Following the acknowledgement that I hadn’t written on this
blog for quite some time, I was faced with the dilemma of where to place the blame for
this act of negligence. Was I bored of writing? No. Were my days totally full to the brim with more important, unavoidable tasks? Certainly not. Had my growing cereal
addition finally got the better of me? Not yet. As this pointless stream of
consciousness continued, the conundrum of my lost words playing heavily on my
mind, I suddenly became all too aware of the answer as it filled the air around
me.
From out of my speakers, the familiar sound of The Smiths.
Morrissey has quite literally, ruined me. Having long been
aware of The Smiths and the hype that surrounds them, for years I had never really
been bothered enough to give them a listen, sticking it on my musical ‘to-do’
list, along with getting into Janis Joplin and
listening to the Pink Floyd albums that no one talks of. Perhaps it was
through intuition that I knew it would be dangerous for me and so avoided them for so long, in the same way
that some people choose never to smoke crack, i.e.with good reason. But all I can say is thank god I did put it off until the age of 23. If
Morrissey had worked his wicked magic on me at the age of say, 16, my life
would probably be considerably worse and less enriched right now. I would have
had seven less years of musical enjoyment; I would’ve never gone to gigs, made
friends, read books or eaten Indian food.
What I’m trying to say is; since properly getting turned on
to The Smiths about six months ago, my interest in any other artists has all
but diminished, along with the desire to write about music. What more is there
to say?! The Smiths are music. Why even bother making more music? We’ve got all
we need. We can just listen to that now. What’s the point?!
Of course I’m exaggerating (kind of), but once you realise
how incredible The Smiths and Morrissey are, it’s really impossible to imagine how
you could ever feel the same about any other band ever again, or even get real enjoyment from other music. Now, I am all too aware of my very strong tendency to slip into intense periods of irrational and unhealthy fanaticism
about musicians or bands, but this is different. I knew things were getting
serious when I found myself apologising to friends for my repetitive music
choices, and often favouring silence if I couldn’t listen to The Smiths, or
even silence in preference to lying to myself that I would make another music
choice when it was obviously an impossibility. Managing to ween myself off
temporarily with Morrissey’s solo efforts - an act as effective as giving methadone
to a heroin addict - I was soon back on the hard stuff. Even my inexpressive musical
equipment was beginning to look jaded at their thankless task of playing the
same six albums over and over again. My faceless ipod looking me in the eyes as if to say MUST
WE LISTEN TO STRANGEWAYS ONE MORE TIME?!! WHAT ABOUT THE BEATLES?! YOU USED TO
LIKE THEM
At the epicentre of this unhealthy obsession, we find
Morrissey. A man for whom my love grows greater each and every day. Sporting a quiff, hearing aid and NHS glasses, he's a man who
defies all the norms of what is required of a ‘cool’ frontman; yet these signifiers of the 'anti-cool' are pulled off so impeccably, that he consequently became a style icon like no other. His obsession with the kitchen-sink reality of England, cult film stars and figures from sixties British popular culture influenced much of the visual imagery associated with the band, and made Morrissey an even greater antithesis of the typical frontman.
Amongst the many
reasons why he is so worthy of such adoration, is the simple fact that no one
else has ever spun lyrics which even vaguely compare to the lines of
Morrissey’s crafting.
And the people who are weaker than you or I,
They take what they want from life.
His subject matter, phrasing, depth of suggestion and
ability to capture a feeling, thought or emotion effortlessly is unprecedented, and the perfectly balanced dance between wit and darkness is his alone. Not only that, but to have successfully remained an enigma and
subject of such intrigue after thirty years in the public eye is an amazing,
rare achievement. His decision to give nothing away has made him the most
intriguing character; using his time with the press not to hand out every
little detail of his life like cheap flyers - as so many do - but to discuss
animal rights, condemn the monarchy, highlight the idiocy and irrelevance of
politicians, and other such incredibly important things which need to be
said by someone in the public eye. Naturally such assertions have also ensured that he's accrued his fair share of haters, but then all the best people are those that piss others off for one reason or another.
No wonder people from every demographic can be found hurling
themselves at Morrissey during any live performance, for it does feel like he
understands. For every possible occurrence that could happen in life,
Morrissey has already written the soundtrack and the lyric that will not only
sum up exactly how you feel, but make you feel incredibly grateful to
have felt that way; be it good or bad.
If you have never experienced The Smiths fixation, then you
would be justified in your confusion over the negative, almost resentful way that I have described it here. But while it can be crippling, intense and socially awkward,
it is also wonderful; and comfort can be found in knowing that at the age of 23, I have probably found the best band I will ever hear - and that's okay - because their music is now mine to enjoy, forever.
Here is Panic.
Listen at your peril.
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