Unbest

Kim Huston on Morrissey
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godiminbadshaperightnow:

Morrissey
Royal Oak Music Theater
December 18, 2011

If I learned one thing from this show, it’s that I’m not the Morrissey fan I thought I was.

I am a fan of his entire discography; I have a Morrissey nightlight. I thought that was commitment.

I thought going to a Morrissey show alone might be the most depressing thing I might ever do, but it turned out to be one of the most jubilant shows I’ve enjoyed in my lifetime. As an added bonus, I got accepted into a group of super fans by just showing up and asserting myself.

I arrived at the theater as doors opened and there was already a sizeable line. I made my way into the theater and immediately went to the stage to stake my place. Within twenty minutes, two gentleman pulled the “Oh, hey I see my friends!” gambit to get closer to the stage where their tall friend was camped (I know this trick, it’s no one’s first time at the rodeo) directly in front of me. 

Despite my lack of intimidating size, much like any grab-bag third world dictator you can think of, I can have an air of authority of someone much taller. When those gentlemen asserted their spots, I loudly and sarcastically proclaimed, “Well I’m super glad I got here really early so I’d have no chance of seeing.”

The shorter of the two gentleman, Nick, looked at me and said, “Oh don’t worry, we’ll move so you can see.” He was wearing a jean jacket with a large Morrissey patch adhered with safety pins on the back of it. Some time passed and he looked to me again and asked, “Is this your first show?”

When I replied “Yes,” his eyes lit up. “It’s going to get really crazy up here, but you’re going to love it.”

Nick and the other tall fellow who dared to block my view, Roy, then proceeded to explain that they met through attending Morrissey shows. Indeed, most of the folks that surrounded me traveled the world to see Morrissey. Nick, from Atlanta and Roy from Philly, only see each other at these Moz shows. They had been to the previous night’s show in Chicago (which was quite raucous), and came to Metro Detroit to enjoy the last night of the tour. It now feels like a rookie journalist mistake to not have asked how many shows they’d seen on this tour and in total.

While discussing their travels, something they said struck me and I laughed. “No smiling or laughing,” Nick said playfully. “You’re running in the sad gang now.”

When Morrissey came to the stage, he looked like some kind of majestic silver lion. He swayed, he gestured wildly. His band looked like a weird version of the “Addicted to Love” video, if instead the women looked like a team of Anthony Perkins stand-ins wearing matching YMCA shirts, and Robert Palmer was replaced with Morrissey.

The set list was peppered with old and new tracks. Standards like “First of the Gang to Die” and “Every Day is Like Sunday” were followed by newer tracks like “People are the Same Everywhere.” Smiths gems were included and those tracks received the biggest reactions. The first time I cried was during “There is a Light That Never Goes Out.”

Everyone around me was singing along, but I was still self-aware enough to realize Roy and Nick were enjoying the reaction of the first-timer. As Morrissey went back and forth shaking hands with those in the front row, Nick would aggressively push me to the front and gesture like I should hold my hand out. When I did, he would point to my lone hand, like it was the one that needed to be blessed, almost like “Go ahead, get baptized, become one of us.”

The extended version of “Meat is Murder” was intense because of the multimedia display (“Meet Your Meat,” a film often used by PETA) behind the band, depicting the worst of animal slaughtering. It was also the best song for the band to display their immense skill as Moz left the stage and allowed them to take the song to a raucous, dramatic conclusion.

I’m glad I went to this show by myself. I don’t like big displays of emotion or letting people see my “sensitive side” (unless you catch me watching basketball). I have a pretty significant wall. Had I been with a group of people I knew, I probably couldn’t have enjoyed myself as I did. I sang along; I cried three times. Each time I sobbed, I could feel Nick’s hand on my shoulder reassuring me, as if saying “It’s OK to cry.” (I need to hear that more often, I guess, and not just at Morrissey shows.)

I had the most intense reaction when he sang “I Know It’s Over,” the third track off of The Queen is Dead, a lifelong favorite. When he sang “It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate/It takes strength to be gentle and kind/Love is natural and real/But not for you my love,” I lost it in a way that I haven’t in a really long time.  By the time he got to the final chorus and everyone began singing “Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head,” I was inconsolable. I’m glad this is my last show of the year; I’m thrilled he played that song.  

2011 was all about ending and beginning big phases of my life. I changed my career; I moved. I reevaluated some of my relationships. When I look back on this year, I’ll feel like I watched it all happen in slow motion, because I know I have only begun to deal with some of it (as happens when you embark on new journeys). I still feel a pang in my heart when I drive by my old house in Detroit or I talk about the city. I hated my last job but I still intensely crave the creativity and friendships that it once fostered.  

That’s why I had such a reaction to “I Know It’s Over.” The lyric “Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head,”  represents that feeling you get when you know you’re changing; something has ended and there is no way out of dealing with it. It hurts, it’s bittersweet, but you know what? You’re alive. You’re feeling it; you can still feel chunks of dirt slapping your face.     

But while the song ends that way, the preceding bridge reminds that “it takes guts to be gentle and kind.” That’s my goal for 2012: have guts. Trust more, love more, give more. I may feel the dirt on my face now, but I know I have the capacity to be gentle and kind.  

Morrissey ejected the second of his shirts, a sparkly black number, into the crowd (one of Nick and Roy’s friends initially caught it, which sent Nick into a fit. “Do you think he got the whole thing? If he did, I’m going to steal it!”).

Before “Still Ill” began, Nick warned me “Things will get nuts.” In the short amount of time it took, I saw Roy and another fan hoist Nick above the barricade where he was able to shake Moz’s hand before security took him. As the song progressed, something happened which led Moz to end the song short and thanked the venue’s security for doing so (Morrissey was either almost pulled into the crowd or his guitarist Boz Boorer was roughed up by security according to differing reports;  it was not in my view). After the show ended, I stood there for several minutes, shell shocked, until Nick returned to our sides with a set list.

Nick was jubilant with his acquired trophy. He and Roy chit-chatted about meeting up in March to see Morrissey in Brazil. I just stood there silently until reality sank in and I realized the show really had ended. I thanked them and said it was great to meet them.

And who knows, maybe I’ll see them again, as a braver new me for 2012.  

Kim Huston writes about music, jokes, basketball, social issues and sometimes feelings here.