Review: Viva Moz Vegas and Bonfire of Teenagers

 This review features a special section dedicated to the new, unreleased tracks from Bonfire of Teenagers.

Las Vegas is one of those cities I probably shouldn’t like, but I do. I’ve travelled there about 10 times in my adult life, and 3 of those times were to see Morrissey. There’s something semi-comforting about Las Vegas that, on the surface, grates against my introverted ideals, but on further inspection, it makes perfect sense: it’s easy to disappear into a crowd. It’s great – you can be a complete weirdo, or a loner, and no one would ever notice – or bother you – it’s the opposite of nosy small town nitpickery. If you can’t be alone, be alone with everybody.

Maybe I like that Las Vegas feels quite glamorous too, albeit somewhat trashy at times, but I like a bit of trash with my glamour, and a bit of grime with my glitz. When I was growing up, my grandma spoke about Vegas as if it were the fanciest place on earth: a glittering desert oasis filled with feathery showgirls where you could see the Rat Pack, and more specifically, the man of her dreams, Dean Martin. She never quite accomplished that feat, but in her TV room, she proudly kept a framed photo of Dino, Sammy, and Frank, laughing in a black and white world of fedoras and cocktails.

Fast forward many decades and I am standing on the 25^th floor of Caesar’s Palace, looking out at a sprawling sequined skyline against velvety blackness, on the eve of Morrissey’s 2^nd Las Vegas residency. These shows are promised to showcase songs from Morrissey’s latest album, as of yet unreleased: Bonfire of Teenagers. A heady mix of anticipation and prosecco already has my head spinning for the next night: I can’t wait to see him and wonder how many new songs he will debut!

Walking through the hotel and casino to the venue, faux-Michelangelo sculptures and roman pillars tower over swirling jewelled carpets, and I continually find myself walking in the wrong direction. Sense of space and time are distorted, and it’s virtually impossible to gather what time of day it is, as crowds of people wander in dad shorts, bikinis, tuxedos, and ball gowns. Aspects of the pandemic linger, with hand sanitizer dispensers conveniently located near elevators; a small minority of us still wear masks in the casino, and I observe some be-masked patrons hunched over at slot machines, pulling down their paper surgical masks to take long drags on their cigarettes. Vegas must be one of the last places in North America where one can smoke indoors.

Crimson Viva Moz Vegas screens tower throughout the casino and in front of the venue, and even on the streets, the airport, and on taxi cabs. The one I love is everywhere... and I hungrily snap photos every time I see one. In the promo photo, a circa 2000 Morrissey is wearing yellow tinted sunglasses, and leaning against a slot machine, his hand on his chin. There’s also a shop filled with Mozzer merch adjacent to the venue, with everything from Bona Drag tees, to Vegas tour hoodies, to coffee mugs, to little lapel pins shaped like TV sets animated with the International playboy himself.

This year, with overbearing travel restrictions finally beginning to wane, international playboygirls from all over the world queue up to see Morrissey: some fans have travelled from as far as Australia, as well as fans from Belgium, France, Canada, and the UK. There are many happy reunions, and every gig night, as time ticks down to doors, we are wrist-banded while pre-show jitters and excitement nip our heels, and slot machines purr chaotically in the background.

Running down velvety carpeted aisles through the theatre to the pit, I stop in my tracks and look up, up, up – the stage is confusingly high – much higher than the previous year – and stands a daunting, massive black wall. I snag my spot at the front, but looking ahead, see mostly blackness unless I tilt my head upwards, for there is no barrier. It’s a slightly odd setup, yet somewhat comical, and I overhear many utterances of “what is with this stage?” as more fans arrive.

Pre-show videos always give a fascinating glimpse into Morrissey’s interests and inspirations, and the screen fills with blazing images of The Sex Pistols, The New York Dolls, a very lounge-y come hither Keith Christmas, and the extremely catchy Why Can’t We Be Friends by WAR. Lypsinka begins her howls, and cheers erupt, and then... Morrissey appears. My eyes drink him in, in glimpses, as whenever he moves behind a monitor I have trouble seeing him; I stand on my tiptoes, full of anticipation for what he will bring to us. Life feels alive again, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on earth.

“Viva Las Vengeance!” he shouts, and the band rises into We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful, to energetic chord whips and twists. Morrissey is wearing a dark suit with sparkly buttons and a dark shirt, looking elegant and ultra handsome devil! The 1992 opener from Your Arsenal has the crowd dancing, singing, laughing, and finally living, and limbs stretch above the darkened depths of the pit, reaching for Morrissey with adoration.

On the backdrop, a giant Frank Sinatra appears, decked out in a smashing suit, and as Morrissey twirls the microphone cord, the band launches into Our Frank, a dazzling rarity not played live since... 1991. Cheers explode to the opening notes, as the younger blue-eyed crooner sings and stalks the stage and the older one gazes out, frozen in film and time. “Won’t somebody stop me... from thinking all the time?” Some nights, during the “give me a cigarette” line, Morrissey will grab a cigarette offered from the crowd and tuck it behind his ear, giving him a devilish look, like a 1950’s bad boy: he is entirely mesmerizing and keeps songs that are over 30 years old sounding fresh, with a spirited 5 piece band keeping impeccable time.

The setlists span delicious decades of Morrissey’s impressive catalogue in minutes, jumping from I Am Not A Dog On A Chain’s Knockabout World and a live debut of My Hurling Days Are Done, to Smiths gems like Half A Person, to catchy newest single I Am Veronica, featuring backing vocals by Miley Cyrus. A number of Years of Refusal rarities, not played live in almost a decade also make appearances, including the unrequited longing of Black Cloud, and the life lessons of That’s How People Grow Up. In between songs, Morrissey jokes about the height of the stage, which I’m sure must have also looked quite funny from his view, and refers to hiding in his hotel room in “the city that never naps.” One night, he wears the little owl pin I gave him and squeezes my hand, and every second of my life to get to that moment feels worth it. As Morrissey sings and moves across the stage, fans hand him presents, letters, and reach out to touch him, and one fan passes him a “Moz for President” poster. Despite what any click-bait paper will lie, he is loved, and brings art, song, thoughtfulness, and joy to so many in this often-empty, stressful modern world.

Between shows, 2020’s stressors unfortunately lurk. Covid fears bubble to the surface as a number of fans fall ill, and I realize I am hopeless at dealing with such anxiety in real life, for on social media I have muted everything to do with the pandemic, as I have with many other news topics I just can’t bear to face on a daily basis. Even though we are freshly boosted only 2 months prior, a hotbed of covid hysteria triggers hypochondria, and every hangover twinge or hoarse voice from screaming leads to concern, scrambles to find rapid tests, and mask upgrades to N95s. To top that off, gun anxiety lurks, as there is a reported shooting at a 4^th of July parade in another state. Being Canadian, 4^th of July festivities don’t even register for me, but as we walk out of the hotel for dinner, enormous crowds are gathered with no escape route, and as we try to weave through an impossible sea of people, I notice numerous men in bulletproof vests, hear an explosion, and shriek, soon realizing it is simply fireworks. Regardless, I have problems dealing emotionally, and it is complete culture shock. There is no love in modern life...

However, it is not all doom and gloom between gigs, as there is time to giggle with friends over tour videos and photos, check out the merch shop, drink dates and excursions, and time by the pool. I surprise myself by loving the indulgence of stretching out like a cat in the sun, gazing up at skies nearly as blue as his eyes, as birds skip happily about palms. I sip frosted margaritas and dip my toes in the cool water, and I feel my own sense of self coming back in throes of relaxation. And the new songs dance about my sun-soaked head, and I feel immensely lucky to have seen them live for the first time.

The new songs

Leading up to the Las Vegas residency, there is much anticipation over how many songs Morrissey will debut from Bonfire Of Teenagers. On writing this review, I wanted to focus on my first impressions of these songs and the power they hold. As they are currently unreleased, I feel incredibly fortunate to have been there for their live debut, and truly hope there is a record deal in the near future. Now it is my job to write about them, and I hope I can do them justice, as it is difficult to convey in mere words the full sense of awe such music opens up for the ears, mind, and heart.

Imagine being thrown into the blistering heat of the desert and being struck, full force in the chest, with the most compelling new music you could dream of, unreleased as of yet to the rest of the world...

Bonfire of Teenagers

On opening night, Morrissey walks up to the microphone, and says, “This song is new. It’s about England’s 9/11... yes I heard what you just did under your breath... and as well you might. Obviously in jolly old England, most people won’t talk about it, but I will.” He walks back towards the drum kit, the spotlight following him, as Gustavo begins a soft lullaby-style intro on piano. Morrissey’s voice glides smoothly with gentle, restrained power over the opening lyrics, ending with the heartbreaking image, “oh you should have seen her leave for the arena, On her way she turned and waved and smiled: “Goodbye”... Goodbye.”

“And the silly people sing: “Don’t Look Back in Anger”

And the morons sing and sway” Don’t Look Back in Anger”

I can assure I will look back in anger til the day I die”

Bonfire climaxes to an intense crescendo, and guitars and cymbals swell towards the refrain: “Go easy on the killer...” The repetition conveys a blend of anger and sense of despair at society’s dismissive handling of such an evil act, ending with the return of the quiet minor chord lullaby on piano. I stand in awe, eyes damp, completely unable to record the song on my phone or even snap a photo: it is beyond overwhelming to see such power and emotion conveyed through music, so raw, and so brave.

There is no one else in music who approaches Morrissey. He is a multimedia artist: painting a picture, sculpting a troubled, gut-wrenching journey with his words: Bonfire of Teenagers is a living, breathing musical monument to the loss of innocence, and society’s failings in the face of inconceivable terror and violence. One sees a vivid image the young girl leaving, excited and happy to attend a concert. A concert: one of the few remaining pure, joyous experiences left in this world. Within hours, her heart beats no more, and innocence is shattered, and the lives of her friends and family, and those of other victims of the attack, are changed – horribly - forever. It’s impossible to imagine. And then... at vigils to hear people sing “Don’t Look Back in Anger” sits oddly, for shouldn’t we be angry? From what is this notion borne? Is it not somewhat insulting to the loss of precious life to simply shrug and virtually sweep this attack under the rug? What can be done to prevent such a thing in the future? But questions and natural feelings, such as anger, seem to be frowned upon by today’s society. This is a tribute to the souls who lost their lives, and a response to the public’s limp treatment of this devastation, and I believe if it were my loved ones who were ripped away from this earth, I would feel comforted by Bonfire.

“Go easy on the killer” is repeated, almost as a chant, for this is essentially what we are doing, by saying “don’t look back in anger.” Morrissey’s voice rises with emotion over the refrain, with anger and rawness striking the soul. It is uncomfortable. It disturbs the peace. It is painfully beautiful. I want art to be uncomfortable. I want to be challenged. There is absolutely no way our world can ever be improved or helped if we don’t question things, if we don’t feel free to express our opinions and feelings, and I believe Morrissey is one of the last people to totally, unabashedly stay true to himself and achieve this, and so beautifully and poignantly through art. I am in awe of his courage. It is a complete act of bravery and I love him for it.

Predictably, some people, including Mancunian photographer Kevin Cummins, who actually blocked me on Twitter, expressed faux outrage towards the lyrics. But the likely truth is these people are trapped in a cage of ‘wokeness’, or simply don’t understand the message Morrissey is conveying. For how lost is the world if we aren’t allowed feel rage at the death of innocence? When did we lose our way? As Franz Kafka once wrote, “start with what is right rather than what is acceptable.”

Rebels Without Applause and Sure Enough, The Telephone Rings

Morrissey introduces Rebels Without Applause, saying, “I haven’t been lying to you over recent years when I tell you there is a new album. There really is, and it will be released in your lifetime, so please, don’t die soon.”

Rebels Without Applause has a lighthearted, spirited jangle pop sound, with tastes of Cemetry Gates and some of Morrissey’s early solo catalogue work. It is vibrant and catchy, and the guitar phrases weave magic, playing perfectly off Morrissey’s smooth, dreamy vocals about “the gang” and “bawdy boys of song.” Fans instantly remark how enjoyable the track is, and it leaves the listener with a sweet sense of nostalgia and old friendships: “I loved them all.”

Sure Enough, The Telephone Rings is a gritty pessimistic romp complete with heavy hard rock guitars and biting lyrics. The guitar work contrasts deliciously with that on Rebels, and showcases the impressive stylistic range of Jesse Tobias and Alain Whyte. “Sure enough, the telephone rings who wants my money now?” I adore the structure of the song, and the “Please be fair, you must tell the little kids they live in hell now” section is pure Mozzer cynical-yet-humorous brilliance. The guitar solo is wild, unabandoned rock and roll, and Morrissey flicks his microphone cord in time with defiance. I love the song; it’s one to play at full volume, and it hearkens back to the feel of some of the heavier tracks from Years of Refusal and Ringleader of the Tormentors.

I Live in Oblivion

“This passion play, that you call life, when you come to the end, you will be either shoved in a hospice, shoved in a home, or at the mercy of the NHS, which is a fate worse than life, and this song is I Live in Oblivion”

Piano draws us in, and Morrissey sings under the spotlight, his voice filled with beauty and emotion, at times almost ethereal and angelic:

“I apologize, I grew old.

I apologize I grew tired

I apologize I grew old...

And now I live in oblivion

and it suits me very well...

I live in oblivion

and it suits me very well

And the only thing that can kill me is the hospital food

And the only one left to visit me is you”

Lyrics hammer the heart with resigned pain and reflection, and even a touch of black humour. It is a bleak glimpse into the future, and if one makes it to a “ripe old age,” such is the reward. This lament of time and aging is rarely spoken about openly, with unbridled rawness, and the ache of loneliness, resignation, and regret is palpable. Such dark words are sung so beautifully, and musically, it holds an epic beauty similar to Life is A Pigsty, although somewhat more restrained and solemn.

“I knew the best, the worst, the last

I knew them all.

I set the world on fire

And now I’m tired.”

The exhaustion is heart wrenching through reflection: a life lived, now in decay and decline. Yet Morrissey takes something so dark, frightening, and isolating and turns it into the most beautiful poetry. It somehow lets us confront our fate, with complete gut ripping honesty, yet still feel less alone and somehow guided and soothed. I don’t think you’re ever truly alone if you have Morrissey’s music.

The ending, “one more spoonful down the hatch... one two three... there’s a good boy... oh, there’s a good boy” expresses the return to a condescending childlike state that we often, for some unknown, unspoken reason, apply to the elderly. It is at once demeaning and depressing, and decades lived somehow unravel us and travel us to such a fate. Guitars hauntingly close the song, conveying the lonely echo of hospital corridors. I doubt there is a dry eye in the house.

...

On closing night, Morrissey appears for the encore, and it is again goodbye-for-now. Sweet and Tender Hooligan fills the Colosseum, and the pit is jumping and screaming. Morrissey thrashes on the stage with the energy of a man half his age, and exudes youth and vibrance to fill our famished hearts. I long for one last handshake, and try to reach, looking up into Morrissey’s bluest eyes, but it becomes too chaotic, as more and more bodies jump the high wall of the stage. Security guards sprint back and forth, akimbo, trying to manage unruly boys and girls. One final, rather rotund invader roughly tumbles across the stage nearly crashing into Jesse and it is likely no longer safe, as Morrissey is waved off into the darkness. My heart begs for him to come back, but I know he has disappeared into the night, and I whisper a wish that this is the year Bonfire of Teenagers will be released.

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