Friday, 3 December 2010

Morrissey: A public unapology


Teenagers are rarely subtle in the ways they emulate their heroes. This is never more apparent than when casting a glaze along the queue at a Morrissey gig. My teenage Morrissey impression lasted up until my band (named after a Morrissey song) started releasing (Smiths-a-like) records. Having dropped my unnecessary Christian name to be more like Steven Patrick and growing a proud quiff people began to notice my obsession and it was deemed as totally inappropriate behaviour for the singer in a band. I stuffed contact lenses in my eyes and demolished my quiff, flattening my fringe over my forehead. If there is an irony to be found in being uncomfortable with having to avoid copy-catting the world most notorious misfit then I see it only now. Now, when my hair is at it’s dizzying highest. Yet now, when my career is writing pop songs.

Morrissey has a lyrical style that speaks so directly to the listener that he becomes a kind of surrogate father figure. At once both laugh-out-loud funny and crushingly sad. Of course you already know this, and as I race through phases and trends in music (which is something I swore I would never do) I know that I can always return home to Morrissey. Morrissey I love you and I don’t care who knows it!!