certainly society – the news, governments, bosses, the media drown down our minds and creativity... are we held captive by rules and expectations? Think of all the other things we could be – but what a hard route that is to walk, and not without criticism – and loneliness. Fitting in means stripping so much of yourself away – how much of you is other people, or what other people want or expect? Society’s hell. These thoughts bend and sway over Matt's rolling tribal drumbeats.

For many of us, the only time we feel happy, or free to be ourselves, is at a concert.

Photo by aine1974 on Instagram

Jack The Ripper evokes London fog, and the dank dangerous alleyways and backways of 1880’s Whitechapel. Morrissey emerges from within the fog, his hands grasp through its billows towards the microphone stand, his head slightly thrown back. His arms spread as he sings “crash into my arms.” Jesse next moves through the fog towards the front of the stage for the guitar solo, notes singing in response to Morrissey's powerful, haunting vocals. You can almost feel the eerie echos of bricks and cobblestones. Again, it’s music that transports you to different places, times, and minds.

As the notes to Everyday Is Like Sunday fill the theatre, a friend boosts herself over the barrier. Morrissey reaches out to grasp her hand and she makes it on stage – for her first hug.

“I’m in a dialogue with my audience – and that’s something I need.”
- Morrissey

Tonight, two soul-baring ballads are back-to-back. Home Is A Question Mark’s bells and tearful minor chords sparkle through the air - “Home - is it just a word? Or is it something you carry within you?” Stunningly, searchingly beautiful, I wonder if this song will be one of the next singles.  Next is Quarry’s I’m Not Sorry, which speaks to me like an earnest plea to be understood, or at least accepted as one is, by one’s love: “reach for my hand, and the race is won... reject my hand and the damage is done.” We can be so bold as to reveal ourselves to the world, yet behind this, deep within, the fear of rejection devastates and aches.

Existence Is Only A Game

Morrissey and the band walk out for the encore – and with arms interlocked, bow to the crowd. Of course I don’t realize at the time it will be a while before I see them again. It’s strange looking back because I hadn’t really prepared myself to say goodbye to Moz for a while – but then again, maybe I’m never prepared.

Photo by maladjustedguy on Instagram

During Suedehead the pit becomes a sea of groping hands, limbs, and bodies. Cardiganed Morrissey makes his way over towards our side of the stage – and I reach up to touch his hand, but the first handshake goes to a person in the row behind me who is much taller – then, the moment comes and our hands touch. My heart floods and beats with life. More flying bodies – I get a big New York boot to the back of my head – and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so carefree about being kicked in the head in my life...

If I’ve ever been kicked in the head in my life...

A random hand socks me in the eye. I duck, then smile.

What an incredible night.



All photos by me unless otherwise specified.

East Coast Tour Part 1: Morrissey At The Anthem, Washington DC

“Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.”

- Oscar Wilde

I’m trying to channel all my memories from the past few weeks, before they fade or settle. Some times in your life mean so much you are almost afraid to transcribe or translate them into words, because there is a fear that your words can never be enough. However, I have always loved writing these moments down because - in a sense it preserves them - and I can relive whatever I’ve experienced. Lately, home is too noisy for writing, so I’m trying to channel unknown streets, flashes of eyes, laughter with friends, and whatever comes to mind, on my laptop in a cafe – chasing the background noise of coffee grinders and wilting variations of Silver Bells from my ears.

A challenge.

So, the question is, can I transport myself back?

A few weeks ago, almost two, to be almost precise (at the time of writing) I was flying to DC. Waiting to board an overnight flight, TV news drones unavoidably on screens scattered throughout the boarding area. Stop watching the news. Prince Harry is engaged – who cares? Updates on stock market numbers or investments that sound very adult and foreign to me... The word “cat” snatches my attention... someone in a town not too far from me kidnapped and abused a cat. I might cry. The cat is alive, and recovering. Now the despicable abusers are ‘upset’ because people are sending them angry messages online. The law is on the abusers’ side, apparently. Nothing makes sense.

One, two, red-eye flights blanketed in blackness later, I’m on my final layover waiting for my third flight. Has it sunk in yet that I’m going to see Morrissey in concert? It’s about 36 hours until he will appear on stage, and the moment I first see his silhouette emerge from the darkness – that quiff, his shoulders, the turn of his head – as he walks towards the bright stage lights - it’s one of the most powerful, soaring joys I know.

Photo by plainchant1974 on Instagram

I’ve flown into the wrong airport, Dulles ... a much further drive to my hotel as I’m notoriously incapable when it comes to directions. My uber driver asks what I’m travelling for - is it for work?
“Oh God no,” I reply.
I tell him it’s my first time here in DC... he asks why would I want to come to the US:

“Well you know what I mean... with our, umm... situation down here...” he begins. He’s feeling me out to see what I think about Predicament Trump.

Presidents come, presidents go – and oh, look at the damage they do.

We touch on politics... would I like to see the White House?

“Wasn’t there a giant inflatable chicken placed outside it a few months ago?” I ask.

I watch the multi-coloured beaded cross hanging over his rear-view mirror dangle and jangle with jerks of his car; I haven’t slept in a while.

The uber driver tells me stories of how he’s had to deal with a lot of shit at the airport because of his ethnicity. Security makes him feel insecure, and simultaneously defiant, and the police often stop him and his brother in their tracks simply due to the colour of their skin.

Who will protect us from the police?

As we drive on, I tell him that I’m in town to see Morrissey – but he's not familiar with  his music. I tell him Moz has penned songs that speak up about politics, the police, and the societal control and corruption that seems bent on keeping us locked silently in our place. Do you ever say what you really feel? He says he’ll check out his music.

My hotel in DC is on the water, with a view of white boats glistening in the sun’s high noon rays. It’s gorgeous, but I pull the black-out drapes shut, and pass out on the bed.

It’s 4 a.m. and once again, my friend and I awake to line up. The sky is still a canopy of velvet and all is silent except for the lapping of water against boats and the scurry of a plump little rat across weathered wooden planks. The yellow-jacketed security people around the venue are pretty nice and are interested in where we are all from: UK, US, Canada, Germany, Belgium, Japan, just to start. Moz fans of the world unite and take over.

There’s more excitement in the queue as later in the morning, Morrissey’s new video for Jacky’s Only Happy When She’s Up On Stage debuts. Huddled in sleeping bags and winter coats, we have an impromptu viewing party on our mobiles. In the video, Moz is wearing the suit from Hollywood Bowl, the one with a little butterfly stitched on the sleeve, and swings his hips to the music. The band dons satiny baby-blue leisure wear and sways with Four-Tops dance moves, their faces amusingly expressionless. I wonder if the lyrics are somewhat autobiographical, as Morrissey has said before that being on stage is “the only time in my life I feel right. I’m not sure if I even exist off-stage.”

Jacky viewing party

Jacky's Only Happy When She's Up On Stage

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZuB5TWrSv4

Two hours til doors and we are showered, shivering, dressed, and waiting outside the venue, The Anthem. I’m at the front of the line and people keep asking me what time I arrived – when I say four, they assume four p.m. – “No, a.m.,” I correct. They think I’m a little crazy, and I like to think I am too. I know it's all worth it; I live for this. The clock ticks down towards 7 p.m.  Reflecting back, I don’t even remember doors, as adrenaline takes over, and somehow I am wristbanded, scanned, stamped, or whatever else happens... and my legs instinctively find their way to the front... and next thing I know my arms are wrapped over the metal barrier in front of the stage.

The pre-show videos this time around feature everything from cat-eye lined R&B goddess Dionne Warwick to bell-bottomed nimble limbed 70’s dancers, to teenage Russian duo Tatu singing How Soon Is Now wearing Hit-Me-Baby-One-More-Time schoolgirl garb. A man behind me comments that Tatu sounds like the chipmunks but I not-so-secretly enjoy them. The towering screen is close enough  to my eyes that it looks distorted, wavering and wobbly... I can feel the excitement pulsing through my chest, ears, veins.

In a rush of crumpled silver, the stage curtain is ripped down and the floor rumbles... I see a beam, the flashlight - that little white circle enveloped in misty dusky darkness - and Moz walks to the front of the stage. He’s wearing a midnight blue jacket embroidered with gold, and a white shirt underneath. For a moment, my friend standing beside me thinks he’s wearing a tux... “Oooh is it a tux?” I completely understand her excitement: her thing is tuxes, mine is cardigans. Boz, Mando, Jesse, Gustavo, and Matt are wearing blue jeans splattered with white paint and black Animal Rights Militia t-shirts and they jump into swoony Elvis number You’ll Be Gone.

Incense is in the air.

The show opens with high energy songs like the Smiths I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish, and the edgy bursts of I Wish You Lonely: heroin, heroin, heroin, heroin, heroin. Lonely feels both bitter and empathetic; I can’t explain how, so I won’t even try to. The catharsis is incredible. Morrissey is my therapy.

Seeing Jacky for the first time since the release of the video feels especially thrilling. As Moz sings, rosaries and chains on his belt loops sway and swing. I can’t stop thinking of the lyric, “free in the truth of make believe.”

Tonight I am treated to hearing two songs, back to back, that I’ve never seen live before: Who Will Protect Us From The Police? and Munich Air Disaster 1958. I’m transported into the mind of someone running from the ever-present invasive rampage of police brutality, and then I’m a mourner of those lost on flight 609’s plane crash, all those years ago. Art draws you into another time, place, or into someone else's mind.  How else can we understand the world on a level greater than our own experience of it? Tempos, lyrics, notes create something otherworldly - yet I've never felt so present. So often in my life I'm unable to stay in the moment - anxiety, overwrought overthinking, - but right now, looking up at the stage, I'm here - cue lights: completely, utterly, entirely

Strobe lights dazzle in time with guitars – microphone cord whips, and How Soon Is Now? At one point, Morrissey, kneels down at our side of the stage with his head in his hands. He’s so close to us, as the guitar notes rumble through my chest, then sprawl up to the ceiling. A photo would be beautiful, but the emotion feels too strong, and I can’t remove myself from living this moment in the flesh, in the present, to fiddle with a smart phone.

I would love to give him a hug, or thank him for helping me.

I lean on the rail and think of how, over the past few years, I’ve turned to his words and his music - like an old friend.

At one point a guy tries to jump over the barrier, and security denies him. His thick black-framed glasses go flying, leaping and landing onto the stage, while he does not. Morrissey kindly bends down to pick them up and hand them back to him. Later on, someone else in the pit passes a vinyl copy of Irish Blood, English Heart up to Moz with a sharpie. He signs it, and it seems like he’s writing more than his signature in his distinctive large loopy writing. I can just barely hear the squeal of the pen, all the way from the other side of the stage. 

Photo by plainchant1974 on Instagram

"Yahoo!"

The concert finishes with Shoplifters of The World Unite And Take Over, and the lyric shift to “Trumpshifters” feels particularly fitting here, in the United States Capital. At the end of the song, Moz tears the white shirt from his torso, and flings it into the centre of the crowd. The audience members pounce on it like a cat on a coveted ball of yarn.

I already miss him as he walks off stage.

But -

Tomorrow, it’s on to New York City.

All photos by me unless otherwise specified.