Morrissey is still driving hard

by Sarah Rodman
Sunday, February 20, 2000

Morrissey at Avalon, Boston, last night and tonight.

If you're a Morrissey fan and you've been waffling about going to see him tonight at the second of his two shows at Avalon, get thee to a box office.

Reports that the former Smiths frontman and '90s solo star was losing both his love of and his gifts for performing were soundly contradicted during last night's 90-minute, sold-out show.

The 40-year-old Brit's dreamy croon is still in great shape, as he displayed on tunes canvassing his 16-year career. Steven Patrick Morrissey, backed by a four-piece band, proved that he is still a mope, a madcap, a flirt, a firebrand, a complicated man and a good old-fashioned rock star.

He queried the audience, ``How come regardless of what's happening, I'm alternative? And when alternative starts happening, I'm still alternative.''

Morrissey still felt, deservedly, confident enough about his physique to periodically peel off his sweaty t-shirts and fling them out into his small sea of adoring fans, where they were snatched up like so much chum.

The first fling came during the bouncy, retro rock of ``Hairdresser on Fire.'' The excitable crowd, members of which tried to fling themselves back at the singer, cheered for the rock crunch of ``November Spawned a Monster,'' held their hands aloft swaying during the jangly ``Lost'' and lapped up the squealing electric guitar coda - played flashily by the axeman's incisors - on the taut ``The Teachers Are Afraid of the Pupils.''

Depending on your viewpoint the show was either a refreshing slew of lesser known tunes that pleased the diehards like ``A Swallow on My Neck'' or sorely lacking the hits - inasmuch as he has them - like the Smiths ``How Soon is Now'' that hooked the mostly thirtysomething crowd back in their '80s high school and college days.

But most seemed pleased with nuggets like the pointed vegetarianism lament ``Meat is Murder,'' which was played under blood red lighting, and the British invasion infused ``I Can Have Both.''

Boston's own Sheila Divine, themselves admitted Smiths fans, were an excellent choice as an opening act. Morrissey himself chose the trio to play on his next 10 dates after hearing their finely wrought, melodic pop rock.

MORRISSEY : Boston, MA Avalon, Saturday, February 19 2000

Washed up. Has been. Faded glory. These are just a few of the terms the British press likes to use when referring to their fallen hero and icon for the socially impaired, Morrissey. Yet, how many has-beens manage to sell out tours of North and South America? How many washed-up performers have legions of fans following them from city to city, with an allegiance that puts Grateful Dead fans to shame? How many faded stars need to set up plastic shields in front of their drummers in order to protect them from the tons of gifts and flowers being showered onto the stage nightly? Not many, except, of course, the bard from Manchester, Morrissey.

In Boston, Morrissey has sold out two nights in a matter of days at the 2,000-plus capacity Avalon (more than most of England's biggest bands, including the Manic Street Preachers, have been able to do in the States at anytime, anywhere). On this first night, the crowd has trudged through eight inches of snow and sleet in hypothermia-inducing temperatures to line up for hours (try 7am) before the 6pm door time. Once inside, the rabid run to the front of the stage, staking out spaces as close to their hero as possible. The opening act (the all-right-but-bland Sheila Divine) is politely, yet impatiently, received. The tension starts building during the pre-selected-by-Morrissey intermission music played in the same order every night. So when Nico�s guttural Germanic wail is heard, the crowd hushes, they know the time is near. Not to disappoint, Moz, and his pretty-boy rockabilly backing band of Boz, Alain, Gary, and Spike come out soon after, and everyone is in hysterics.

Alas, the first song is not worthy of such applause, the rather tepid �Swallow On My Neck�, which never really kicks in. No one seems to notice however, as all present worship the man, even if he were reading his grocery list. With a little more grey and a little less hair all together, Moz is looking a bit older than he did when he last rode into Boston in 1997. But there�s something in his confidence, his assurance, his look of all around good health, that says 40 is treating him pretty well. In his faded Levi�s, array of T-shirts (three of which he throws into the crowd, causing mini-riots and a near fist fight) and finally, a loose button-down light blue oxford, Moz�s charisma devastates the fanatics in attendance.

With no new album to support, he plays whatever he pleases, and that includes a number of Smiths tunes, like �Is It Really So Strange?� and a withering rendition of �Meat Is Murder�, dramatised by a flood of red lights. The set showcases his still-superb lyric writing capabilities, even if some of the tunes are not up to par with his Johnny Marr collaborations. Morrissey senses he�s appreciated here, and he�s never been more personable with a crowd. His charm and wit are nothing new (nor are his complaints), but he�s extremely sociable tonight, poking fun at Limp Bizkit, posturing about politics, and complaining about catching lurgey. The previous night�s show in Pittsburgh had been cancelled due to Morrissey�s sniffles and back spasms, which probably account for the fewer number of people trying to do the obligatory jump on Moz. Of course, a half dozen or so still make it past security and onto the stage, tackling the singer to the ground before security can pry them off.

Moz and Co play one song off his last album (�Alma Matters� off 1997�s �Maladjusted�) and throw in some B-sides (�I Can Have Both� and �Lost�) along side �hits� like �November Spawned A Monster� and �Ouija Board, Ouija Board�, an acoustic, bongo-drums driven �Boxers� and finish with a touching �Tomorrow�. The one song encore turns out a heart-breaking, Smiths-glory-days era �Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me�. The audience drifts out to the sound of Frank Sinatrax's �My Way�, full of memories and memorabilia (including Morrissey condoms) to share at the first of two Morrissey after-show parties being thrown at local clubs. So yes, he�s a long way away from The Smiths and he�s older. Maybe he�s not as ambitious any more. Maybe he�s gotten too comfortable. But, past his prime? Nah. Morrissey�s right in the middle of it, riding on top. England�s dreaming.

Catherine Barbosa

Mon Feb 21 2000 18:01 GMT

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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