Review: Part 2: Morrissey in San Luis Obispo

A review of Morrissey's concert in San Luis Obispo

Midday gridlock traffic out of LAX crawls across countless sun-bleached freeway lanes as jets roar overhead, huge and seemingly almost grazing the cars below. Our rental car is barely moving, but my mood is in a different sphere and cannot be touched by typical silly frustrations like traffic jams or missing the nearest exit for an oat milk latte. I’m still beaming from the incredible gig in Phoenix the night before and such joy: dancing and laughing and finally living, in today’s world, feels like a rare gift. Someone, somewhere tweets to me from a place of understanding “I know how much you missed this and how it is therapeutic for you.” I’m not sure I could sum it up any better.

So my spirit is somewhere soaring above the freeway, perhaps with the weaving winged West Coast seagulls, perhaps even higher, as traffic slowly thins out and we head further North, towards San Luis Obispo. Emerald green highway signs sing out towns of gigs past: Hollywood, Ventura, Santa Barbara, all vibrant gems stretching out from the heart of Moz Angeles. The road begins to narrow and wind, and rolling parched hills replace towering concrete and graffiti. To the left, frothy waves swell and crash against the shore, and the ocean impresses me with its blueness – not the chilled, dark grey-blue of the Pacific Northwest, but a brilliant azure that reminds me I’m not from around here, and I want to absorb it into my memory. I even want to grasp the palm trees, swaying at impossible heights at the edges of the beach, as we twist and turn higher and higher up into the hills.

World Peace is None of Your Business plays on the stereo and Morrissey croons over the GPS, and friends who have already arrived in San Luis Obispo text splendid photos of the beach. I realize, that somehow in this complicated life, there is still magic to be had and felt, and whenever I approach a gig town, there is a certain sparkle to everything. I look out at endless countryside, where horses shake their mystic white manes, and brown cows, free to roam, congregate under blackened trees doubling as arthritic parasols for shade. For once, earth doesn’t feel like the loneliest planet.

A man who looks remarkably like singer Meatloaf checks us in at the hotel, and we jet off to meet friends for vegan junk food from local haunt Ziggy’s and overpriced gift shop wine sipped out of disposable cups. Friends work on handwritten letters to give to Morrissey and I’m struck by a warming nostalgia for the tours of 2019: it feels like old times. That night, I am able to indulge in some much-needed beauty sleep before heading over to the venue the next evening, as the gig is seated and we don’t have to queue.

The Fremont Theater makes one feel as if they're stepping back in time to the 1950’s. Its facade is powder puff pink, with elements of movie star glamour and streamlined art deco. The name even lights a spark, for in my hometown, I have a crow friend I've named Hal Freemont: daredevil crow extraordinaire. A young, unflappable show-off, he twists and turns through the sky and divebombs fearlessly into traffic. For what is life without risk? As the California sun beats down, fans begin arriving outside the venue, and a young boy dressed as Smiths-era Mozzer complete with glasses and gladioli poses for photos. Nearby wine bars pour over with Morrissey fans, be-quiffed and donning cool cuffed denim, abuzz with pre-show excitement.

I have no recollection of doors opening, but somehow my feet carry me down aisles and I am at once inside the theatre, with my heart in my hand, and elbows on the stage. It’s a rare thrill to have the chance to see Morrissey at such a small venue, and the energy and anticipation rising from the pit is palpable, vibrating off the swirling pastels of theatre frescoes and beyond. Even the last-minuteness of the gig adds to the feeling of exhilaration, as it was barely announced 2 weeks prior, and part of me hardly believes I am here. Is it all real?  The stage stands so low that Morrissey’s microphone can nearly be touched, but I wouldn’t dare. Wow.

After pre-show songs, from the darkness of backstage, Morrissey and his band appear. Tonight he wears a navy blue shirt and suit jacket, with dark brown trousers. And... let’s talk about his shoes - sleek loafers with a bright yellow pop of colour: how delightfully daredevil extraordinaire! He’s so close I can smell the incense of his cologne, and if I’m dreaming, I pray I don’t wake up, because this is AMAZING. The band blazes into We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful, and Morrissey grabs the microphone stand and tosses it from shoulder to shoulder, prompting squeaks and squeals. Like magic, my back pain disappears and I am now a 41-year old swooning teenager. Some distant voice in my head says: take a photo and I feel nearly self conscious to pull my phone out (he’s so close... oh-em-gee) and I absentmindedly point and click, and somehow, with tremendous luck, on first shot, I capture one of my favourite photos I’ve ever taken of him.

Next up is fast-paced rocker Billy Budd from 1994’s Vauxhall And I, and Morrissey turns in time to the music, flicking the microphone cord with the elegant playfulness of a cat. Ouija Board, Ouija Board swirls mystical notes beckoning the beyond, and I think of a friend who passed away the previous month, far too young, who loved sunflowers, Pusheen, and books. Morrissey kneels in front of the drumset, and I feel such love for him.  He has gotten me through so many hard times: his words, his voice... are with me when I crash, and also when I soar. I find it odd when people trot out the “he’s miserable” dial-a-cliches, because I find him so comforting, as even in his sad lyrics, sparks of hope and healing guide the spirit, and help me feel less alone. My friend also loved his music.

“The past is another country,” Morrissey says after Never Had No One Ever, and I wonder if it is a reference to James Baldwin’s novel Another Country. I discovered Baldwin through Morrissey, and along with Giovanni’s Room, Another Country is one of my favourite books. “Artists are here to disturb the peace” and this quality is increasingly rare, particularly in fame-click-lack-of-attention-span-twitstagram 21^st century culture. Paying lip service to nothingness, and pretty-vacant lack of opinion won’t be what saves us, and this is why I admire those who express themselves and stay true to their own minds.

Brendan Buckley on drums

Jesse Tobias

I am Veronica impresses me even more on 2^nd listen: it is musically uplifting, and I already find myself singing along to the words I remember from the first night. I notice more elements this time: the “tiny spot allocated each of us... so make your mark and now you’ll be the spark” lyric is fresh and inspiring, and I love the vivid trio of lines summoning animals as guides: dolphins, fish, and owls. Veronica seems to have many layers, both musically, and lyrically, and multiple meanings already to fans: it could be about a daring rendezvous, or lighting a spark artistically on stage, but I think perhaps its essence may be to take risks and live in the moment, because as humans, we often lose ourselves to routine.  The “harmonica” outro is gorgeous, and Morrissey’s voice rises smoothly over the notes. Alain and Juan do a little dance with guitar and bass, and fans ecstatically wave their arms, exulting this newest and already loved addition to Morrissey’s remarkable catalogue. I hope that the rest of Bonfire of Teenagers is coming soon: I think it will be brilliant.

The opening notes of How Soon Is Now? invoke cheers, as Moz contorts before the microphone stand and a large cross sways from his neck. I personally prefer 2022’s live How Soon to the 1980’s era Smiths version – as I find it more robust and forceful, like an adrenaline slam to the chest. Shyness becomes defiant, empowering. Morrissey stalks the stage and plays with his necklace and the collar of his shirt, and the crowd’s chaotic chorus of limbs flails. Partway through the song, the young boy I saw earlier, with the gladioli, is propelled onto the stage, and hugs Moz, and they stand arm in arm as Morrissey sings, and it is such a precious moment, ending with perfectly synced bows. The kid’s life must be absolutely made  – and it shows how the power of music spans generations. As the band plays the final echoing chords and Brendan smashes the gong, Morrissey slides down the microphone stand and crouches on the ground – his beautiful blue eyes looking upwards – and I am once again struck by how near he is.

Photo by @mischievousnose Instagram

Everyday is Like Sunday shimmers with Moz on tambourine, and Suedehead leads to more outpourings of love: gifts and letters are passed on stage, and Morrissey sings much of the song holding up an Elvis record my friend gives to him. The Fremont pounds with life, becoming its own beating heart: the atmosphere is incredible. As the tempo slows into the jangle guitar intro of Half a Person, Morrissey stands at the microphone, his silver quiff sparkling under lowered stage lights, and sings “that’s the story of my life...”

Quarry’s Irish Blood, English Heart has the audience clapping to the rhythm of the drums, and as it crescendos to “I’ve been dreaming of a time when...” Morrissey moves from centre stage and begins grasping hands in the audience. A sea of outstretched arms and letters reach for him and he pockets a little neatly folded note. Singing, he walks towards me and I reach up, and he holds my hand... and keeps holding it... and keeps holding it... and it is beyond, beyond my most blissful dreams... there is no way to describe how lifted and happy I feel. Every wintery moment of waiting was worth it. My night... my year... my life... made.

We bounce with boundless energy to First of the Gang to Die and Morrissey changes the lyrics to “Oscar was the first of the gang...” walking the length of the stage and shaking hands. Jesse, Alain, and Gustavo make a dazzling trio on electric and acoustic guitars, and the pit is singing and dancing... San Luis Obispo, you are too hot! Jack the Ripper plunges us into otherworldly red fog and Whitechapel’s creeping danger and we are engulfed in completely untamed, mesmerizing passion, crashing into arms ...“I know you...” and then, in an instant, Morrissey disappears into the depths of backstage. The audience erupts into volcanic, unbridled screams, begging ravenously for more, more, more...

and he returns...

“Close your eyes and think of someone you physically admire...” Morrissey serenades dreamily under enchanting pink lights, while Gustavo adds beautiful detailing on acoustic guitar. “But then... you open your eyes... and you see someone you physically despise,” Morrissey sings with a scrumptious bite, and tears his double breasted grey suit jacket off and flings it into the crowd. Super-ultra dreamy! Then, in a complete tempo turnaround, the band charges into Sweet and Tender Hooligan, and fans jump and scream and scramble to get on stage to hug Morrissey, and rapturous energy soars through the venue... and then... he rips his t-shirt off and escapes from our sight into the night.

All photos my own unless otherwise credited

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