Following Morrissey's tours since 2015, I had zigzagged almost all over America, but had not yet travelled to the Southeastern US. Waiting for a red-eye flight from Seattle to Tampa, I sit in the corner of an airport bar with a double gin and tonic and the requisite vegan french fry basket, with still nearly 6 hours to go til boarding. Seattle is the first city in which I attended a Morrissey concert, and as such holds a certain magic for me, defined not just by its PNW piers and 90’s grunge, but by the very first moment I saw Morrissey, with my very own eyes. I remember he was awash with gold light, a different kind of being, set apart from the world’s crashing bores, and the tremendous avalanche of relief I felt as I was finally able to see him. He breathed life into me when I truly needed it. Revived and resuscitated, I was forever altered at the altar of live music, and from that moment, I wanted to try to attend as many shows as I possibly could.
On arriving in Florida, I collapse in a cool white hotel bed almost immediately and doze for most of the morning and afternoon. Slits of sun slip through the curtains and remind me there’s a city outside I’ve never visited, that I should be exploring, but exhaustion seems to make it virtually impossible. It’s a mix of jet lag from the red-eye, and the lingering depression that has been eating at me lately. It’s hard to tell at times if I’m beginning a mid-life crisis or it’s simply typical depressed me. Plus, the bed is just so damn comfortable.
In late afternoon, a friend gives me the push I need, and I’m rescued from my nap-cloud. We search for vegan food and walk along the pier. St. Petersburg is bright with pastels, pinks, whites, compared to the rainy monochrome of my Pacific Northwest home. There is a 90’s vibe I can’t quite articulate, and statues of dolphins and pelicans are everywhere. On the beaches, the sand is fine soft platinum, unlike the coarse dirt-grey of home, and palm trees spear into humid blue skies. From the pier, I snap pictures of the glittering skyline as the sun sets. After the pier, we walk back to my friend’s hotel and sit on the porch, which smells of old wood, and sip cocktails with all sorts of Southern names and ingredients I don’t recognize. Lush night winds make palms sway, and fairy lights glitter as we giggle with excitement over tomorrow’s gig. Am I alive yet?
The next night, walking to the venue, I am a strange bundle of nerves. Venue staff lets us into the lobby first, and I attempt to drown my nerves in more gin; alas, the bastards have learned to swim. I meet up with some friends from the US and Australia, and we chatter and snap pics until theatre doors open. We speed walk into the theatre’s gilded darkness (security hates running) and I grab a spot at the stage near two friends. Security begins eyeing us for not taking our seats: they are clearly not used to Morrissey fans. “You’re all standing in front of your seats, right?” they ask. “Of course we are, oh yes!” Security paces back and forth, but leaves us alone for a while. Breathe. I try to act calm and oh-so-innocent. Then, one leans down and begins to check tickets. “Everyone must sit down in their seats!” a large bald man barks. My ticket is 2nd row, and like a dejected school kid, I solemnly return to my seat, which is directly behind two very tall men... sigh... I wonder how I'll be able to see. I’m now near the aisle on Jesse’s side of the stage, and the bald security guy looms and glowers, while I nervously play with my phone, teetering on the edge of my seat. Unfortunately, another huge man is seated beside me, blocking the aisle that I could potentially use to run to the side of the stage. Pre-show videos roll on, and everyone remains seated, as we are instructed, and I begin to wonder if they will actually make us sit during the gig.
As David Bowie appears on the screen, the huge man beside me, who has been downing pints of light beer, suddenly stands and announces he has to go to the bathroom. My brain whispers a silent “thank you” and in moments the videos end, theatre lights drop further, and I know Morrissey is about to appear on stage. I glance around with anticipation ... everyone in my section is still seated. I breathe with unfamiliar calmness, and in a surprising dash of speed and grace, jump forward and grab a spot near the end of the barrier, making sure not to block any of the front row seats. I gaze forward, terrified to make eye contact with the looming bald security guard... but he lets it go as more and more fans begin to stand.
My heart races with nerves and joy, and Morrissey walks onto the stage, wearing a dark blue jacket and shirt, and wide-legged dark wash jeans. His hair is styled into a silver quiff, which catches glitters of light and he shakes some lucky fan’s hands and bows. Laying eyes on him in person, he is even more handsome and captivating, and I feel as if I’ve levitated out of my own feet as my eyes are so indescribably blessed. Every previous ache and exhaustion falls away, and I am unchained. As every Moz disciple knows, there is a special kind of faith healing he brings to our world-wearied souls. Then, with a cord whip, he opens with We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful. I bounce up and down to the tempo, and realize I am again smiling. Next blessed are my ears, starving for the beauty of his voice, which fills the theatre, smoothly and boldly, the air so lucky to dance with it. The backdrop asks, in large capital letters, “WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU WEREN’T AFRAID?”
“Why do you come here... and why... do you hang around,” Morrissey sings Suedehead, thrashing the cord, and turning his head to the time of the music. He moves towards Jesse’s side of the stage and leans on the speakers, reaching to shake hands. As he walks back I reach up, and he looks into my eyes, his so blue, and grasps my hand, holding it for what was likely a few seconds, but to me it is everything – the world. Time stops, the room could be anywhere, it could be empty or full, and in that moment I wouldn’t be able to tell you where I am, because my heart is so elevated – and freed like a bird from a cage. Life and all its restrictions and pains come to a sudden halt, my wings heal, and loneliness is forgotten.
Tonight’s setlist ranges from a number of Smiths classics, including Stop Me If You Think That You’ve Heard This One Before and Girlfriend in a Coma, to Morrissey’s vast solo catalogue, with beloved songs from Vauxhall & I, You Are The Quarry, Maladjusted, and I Am Not A Dog On A Chain, just to name a few. Many of these songs speak to the sense of isolation or outsider-ness I feel, especially coming from hometown-suburbia where everyone seems to have a formulaic life and all boxes must be checked, or one faces questions of “when?” or “why?” “So the choice I have made, may seem strange to you...” we sing along, and Alma Matters weaves cathartic poetry into my veins. Energy electrifies me, and I’m extricated from the quicksand of depression naps and loneliness. I will never understand how some people find Morrissey’s music depressing; for me it is so freeing, and its truth to the feeling of not fitting in elevates the spirit of individuality, rather than demanding conformity. “The best thing you can do is be yourself.”
Darling, I Hug a Pillow from I Am Not A Dog on A Chain, swells with otherworldly romance. A lament on the despair of longing and lack of physical love, it has a sultry 50’s feel at times, and Morrissey’s voice scales the notes dreamily. Speedway is up next, and fills the theatre with the grind of chainsaws and rolling thunderous drumbeats. For the climax, guitarists Jesse Tobias and Carmen Vandenberg, and bassist Juan Galeano move forward to the front of stage alongside Morrissey, who flings his coat over his shoulders and arms with deliciously catlike movements. “In my own strange way, I’ll always stay true to you” we sing back, reaching and impassioned with the kind of ecstasy only live music can truly conjure.
Rockabilly bouncer The Loop inspires dancing and jumping in the pit, as Morrissey thrashes to and fro with a set of turquoise maracas and Galeano masterfully plucks the upright bass. Between songs, Morrissey interacts with the fans, occasionally asking questions and handing them the microphone and even signing a hardcover copy of Autobiography. He also gives a shoutout to Florida’s beloved permed retirees the Golden Girls, while wearing a Golden Girls badge (a gift from a fan) “thank you for being a friend,” and explains how for years he misheard the 80’s sitcom theme song’s lyrics: “and the card attached would say - ‘Thank you for being a friend.’ For 32 1/2 years I thought she was singing ‘the heart attack would say thank you... and I thought what an incredible lyric. I’m an idiot’”
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| M signing Autobiography |
Country-style twangs on guitar signify a rare cover of Waylon Jenning’s 1975 single Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way? Morrissey has only played this song live once before, in Visalia, California in 2015. I had heard Hank sound checked while queuing at the Observatory in North Park, San Diego, but missed its concert debut, which is included on the deluxe edition of Low In High School. Morrissey croons the song with the perfect balance of edge and smoothness, standing before his own five piece band with impeccable posture and tapping his foot against the microphone stand. The lyrics complain about the state of country music as it is overtaken by glitz: “rhinestone suits and big shiny cars” sans substance: “are you sure Hank done it this way?” I feel like this song is also relevant to some of today’s problems in the music industry, where true artists, with something to say, are silenced, and manufactured artists with very little substance or authenticity are constantly promoted. Image has eclipsed art, and the image itself isn’t even cultivated organically; it makes one wonder, how free is our choice in the media we listen to and watch if so much is already pre-decided for us?
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| Jesse Tobias on guitar and Camila Grey on keyboards |
Smiths classic Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want is piercingly poignant, as Morrissey stands under silver lights, his voice at the height of its beauty, each note somehow conveying not only yearning but fine, achingly delicate threads of wistful hope. I realize that perhaps one aspect that makes me love Morrissey concerts so much is the wide range of emotions captured and released: sadness is not meant to be pushed down and hidden, and it is entirely liberating to be able to feel so freely. In regular ‘life,’ society wants us to stifle these emotions, and toxic positivity and stiff upper lips can suffocate. My soul warms with gratitude and love as I see him, standing before the microphone and singing as lights dance upon the stage. Darkness and light. He has shared this gift with us for 40 years.
For the encore, Morrissey appears before us once more: “I’ve had a fantastic night, so – thank you!” With a flash of white hot heat, the opening notes of How Soon Is Now rise through the theatre. The son and heir sways with the music, guitars weaving and haunting, and drums beckoning. “You shut your mouth, how can you say... I go about things the wrong way?” The audience lunges euphorically and sways, singing along. Grit and delicacy combine to spark the spirit, and the words feel empowering: sensitivity can be – and is - bold and brave. Towards the end of the song, a friend jumps on stage for a precious hug. In the last moments of the song’s outro, Morrissey kneels before us as Brendan Buckley hammers the drums with primal intensity. In my heart I whisper a thousand thank-yous, and I know the thank-yous will never be enough, but tonight has reminded me I’m alive, and I’m forever grateful for Morrissey and his music for helping me navigate existence.
