Morrissey gets plenty of love from his fans

By Renee Graham, Globe Staff, 2/22/2000

Upon returning to the stage for a mesmerizing version of ''Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me,'' Morrissey bowed to the crowd, and said, ''Thank you for your loyalty.'' In all likelihood, he wasn't referring to the audience's patience in awaiting his encore, as the past few years have been uneasy ones for the Pope of Mope. He's been embroiled in various court squabbles with his former mates in the late, great band, the Smiths; he hasn't released an album of new material since 1997's ''Maladjusted''; and he doesn't have a record contract.

So fan loyalty, as evidenced by a worshipful sold-out audience at Avalon on Saturday night, means a great deal to Morrissey these days. And throughout his 17-song set, he wore his gratitude on his sleeve during an energetic, if too brief, 85-minute performance.

''Hello Beantown,'' said Morrissey as he took the stage, backed by Alain Whyte and Martin Boorer on guitars, Jonny Bridgwood on bass, and Spencer James Cobrin on drums. ''I'm one of those people your parents warned you about, and I'm delighted you're here.'' Launching into the lovely, but little-known ''A Swallow on My Neck,'' Morrissey seemed a man liberated. Without an album to flog or publicity gods to satisfy, he sought to please no one but himself and his audience. And although he stayed away from his better-recognized songs such as ''You're the One for Me, Fatty,'' ''The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get,'' and ''Suedehead,'' he offered an eclectic, pleasing mix of songs such as ''Half a Person,'' ''Alma Matters,'' and ''Tomorrow.'' It was a showcase of career that has spanned two decades - first with the Smiths, then as solo artist who, though having his moments, has never achieved the sustained brilliance of his seminal postpunk band.

Although he complained of throat problems, Morrissey was in solid, if not stellar, voice for most of the night. And when his voice failed him, he was humorously apologetic. ''Sometimes, I can actually sing that song in tune,'' he quipped after ''November Spawned a Monster.'' His voice was up to the task for the show's centerpiece, a shimmering ''Meat Is Murder.'' With the stage bathed in a blood-red light - accentuating the crimson backdrop - he tore through his pro-animal-life screed, then, on the guitar solo, dropped to the ground, writhing like a cow in a slaughterhouse. ''So, the moral is, the next time your great Aunt Betty raises a sausage at you, just say no!'' said Morrissey, a strict vegetarian.

His speechifying done, he slipped into the understated ''I Am Hated for Loving,'' then got the crowd hopping (not moshing; one does not mosh to Moz) with a rousing ''Billy Budd,'' which had him jousting the air and whipping the microphone cord like a lion tamer. Overall, Morrissey was in a playful mood. He joked that ''Bona Drag'' did not receive a Grammy nomination and that everything he and his band know, ''we learned from Limp Bizkit.'' In fact, the unevenness of his career was a recurring theme. ''How come, no matter what happens, I'm still alternative?'' he asked. ''And when alternative happens, well, I'm still alternative.''

But if his career has not been marked by big record sales, Morrissey has always enjoyed the most rabidly devoted fans this side of Graceland. At various times, women and men clawed, swam, or propelled themselves toward the stage, reaching for Morrissey as if merely touching the hem of his garments - dark T-shirt and jeans - could heal them. In response, he twice peeled off his shirts, rubbed them across his sweaty arms and chest, and tossed them into the crowd. He often squatted at the front of the stage to shake hands, and he barely finished ''Is It Really So Strange?'' before he was bear-hugged to the ground by one overexcited fan.

After years of being accused of being aloof onstage, Morrissey now seems to understand the connection his audience wants - and needs. Many of them, sporting T-shirts with his brooding face, have fashioned themselves in his image - the misunderstood and misbegotten, too sensitive and bruised for this world, but oh so glad to be unhappy. It's a beautiful misery, and Steven Patrick Morrissey, now 40, with his homoerotic swagger and St. Sebastian poses intact, remains the boy with the thorn in his side who, behind his hatred, masks a murderous desire for love.

Handpicked as an opening act by Morrissey, local faves the Sheila Divine kicked things off with a bracing seven-song, 25-minute set of the kind of smart, catchy power pop that should have them on the scene for years to come.

This story ran on page F4 of the Boston Globe on 2/22/2000.
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