The Smiths & Morrissey

(Translated from my original Italian text by M.Loran)

Inventors of 'intimate' post-punk rock, through which pop music regained its power over the British recording industry, the Smiths are the cause, for better or worse, of the hollowing-out of punk and the resurrection of pop. They are also, for better or worse, not the cause but the result of the decadence of punk rock and the rebirth of pop. From them the current took off that would lead to the most aberrant phenomena of '90s Britpop. At the same time, they appealed to the frustrations of a new generation of teenagers, whose rituals of self-punishment were diametrically opposed to those of punk.

The sound of the Smiths was the essence of melodic simplicity. On the one hand, the guitar arpeggios of Johnny Marr (n‚ Maher), which took and popularized the transcendental angst of Television and Joy Division; on the other, the ascetic and wounded vocals, mediated by mantras and "dark" crooning, of Stephen Morrissey. Of added fascination, at the same time tragic and polemical, were the lyrics of Morrissey, an introverted and hypersensitive celibate.

The singles gave the group an immediate sound and personality. Morrissey sings the "noir" story of Hand in Glove (1983) like a Rabbin in a trance over jangly, rapid folk-rock. The alter-ego of this elegiac gloom is the spirited This Charming Man (1983), a rave-up in the tempo of Tamla and of the Pretenders and with atonal counterpoints from the guitars a la The Fall. What Difference Does It Make is almost a very loud boogie filled with ringing on the guitar a la Chuck Berry, while the singer preaches in the cold tones of Stan Ridgeway. William, It Was Really Nothing (1984) contains frenetic country-western finger picking and a Caribbean rhythm.

They were tunes that managed very well to absorb and break down the roots of rock and roll, despite being compositionally weak. People who did not recognize themselves in the hysteria of punk did so in the serviceable melodies of the Smiths. Their intimate melodic pop met the needs of a generation that had tired of public protests and could no longer contain its own existential desperation. The lightly degenerate lyrics added that small bit of novelty that lends itself to worship.

If anything, the Smiths' real masterpiece was How Soon Is Now (1984), a muezzin's litany propelled by voodoo tribalism in the style of Bo Diddley, and accompanied with the psychedelic quivering of one guitar and the atmospheric trill of another (as in the solitude ballads of Chris Isaak).

The Smiths (Rough Trade, 1984) documents the trials of Morrissey in a desolate world which is, in fact, a representation of the singer's day-to-day microcosm.

Meat Is Murder (Rough Trade, 1985) has neither fantasy nor spark, but it has the merit of emphasizing the tragic tones of their songs. The disc practically hinges on two pieces: the galloping country-gospel of Shakespeare's Sister and the elegant and slightly dreamlike ballad That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore.

The paranoia of Morrissey was sublimated more than anywhere on The Queen Is Dead (Rough Trade, 1986), an album that is a formal milestone. The apocalyptic atmosphere of the title track recalls the goth-punk of some years before and sets the stage for a sequence of high-class ballads. There Is A Light that Never Goes Out could be an orchestral song from the '50s. Boy With A Thorn In His Side is a melody worthy of an operatic aria, and Morrissey sings it in an understated melisma. The singer, in splendid form, repeats himself ever more softly in Big Mouth Strikes Again, a vortex spinning in an almost Sufi manner, counterpointed by an exotic voice and Marr's rapid finger picking. Marr, for his part, lends spirit to the record guiding the rattling country-western Vicar In A Tutu and the cadenced nursery-rhyme Frankly Mr. Shankly. The record closes with the orchestral There Is A Light and the fatalist boogie of Some Girls Are Bigger than Others (which could be by Dire Straits), like the fade-out to a film. Many ballads are simply tedious, but the whole constitutes the precious gospel of a psychological martyr in which many adolescents recognize themselves.

The cadenced Ask (1986) and the rustic Panic (1986) kept the myth alive, but in reality they represent a clear low point (if not a tedious repetition of the elements in previous singles, from the country-western to the arias). Perhaps aware that they had exhausted a creative vein, the Smiths gave in Shoplifters of the World (1986) one of the most durable tunes of their career, at the limit of southern boogie and hard-rock. Strangeways, Here We Come (Rough Trade, 1987) is a shrewd collection that offers only imitations of their other successes, but with the highest degree of refinement. If Sheila Take A Bow and A Rush And A Push are innocuous pieces to whistle to the supermarket, a small universe of sounds inhabits the simple folk melancholy of Girlfriend In A Coma (including orchestral movements) and Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me begins with a sinister avant-garde mini-concert through the ringing of a pianoforte and anguished vocals before launching into a macabre waltz worthy of the Doors. In the middle of so many good intentions, I Started Something I Couldn't Finish comes like a slap in the face: a disco beat, distorted hard-rock riffs, rhythm and blues horns and even a "dark" cry from Morrissey. Death Of A Disco Dancer closes, in the most gloomy and metaphysical manner, the band's career. The arrangements had caught up with formal perfection without ever stretching into sensationalism. The single Shiela Take A Bow is another of their detached arias.

With the Smiths gone, Johnny Marr formed Electronic with Bernard Sumner of New Order. Steven Morrissey did not wait long before releasing his first solo album, Viva Hate (EMI, 1988).
The album caused a stir and placed Morrissey among the stars of pop music, but more for personality than music. The album, in fact, preserves the worst defects of the Smiths (the laconic crooning, the operatic melodies, the pop arrangements) and few of its merits. The album collapses on track after track, going through the dreadfully pathetic Alsatian Cousin, Everyday Is Like Sunday, Suedehead. They are refrains without punch, which not even the long, autobiographical reflection of Late Night Maudlin Street can redeem. The scarcity of these songs shows above all how important the role of Johnny Marr had been.

In the three succeeding years, Morrissey thought it better to concentrate on singles, which, after all, had been the Smiths' strong point (as it is for all pop singers): Interesting Drug (with Marr on guitar and Kirsty MacCall on co-vocals), Ouija Board, Piccadilly Palare (a ska tune a la Madness), November Spawned A Monster (the disco song), Yes, I Am Blind (an allegorical gospel a la Nick Cave), Hairdresser On Fire (with one of the most ponderous orchestral arrangements). These works were soon collected on Bona Drag (Sire, 1990), by far his best solo album. It also contains a notably single, The Last of the Famous International Playboys.

Kill Uncle (Sire, 1991) insists, instead, on putting forward pop music and nauseating attitudes (Our Frank, Asian Rut). Driving Your Girlfriend Home and Mute Witness are interesting stories (the second about rape), but musically without punch. His internal laments take advantage of the tone underlain with tremolo, which, nevertheless, in the long run results in truly frustrating monotony.

Your Arsenal (Sire, 1992) signals a return to the glam-rock of David Bowie (You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side). Morrissey has become practically a specialist in composing refrains that are at the same time catchy and unlistenable (Tomorrow, Seasick). The record is music that no longer sounds like music, and is to be listened to only for lyrics, sometimes sharp (We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful and above all You're The One For Me Fatty) sometimes wooden (National Front Disco and We'll Let You Know). The themes are always self-pitying (and a bit racist, coming from a white man). The record had, however, stratospheric success and re-launched the career of one of the most tiresome singers in the history of rock.

Every Morrissey album owed a great deal to the co-author: Vini Reilly (Durutti Column) on Viva Hate. Mark Nevin on Kill Uncle, Alain Whyte on Your Arsenal. It was them who put the lyrics of Morrissey to music. The practice is even more evident on Vauxhall and I (Sire, 1994), half of which was composed with Whyte and half with Boz Boorer. Morrissey concentrates on the stories, which have actually become little theatrical exercises, and the partner creates an accompaniment to his "recitation". Stylistic incoherence is a congenital fact. The More You Ignore Me and Lifeguard Sleeping Girl Drowning are almost soap-operas. The narrative peak is found, maybe, in Now My Heart Is Full (only he could write an ode to his own incapability of self-expression) and Tell All of My Friends. The album closes with Speedway, a strangely "noisy" piece which is practically heavy-metal for him. The problem is that, the more Morrissey sings, the more the public realizes that he is always singing the same song, and maybe some songs do not need to be sung even once.

The singles Hold On to Your Friends and Boxers follow in the same direction. Morrissey obtains more convincing results, perhaps, with the single Interlude (Parlophone, 1994), recorded with Siouxsie.

The producer Steve Lillywhite joins Whyte and Boorer on Southpaw Grammar (Sire, 1996), an album that stays faithful to the formula of its predecessor. Morrissey exposes himself to a ridiculous degree in the pompous eleven minutes of Teachers Are Afraid of the Pupils, and the title track, on which he freely pays respects to his idols Henry Mancini and Phil Spector. A slightly more forceful accompaniment produces Do Your Best and Dagenham Dave, which, if nothing else, are alive rather than moribund like the rest of his work, and there is even the guitar-rock of Boy Racer and Best Friend On the Payroll. Perhaps even he has realized that there is a limit to how many tears a man can cry before he starts hearing that he deserves it.

Morrissey has constructed a pathetic mask, like a Young Werther of pop, which has indeed served for stardom, but which may also have been his artistic undoing.

Realizing that he is not much of a musician, Morrissey abandons Southpaw Grammar's musical ambitions and returns to the traditional song format with Maladjusted (Mercury, 1997). With the exception of Ambitious Outsiders, the album's best moments are also the least pretentious: a simple, driving tune like Alma Matters, Ammunition, Satan Rejected My Soul. Ever more literate and deadly serious, Morrissey couldn't move farther from the stereotype of the rock star. To his credit, his tuneful lullabies work wonders as calls to arms for those forgotten by society, for impotent victims of fate and misunderstood lonely teenagers.

One could not have expected that the most tedious singer-songwriter of his generation would find a way to become even more obnoxious. Instead, Morrisey did the impossible, and adopted a political stance (America Is Not The World). The lush orchestration of You Are The Quarry (Attack, 2004) may help ignore the ever more forgettable lyrics and the haughty tone, but the music remains passable at best (Irish Blood English Heart, First of the Gang To Die) and frequently unbearable.

Ringleader Of The Tormentors (Sanctuary, 2006), produced by Tony Visconti, sounds a bit less miserable and less whining than usual, notably in The Youngest Was the Most Loved.

Continuing the progression started by producer Visconti, the Jerry Finn-produced Years of Refusal (2009) presented a more lively and, overall, musical performer (and a bit less autobiographical formulaic). The drawback is that he persevered in his dialogue with society in the same guitar-pop of two decades earlier, unaware that the world of music has moved on. The upside is that his pathetic lyrics were finally redeemed by music that one can actually listen to. The neurosis of Something Is Squeezing My Skull, the anger of It's Not Your Birthday Anymore and especially the insecurity of I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris all made sense, at last. The Latin-tinged When Last I Saw Carol and One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell and the jazzy You Were Good in Your Time and All You Need Is Me added more entertainment. Visconti's glam-rock matched to existential angst worked wonders with Marc Bolan and David Bowie: Morrissey implicitly admitted who his forefathers were.

Swords (Polydor, 2009) collects rarities. Very Best of Morrissey (2011) is a decent anthology.

World Peace Is None of Your Business (2014) contains World Peace Is None Of Your Business and Staircase At The University.

He also published his first novel, "List of the Lost" (2015).

Low in High School (2017) contains Spent The Day In Bed. "Home, is it just a word? Or is it something you carry within you?" is the most profound he can get (Home Is a Question Mark).

California Son (2019) is a cover album.