Morrissey

For many of the self-loathing disposition congregated, in hushed manner, around the doors of the Roundhouse theatre – this isn’t the first time.

For those who feel every day is like Sunday, Morrissey serves as comfort. His furious scribbles devoid of all hope providing the narration to their empty and solitary life. This is why his legend is assured. As long as there is anxiety, depression and marginalisation in the world Morrissey will continue to thrive and grow. Tonight Sir Moz arrives onstage with a quote from the late Mother Teresa stating “Don’t let the bastards grind you down” before his well-honed five-piece band launch into the first chords of brand new song ‘Something Is Squeezing My Skull’. Referencing the anti-depressants Diazepam, Valium and Lithium, Moz proclaims, “Don’t give me any more...”, succinctly reflecting the darker lyrical prose and distorted clatter he has opted for since his popular resurgence at the beginning of this decade.

Although affected by a common cold, the Morrissey of old is very much present, spreading the theatrical drama thick from the offset, stating: “I probably won’t make it as far as song six”. Framed by the gigantic backdrop of Richard Burton, he ducks, as if flagellating an imaginary angel of hope and light with his microphone cord, poseuring throughout recent release ‘I Just Want To See The Boy Happy’ like the veteran thespian he is. New single ‘That’s How People Grow Up’, which sees him compare breaking one’s spine as the only thing “worse in life than never being someone’s sweetie”, is followed by the first of three Smiths classics tonight. Good on you Mozza for not letting that Ronson scroat, cremator of fabulous popular music, ruin the joyous moment that is ‘Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before’. It’s followed by solo anthem ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’, which whips this balmy crowd into further animated stupor, and as its climactic chorus explodes, the first batch of middle-aged males are ejaculated from it clutches like one million sperm, all with one goal: to touch flesh with their hallowed master.

Shortly after the “very nice, very nice, very nice” sobering beauty of ‘Death Of A Disco Dancer’ climaxes like a sedated blur, the band make way for a Heath Ledger-dedicated ‘Life Is A Pigsty’, browning our canvases before spraying us with the hazy and wonderful shade of perfect classic: ‘Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want’.

But, can anything possibly top the echoed swooping guitar line of ‘How Soon Is Now?’. The shirt buttons get lower, unveiling the medallion - with a squint on it could be 1985 all over again. Morrissey ends convulsing in a yet another collapsed heap as if a broken man. It’s this sense of theatre, not only on stage but throughout his entire existence, which continues to rile so many. But this ingeniousness has meant Morrissey has spanned the ages and remains, as he probably always will, the most potent figure in pop culture Britain has produced in the last 30 years.

A polished and perfect rendition of ‘The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores’ provides yet another highlight to a jam-packed 90-minute set. As the kick drum for closer ‘The Last of the Famous International Playboys’ echoes around the auditorium I sit watching the middle-aged gentlemen ‘go over the top’ again, as if they are emerging from the trenches, fighting the Great War, many factors such as barriers and the force of gravity deciding whether their mission is to be successful or whether they are to be robbed in their very prime at the evil hands of the bouncers of this chance encounter. The few that succeed are rewarded accordingly and the spring in their step evokes a life-changing rebirth. Wherever Morrissey goes, they will continue to follow forever.

Photo: Front Rows, Pits and Pavements