MELODY MAKER 09.08.1997

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING MORRISSEY

Some bloke in a wig may have described Morrissey as "devious, truculent and

unreliable," but what the old bugger forgot to add was that he's also got more

one-liners than a Camden coke dealer.

"I'M completely unpredictable," he says at one point, smiling. "…

*especially* on Friday nights." And then, of course, he says absolutely

nothing more about it.

It's called Being Morrissey.

And, in fact, we've *all* thought about Being Morrissey. The bands – some,

like Gene, obviously, and some, like Radiohead, not – who wouldn't have been

quite the same were it not for his songs of defiant self-love and

self-loathing. The professional tough guy Henry Rollins, who's been mocking

him so long you start to wonder if it's actually envy,. The journalists

impressed, exasperated and outfoxed by the weary grandness in which he

controls the game every time a tape recorder is switched on. The hundreds of

fans at a recent gay and lesbian Morrissey convention which culminated in a

mass singalong of "The Queen Is Dead" outside Buckingham Palace gates. Every

introspective teenager *ever*, or at least circa 1982 to the present. And,

erm, Vic Reeves' Morrissey the Consumer Monkey. From the sublime to the

ridiculous. And then me.

ALL of which makes meeting Morrissey himself – seven years fater he last spoke

to the Maker – all the more unnerving. And here he is, larger than life.

Unexpectedly tall, unexpectedly handsome, unexpectedly fit-looking ("most

people my age look dreadful; I'd say I'm probably not bad") lounging opposite

me and speaking softly in the manner of someone used to being listened to.

And he's on form. He's got a new set of record labels in the UK and America.

He's got an effortlessly lithe and quite clearly Superior Quality Moz new

single called, "Alma Matters" on the radio, where it sounds great, and in the

charts. And he's got the imminent arrival of the winkingly titled, quite

impressively-sung new album, "Maladjusted". (The devoted and nosey might wish

to note that there's a slightly different track-listing in America, where it

includes a song that may very well be about former bandmates. It isn't

particularly forgiving.)

Two things strike me. The second is that I'm determined not to burst into

tears, even when I joke that he really should have a trapdoor to get rid of

interviewers who stay too long and he says sweetly, "Well, there is one, but

it didn't work; I've been pressing the button for the past 15 minutes."

The first, of course, is how good Morrissey is at Being Morrissey.

Meticulously gracious; carelessly articulate; efortlessly self-mocking… and

sharp as a case of stillettoes and never missing a single trick. He smiles,

laughs, dispenses small tokens of praise – "you're absolutely right", he nods

indulgently, at one point – and then interrupts me with an unnervingly

peremptory, "*What* was the question?" Or smirks as I try to draw conclusions

from his comments, and says, "Yes, but *my* reasoning was much more

interesting."

Which, Being Morrissey and all, it probably was.

"But I *am* box office poison here," he says when I ask why he applies this

term to his UK status, despite a 10-year solo career – never mind the five in

The Smiths – that includes two Number One albums and a busload of chart

singles. "I sell but not a great deal, compared to your average Top 20

person. A lot of people expect the worst of me, and that's why I'm box-office

poison. Though God knows it's a great thing to be. If I was in the pack there

wouldn't be room to move. I'd hate to be everybody's friend. I'd hate to be

in Melody Maker every week photographed with someone, smiling, somewhere. I

always liked artists who remained aloof and felt somehow superior."

I ask if he has any sympathy for the people who play the fame game. "I don't

have sympathy for *anyone,*" Morrissey tilts his head back. "It's such a

wasted emotion. I'd rather keep it all for myself. God knows I *need* it,"

he adds, Being Morrissey again.

But surely your songs wouldn't have meant to much to so many, if they hadn't

been imbrued with sympathy?

"Well maybe they mean more than they're *meant* to mean," he retorts.

"Anyway, I prefer good old-fashioned spite."

And what of the song "He Cried"? When did you last cry?

"Not for a long time. I used to cry very regularly. And it's a fantastic

cleansing process; I feel three stone lighter afterward. But I haven't

recently. I've had cause to – we all know that," he says Being Morrissey

again, "But I truly haven't cried for a long time."

Do you cry alone, or in front of other people?

His eyes widen. "*Alone,* of course. I have some dignity."

But I'm sure there are people who would comfort you.

"Yes, but they're all on death row."

Ah. But aren't the airmail stamps to America costing you a small fortune?

"You've tried it too, obviously," he smirks.

Ah, the vagaries of fame. When was the last time you met someone who didn't

know who you were?

"Possibly two days ago. I was trying to rent a car and was asked what my

profession was. A lot of people don't know why they know me but recognise my

face. I don't strut around hoping people recognise me. I don't walk down the

streets trying to score points seeing how many people recognise me and I don't

burst into tears if they don't."

Does fame induce agoraphobia?

"Slightly. There are certain days when it seems that people are really

looking at me. And when you have that for 35 minutes in a day, you begin to

think, "Well, should I go there, should I wear that hat, should I get on this

bus?", and eventually you think "To hell with it" and go back home. There's

something about eye contact on the street that if you're staring at the people

coming toward you, you think they think you're looking at them wondering

whether they recognise you. So you begin to avoid people's face and eye

contact."

"Maladjusted" has one of the all-time great, swirling, angel-voiced Morrissey

Songs on it, "Wide To Receive". It's a love song, isn't it?

"Yes, it's supposed to be, but I'd never dash out on a limb. It's supposed to

be an Internet song. You know, lying by your computer waiting for somebody to

tap into you and finding that nobody is, and hence being wide to receive. Ho

*awful*, of course, to be wide to receive and finding there's no reason to

be."

Do you have a computer?

"That's a trick question and I refuse to answer," Morrissey huffs.

Any interest in computers?

"I'm a Luddite," he retorts.

But even Luddites know…

"No, they don't," Morrissey contradicts.

So you've written a song about the Internet, but you're not going to tell me

whether you have a computer.

"I'm not going to *cater*," he says, mildly incredulous.

Isn't it possible that you're always conscious of what things you do that are

Being Morrissey-like, and which aren't, and you're only giving me the Being

Morrissey bits?

"No."

It's not just anoraks who use computers, you know. Some good-looking people

own them as well.

"I've yet to meet one," Morrissey snickers.

Time to log out of that area, then.

ARE you enjoying getting older? Or at least more than you expected?

"The beauty of being 17 is that you can never believe that time flies and that

soon, very soon, you'll be 38. I never expected to get this old, but it's very

comfortable… in an edgy sort of way."

Is there anything you feel too old for?

Morrissey sighs a very well-timed sigh.

"Yes. I felt too old for Britpop. But maybe I just didn't like it. The

Little Englandness stuff of "You're too old to be here", even though people in

their 30s are getting younger is all part of English snobbery, isn't it?

"Where are you going?", "You're not allowed to be there", "What right do you

have?" They'll say it about age, and they'll say it about using the flag" he

adds, referring both to the inflated "Is Morrissey A Racist?" controversy a

few years back when he performed on stage with a Union Jack backdrop, and to

the subsequent lack of controversy when a host of later artists from Noel

Gallagher to Geri Spice employed exactly the same emblem. "I wasn't the first

to use it and I *certainly* wasn't the last," he observes pointedly.

And he's got a point.

I have colleagues in the music press, who seem to believe that 17 year olds

should only listen to 17 year old musicians.

"Oh yes, that sort of snobbism is extraordinary," he shrugs. "When I was

younger should I have therefore felt that I has nothing to say to people who

were older than me? That just wouldn't make sense. If you were simply

singing for people who were all born in the same month and the same year that

you were, what a very narrow aim."

But it's still easier to feel a closer affinity to people in your own age

group. Would you be alarmed at the prospect of going out with someone much

older or much younger?

"I'd be alarmed at the prospect of ever going out with someone. So that ends

*that* question," Morrissey retorts, lightening fast and suddenly very, very

alert.

But you must be breaking someone's heart by saying, "I've never gone out with

anyone." There must be someone out there who will read this and say, "But I

saw him for four years – how can he say that?"

There's a chilly pause. "There's nobody living on the planet who can say

that. So *there*…"

Well, I don't believe that you've haven't ever gone out with anyone, Stephen

(sic, sic, sic).

"Well, I haven't, so put that in your Sony cassette and…" he laughs sharply,

almost harshly. "I really haven't".

But you're a human being.

"You've got no evidence of that," he rejoins. "Artists aren't really people.

And *I'm* actually 40 per cent papier mache."

Have you been in love with people?

"Oh, yes. Real people with flesh and bones and eyes. But I'm so used to

fantasy and everything being rock'n'roll, I could never quite come out of the

cinema and relate everything to the hard world. It was always at a distance.

Always a dream. And I'm used to that now. I understand the life of books and

films and music."

When was the last time you walked down the street holding someone's hand?

"I've never done that."

Ever?

"No! My mother, when I was one, perhaps."

When's the last time you snogged in the cinema?

"You really do overestimate me, don't you? Can you really see me in the back

of the cinema snogging? Well, you should stop reading Cosmopolitan. It's not

one of my strong points. You may bang your head against the hotel wall but

there's *nothing* to tell. Nothing at all."

Fairly icy silence.

Did your friends ever suggest that by the time you were in your late 30s you

might want to settle down?

"No."

I think they might want to see you happy.

"Maybe they do. I don't know. But they don't say."

Because they're not that crass?

"That's it. They're not that crass." He pauses and looks at the ceiling.

"You know, this conversation has devolved dramatically."

PERHAPS we might talk about being – sorry, about the new album, "Maladjusted",

then.

"The process used on this record was very, very spartan," Morrissey says,

still Being Morrissey, of course, but enjoying himself more. "And what's

always been important to me are the vocal melodies, even more than the lyrical

content. That's really the key to the songs surviving. For better or worse,

what I do is distinctive. And that's a very unusual thing to be able to say

in Nineties pop, because most people sound exactly the same, and you can be

with somebody and they can be speaking in a perfectly normal English accent

and as soon as they stand behind a microphone they develop this swirling West

Coast twang. They just can't sing as they speak. And I *completely* sing as

I speak."

And you must feel you're growing stronger as a vocalist.

"Yes. When I listen to the early records, they sound very thin and shrieky

and the voice sounds marginally hysterical, like I was balancing on a ledge.

But now, my voice is so much stronger and I'm sure it's something to do with

the oesophagus. Or physical strength; in the days of yore I was extremely

undernourished. Although that didn't impede Edith Piaf, I suppose."

It's a more *soulful* voice than it was.

"Oh yes. I think so too. And I don't mean, "I think it's the best record

I've made this week." I know I've made a few stinkers" he adds. (When I ask

him later, he'll admit to "Pregnant For the Last Time" and a few other "pretty

ropey" singles.) "But *this*, I think, is the best of me. And people

inevitably say, "Ah, but The Smiths…" I think that's so tedious, so boring.

Nothing against The Smiths, of course, but I have been away from them for a

decade."

But why don't you sing any Smith songs live? They were great songs.

"They *are* great songs", he amends meticulously. "You know, occasionally, as

I'm rolling out pastry, I find myself singing "Death of a Disco Dancer."

I suspect that both of us are pleased at how deliciously Being Morrissey that

last line was.

But why deny your back catalogue?

"I'm not sure. It certainly isn't a pained decision. I don't close the

curtains and say, "I'm not singing any of those horrible old songs that

belonged to The Smiths." Because I feel that those songs are still me. But I

like to sing the songs I've recorded recently, because I think they're

wonderful. If I met a complete stranger today and wanted them to hear the

best of me, I would quite truthfully play "Vauxhall and I", or "Maladjusted"

or "Your Arsenal". I actually wouldn't play "Meat Is Murder". And that

really is the truth."

WHICH brings us to another prickly topic. Much to my relief, however,

Morrissey's much happier having his day about the law – and specifically the

judge who called him "truculent and devious" – than he is talking about

dating.

Was the court case in which Mike Joyce successfully sued you and Johnny Marr

for a greater share of The Smiths' profits a matter of finance or revenge?

"Well, it was both. It was entirely doe to finance on Mike Joyce's part. He

says it's nothing to do with money, but I'm sure he won't donate any of his

gains to charity. Really, I'll never forgive him, and to a lesser extent Andy

[Rourke], because it was horrific. I thought it was shocking and if I was a

weaker person, or less intelligent, it would make me despise The Smiths and

everything they stood for.

And the judge was horrendous, and all the scawly, snivelling little extremely

physically ugly people involved, who viewed me as some kind of anarchic, and

semi-glamorous if you don't mind me saying, free spirit."

Was it a case of "He thinks he's better than anyone and we'll knock him

down"?

"Exactly. It's actually that simple. It's pure unadulterated jealousy,

nothing more, nothing less."

And Mr Marr?

"The court case was a potted history of the life of The Smiths. Mike, talking

constantly and saying nothing. Andy, unable to remember his own name.

Johnny, trying to please everyone and consequently pleasing noone. And

Morrissey under the *scorching* spotlight in the *dock*" – Morrissey is

warming to the narrative as you might have noticed – "being *drilled*. "How

dare you be successful?", "How dare you move on?" To me, The Smiths were a

beautiful thing and Johnny left it, and Mike destroyed it.

"There were so many creative ideas around The Smiths that came from my head

and noone else's. Apart from singing, creating vocal melodies, lyrics and

titles, and record sleeves and doing interviews, there was always more to

consider. Most of the pressure fell on my shoulders. And this is what the

judge couldn't possibly have comprehended, or didn't want to. And he was

totally unaware of how pop music works. Didn't understand the word gig. Had

never heard of "Top of the Pops".

It was like watching a plane crash. And I'd look down at Johnny's face and I

would look at Mike and Andy and think, this is probably as sad as life would

ever get.

"There's no justice, I'm afraid," Morrissey adds, very quietly. "I came away

from those courts feeling more convinced of that than ever."

Perhaps not in a court of law. And I'm not sure if Morrissey, the man fond of

spite and not at all fond of sympathy, would consider poetic justice to be an

adequate replacement for legal justice. But if there's any consolation in it

at all, it's worth remembering that Morrissey's still here, a decade after The

Smiths. Still making records of wilful greedy grace which, even if greater

familiarity will always make the less astonishing than "Hand In Glove" was at

the time, are still things of rare beauty.

And with better vocals.

And what's more, the awkward introspective "undernourished" boy Morrissey

looks, well, like a lithe, healthy and self-assured man. You know, you look

*comfortable dans votre peau* I tell him impulsively.

"Hmmh!" he exclaims, faintly surprised in his best "well-I-never" fashion. "I

don't speak Arabic, actually," he adds, but not unkindly.

It's French. For "looking comfortable in your own skin". You look at ease

with yourself.

Morrissey, Being Morrissey, is either touched, or gracious enough to pretend

to be.

"Thank you. That really *is* kind."

I have a theory, you know, I say as I pack up, that we'll always judge your

recorded work more harshly than anyone else's because you've always meant so

much more. Because, in some way, you broke all our hearts and never said

sorry.

Morrissey smiles.

"That's because I never *was* sorry."

Are you a bad man?

"Only inwardly."

I look at the man who not only invented Being Morrissey but is still the

undisputed world champion. And I start to laugh. You're really good at this,

you know, I giggle helplessly.

Morrissey rolls his eyes. "Ooh, you can't keep an old pro down."

BIGMOUTH STRIKES AGAIN (slight return)

Moz The Mouth on:

GENE

Are you flattered by what Martin Rossiter does?

"What does he do?"

He's the singer in a band called Gene.

"Well God bless her and all who sail in her. In him. In it.

"Actually, I think he can sing. That might seem like a very simple thing to

say, but most people in pop music can't sing. But he can actually sing, so he

deserves more attention than most."

SPICE GIRLS

"I'm not one of them."

Do you see them as…

"As competition? I'm hugely indifferent. And we don't have the same

hairdresser."

BLUR

"I'll never be one of them. But I liked "Charmless Man"".

OASIS

"We definitely don't have the same hairdresser. I think the new single is…

almost awful. Very disappointing. At a time when they have the spotlight of

the world on them, they should have made the most revolutionary, creative

record and instead it's practically awful. For a song which is trying so hard

to create hooks, it doesn't really have any. Apart from the "Pictures of

Matchstick Men" by Status Quo middle – am I the first or the last person to

say that? – there's nothing more. I liked "Round Are Way". But I like music

which is slightly more anarchic, violent, confrontational. Oasis are very

tame to me. God bless Noel; I'm sure he'll always have a spot on "Bob's Full

House", but I search for something with more bite and rage."

ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN

"I can't think of a reformation that's ever worked. Can you? Well, that's

your answer."

ELCKA

"They're astonishing. I went to see them recently and it was one of those

gigs of a lifetime. One you never forget. They're really special. I

wouldn't like to praise them because the press will hate them if I like them.

Possibly. But that's the way the hamster wheel turns these days."

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