Make-up is a Lie Album Review

The album was downloaded onto my phone but I hadn't listened to it yet. The pre-ordered vinyl, in typical small town style, hadn't been delivered, naturally. I really wanted to listen to it, but I didn't want that first-listening-feeling to end. People in Australia had already been listening to Make-up is a Lie for almost a day, and there I was, being a weirdo and just sitting on it. I wanted to dive in, but I was emotionally overwhelmed: the last time Morrissey released an LP was 2020’s I Am Not a Dog on a Chain. Was that really six years ago? Many icebergs ago, many covid masks ago, many miles traveled ago. Then, as 10 p.m. rolled around, I took the dive and pressed play. 

Morrissey's 14th studio album opens with You're Right, It's Time, a journey through Morrissey's 2026 psyche. It weaves between personal reflections and response to the Zeitgeist: 

I want to move away from those who stare at screens all day

I want to speak up and to not be trapped by censorship

In search of wisdom so much wiser than my own.

You're Right, It's Time is one of four Camila Grey compositions on the album, and in my opinion one of its strongest songs. It functions beautifully as an opener; musically stirring, it feels like an awakening of sorts, drawing us into Morrissey's inner world. Reverb-dipped guitar riffs frame lyrics that, in natural Morrissey fashion, dance between introspection and a longing for action: a desire to taste and feel life, in spite of an outer world that seems to have lost all romance and urgency. The light is offered with the dark, unapologetically - mortality is touched upon: “till gentle doctors tell me why I now must die.”

Camila Grey 

Morrissey is also able to admit, as any truly thoughtful or intelligent person can, that wisdom greater than his own exists. For all the flack he gets from certain corners of the press for championing “free speech” and eschewing censorship, he makes a damn good point: if we don't feel free to express ourselves, how do we learn or grow? He goes further and deeper though, for the greatest wisdom likely doesn't come from other humans, but from the natural world, a realization that I believe blossoms with age. 

Funny things pop into the mind on first listen and I like to stay true to that when writing about my impressions of an album. For some reason the term “surf goth” bounces into my head to describe this track, but I don't think that captures the depths and peaks of its artistry. You’re Right It’s Time builds upon itself both musically and lyrically to reflect a sensation of continual rebirth, particularly towards the end, right before the chorus reprise, where synths (I think?) create a lush auditory sensation akin to a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight. 

So we've already delved into topics of time, love, censorship, nature, and mortality on the first track? Check. Morrissey once again reminds me why I was so drawn to him in the first place: he can somehow pierce into the heart of the human condition in a 4 minute song. 

Next up is title track and lead single, Make-up is a Lie, which I already wrote about on its release. Having seen it live, the song has grown on me a lot. It's catchy. and the chorus makes it rousing to sing along with from the depths of the concert pit to the heights of the balconies. It is another Camila Grey composition, and I think will prove to be a strong feature in live setlists for some time - it's fun to sing and you might just find yourself still humming it long after the gig. 

Notre-Dame in Rotterdam

Notre-Dame, an Alain Whyte co-write, has become a discussion focus from a myriad of viewpoints. Some have used it to rail on Morrissey for his “problematic views,” whereas others see it as an act of absolute bravery in the face of cancel culture and censorship. Recently at a concert in Europe, Morrissey introduced 2014's World Peace Is None of Your Business as a song written before cancel culture ruined art (I am paraphrasing here, so correct me if I'm wrong). I have to say that I think he is, for the most part, correct: cancel culture is generally detrimental to art. It's a difficult philosophical and social question, because freedom of expression can be a sacred aspect of creativity, and yet at some point we want the world to be an accepting place for us if possible. But art, at times, ought to be confronting, even uncomfortable. I think cancel culture went wrong when it snowballed towards mob mentality censorship of ideas because - believe it or not - it is possible to respectfully disagree with your favourite artists or your favourite people. We are not all the same, so it's pretty unrealistic to always expect we should think the same.

As for me, I feel I don't know enough about the 2019 fire at Notre-Dame to speculate on what or who caused it, and in all honesty I'm not up for researching it right now. Some people would say this is a cop-out on my part but I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing to admit “I don't know enough about this topic to comment,” and I think the world would probably be better off if more people felt comfortable saying that rather than constantly needing to throw in their two cents on topics that they just haven't explored thoroughly enough. 

And since we are on the topic of cancel culture, one review I regret reading, which I just can't bring myself to link to, was written for the Times by a middle-aged dad who likened his relationship with Morrissey to that of a spurned lover. I've seen this comparison before, usually from older fans who maybe unfairly projected too much onto Morrissey, or are perhaps so handcuffed to some rigid form of groupthink that they cannot accept the fact someone could possibly think differently. The writer, I cross checked, appears to also be a contributor to the Guardian (what a surprise!) and quite sadly feels he must listen to Moz on the sly, lest his teenage daughter tattle on him to his wife, for Morrissey's views have become just “too controversial.” This wilting, somewhat agentless kind of Gen Xer or elder Millennial is essentially the poster child for a journalistic method that has damaged the arts, with reviewers being so self-absorbed, entire articles become impotent, dragging manifestos where they must portray themselves as beacons of censorious, untouchable morality. In these ‘reviews,’ they make sure to list all the ways they don't agree with whatever’s deemed “too controversial” or “problematic” that Morrissey has ever said or not said, dating back to something they'll dig up out-of-context from 1984. It's tired, self-serving, and really tells you nothing about the music.

Fascinatingly, from someone who likens Morrissey to a “toxic” first love, the Times reviewer describes Notre-Dame as “creepy,” and seems to poke at the lyrical personification of the cathedral, which is perplexing, when writers such as Victor Hugo have done this for centuries. To me, along with the dark, layered synth backdrop and orchestral accents, Morrissey's personification of Notre-Dame is one of the song's most captivating features. He addresses the cathedral directly, “Notre-Dame, we know who tried to kill you,” and if you have ever been fortunate enough to enter a centuries-old place of religious reverence and architectural triumph, you can almost sense in the air, the stone, the wood - a heartbeat, a breathing being. I experienced this on visiting Cologne Cathedral last month, and it was a profound, almost healing experience. 

Next up is Roxy Music cover Amazona. I'm a tad embarrassed to admit I am not very well versed on Roxy Music, so I gave the original a listen before writing. I know some fans aren't as excited for covers as original work, and I sympathize with this point of view, but it's also really interesting to see what Morrissey and the five talented musicians working with him will do with a cover. With Amazona, I feel they absolutely make it work, freshening the song up while staying fairly true to the original. Morrissey's vocal phrasing in particular adds a certain lushness, especially during the dreamy “hey little girl is something wrong” sequence.The song also highlights the work of guitarist Carmen Vandenberg, whose solo fuses elements of the original with her own vision, creating a textured, otherworldly soundscape.

Carmen Vandenberg

Headache, co-wriiten by Gustavo Manzur, features razor sharp romantic pessimism sung in bittersweet lullaby. It's a vocal style Morrissey doesn't use often, reminiscent of Vauxhall and I’s Lifeguard Sleeping, Girl Drowning. Headache is a bit eerie and lilting, and says things we aren't really supposed to say, which is one of the qualities that first led to my appreciation for Morrissey. He is not afraid to explore the notion that the institution of marriage can be unappealing or dissatisfying. Thematically, Headache harkens back to earlier works such as 1990’s Will Never Marry and 2014’s Kick The Bride Down The Aisle. It's refreshing that Morrissey delves into this view, especially when a lot of popular music can alienate with overly idyllic takes. The guitar work is smooth and enticing, and brushes on percussion add softness to juxtapose with the pessimistic lyrics. Down to its taunting, lullabic chimes, Headache is quite brutal yet unusual, and then - at the end - Morrissey drops the devastating truth bomb “I don't even like you.”

Boulevard, written with Alain Whyte, is one of the longer tracks on the album. A slower tempo, somewhat minimalist piano ballad, Boulevard showcases Morrissey's emotive vocals against a stark yet dramatic musical setting. Staggering key changes mirror booze-infused lyrics, and once again Morrissey utilizes personification, this time relating to the boulevard:

Everyone walks all over you

I've seen it - they do!

I've seen it - they do!

boulevard 

birds shit

schoolboys spit

right at you 

I know how you feel!

I know how you feel!

It's dark and one of those tracks that smacks you more depending on your mood. Maybe it doesn't hit the same in a bright coffee shop or when you're driving or on a treadmill but during a wistful 2 a.m drinking sesh - wow!

Zoom Zoom The Little Boy, a Jesse Tobias composition, feels like a jubilant trip to a psychedelic garden full of God’s creatures. Tobias’ electric sitar opens portals to the magical natural non-human world that Morrissey’s protagonist, a budding animal rescuer, longs to save and preserve. The instrumentation frames Morrissey's poetic Lewis Carroll-esque twists through the animal kingdom, offering a trippy, enchanting escape for the listener. Carroll was himself an early animal advocate, opposed to vivisection. Guitars make shimmering, reflective sounds that remind me of waterfalls, and the driving, bouncy bassline underneath makes me think of little paws bounding about - how cool it is that music can convey such qualities of nature! Morrissey's lifelong love for animals undoubtedly shines through in this piece and it's bound to become a beloved anthem for animal rescuers across the world. 

The Night Pop Dropped is also written with Tobias, and is one of the strongest, catchiest tracks on the album. Fueled by a driving tempo, it's energetic and clever - a big funk machine thrusting you into the heart and soul of the 1970’s. The keyboards impart Billy Preston coolness and all elements combine to lavish a funk guru chi that is completely addictive. I really love compositions where individual instruments can stand out yet also merge into something even more divine as a whole - and this song achieves that, making every listen unique. I always feel like I must have been born too early or too late, and The Night Pop Dropped makes me want to time travel back to the seventies and experience it all.

The lyrics convey a pop star passing away, and I've seen some people suggest it could be about David Bowie. This theory checks out with the line: “He said: the best thing you can do is be yourself,” which brings to mind Bowie’s words about authenticity and art: 

“Never play to the gallery…Never work for other people. Always remember that there was something inside yourself that you felt if you could manifest it in some way, you would understand more about yourself and how you coexist with the rest of society. I think it's terribly dangerous for an artist to fulfill other people's expectations. I think they generally produce their worst work when they do that.” 

Artists like Bowie and Morrissey are rare in their unapologetic refusal to bend to others’ or society's expectations or norms, and this creates the kind of gut-punch force in art that has become so rare. Unfortunately, it is so much harder for genuine artists to become known in the increasingly soulless and manufactured music industry of today. We're indeed very lucky that Morrissey continues to create art that takes chances and says something different and meaningful to us, and “the best thing you can do is be yourself” stands as a powerful life mantra for authenticity in general.

Amsterdam 2025 

Next up is Kerching, Kerching, a Camila Grey composition. There is tangibly decadent pessimism in the chord progressions here that embraces Morrissey's lyrics foundationally and I'm again in awe of such keen interplay. The effect is that instrument and voice build upon one another to instill mood.

It seems like many people take Kerching Kerching to be about a demanding, nagging girlfriend, but I believe this may also function as an extended metaphor for fame and the music industry. “Turn to your adorer/ and she'll tell you how it all went wrong,” could very well be an allusion to a fickle fan base and “she's the lover you can never leave,” may represent the intoxicating allure of fame. “You just do not take coke enough,” makes me think of money hungry managers working artists down to the bone, hence “Kerching, Kerching.” 

Lester Bangs is another standout track composed by keyboardist Camila Grey and is, in my opinion, one of the finest on Make-up is a Lie. I'll add that if you possess ears and a pulse, this album should turn you into a massive Cam Grey stan. Musically, Lester Bangs grows from murmurs of light bass and piano, to gorgeous warm flourishes on acoustic guitar, towards a broad, uplifting chorus: “How does it feel to be you, Lester Bangs?” Consciousness being anything but linear, Morrissey channels his late teens, pre-fame, pre-Smiths, Melody Maker letter-writing self:

Three thousand miles away

this nerd hangs on your every word

I lean, and you are leaned upon

when all my youth went oh so wrong.

Lester Bangs 

Lester Bangs was an interesting character, and Morrissey paints a vivid picture of his Detroit-loving beer-can basement mess aesthetic. Bangs became a fairly well known name in the 70’s as a music critic for his confrontational thought-provoking music reviews and gonzo style journalism. He wrote a scathing review of Black Sabbath’s debut album, got fired from music rags for his never-holding back candor, and even held a late night hotel room sparring session/interview with Lou Reed, “Let Us Now Praise Famous Death Dwarves,” which became a peak example of gonzo rock music journalism. Bangs would have obviously made a big impression on young Morrissey, as he followed and wrote about a lot of the same musicians that had captured his fascination, including the New York Dolls.

Long, dark, and brooding, Many Icebergs Ago, a Manzur co-write, is the penultimate track on Make-up is a Lie. It opens, a desolate wasteland of sound, beckoning with shivering instrumentals, an image of slow-growing North Atlantic ice drifts. Sonically. it's eerie, bare, and haunting, bringing into focus Morrissey's reflective, somewhat resigned lyrics and vocals. It takes the listener on a tour of East London's Jack the Ripper haunts, and through a diary of past experiences. Many Icebergs Ago holds a certain impenetrable sadness I can't quite describe, but to me it seems to be a mediation on the passing of time. 

The final track of the album, The Monsters of Pig Alley, is co-written by Alain Whyte and illustrates Morrissey's skill for telling a compelling tale in a four or five minute pop song. Opening with simple strumming acoustics, The Monsters of Pig Alley develops with more instrumental layers as the story begins to unfold. Morrissey's tale of a simple small town character who dreams of fame, leaves home, finds fame, and succumbs to its pitfalls has a certain Kitchen-Sink drama feel, bringing the Monsters of Pig Alley to life in the mind of the listener. Morrissey spins the sad tale beautifully and thoughtfully, with weaving instrumentals that add to the storytelling quality of the song. I would also venture to say this is one of the strongest tracks on Make-up Is a Lie, and serves as an exquisite finishing point.

Vegas 2024

In the opening track of Make-up is a Lie, Morrissey sings “I cast no shadow or reflection in the mirror now,” almost suggesting a transcendence of self which can be borne of wisdom, experience, and time on the planet. Of course, Morrissey is still Morrissey: I just saw him on stage last month, whipping his microphone cord, simultaneously exuding strength and vulnerability, singing and engaging with the crowd in that very particular way only he can really do. But I feel with this album, he shows us that the self isn't just simply the flesh embodiment we are born into, nor is it necessarily always in the face we show the world, but rather, it exists in the things we love, the places we've been, the ones who have influenced us, and even in our relationship with nature itself. Life is a painful thing, at once both too long and not long enough, and while Morrissey is never one to shy away from brutal realism, he also reminds us to be authentic, think for ourselves, and that there's a unique quality to the human experience: we reflect - and exist - in many facets and energies that stretch far beyond our physical selves.

Thank you to Morrissey, and the talented composers and musicians involved in this album.

Top tracks (my opinion, of course):

The Night Pop Dropped

Lester Bangs

The Monsters of Pig Alley 

You're Right, It's Time 

Zoom Zoom The Little Boy 

But honestly, I've had the entire album on repeat for days, so check it out!