Mozza woz 'ere - live review of Morrissey at Royal Albert Hall
On 7 March, I ticked off a major item on the bucket list - I saw The Smiths frontman, Morrissey live at the Royal Albert Hall.
The reason I cited him as the frontman of legendary 80s indie band is because I'm a fan of The Smiths more than the miserable, self-righteous Morrissey. He's far more synonymous with his contentious points of view, like defending Kevin Spacey in an interview with German paper, Spiegel and telling the NME that immigration is to blame for the disappearance of British culture (whatever that means).
I was poised, after being offered free tickets by a friend, to see him at the magnificent Albert Hall in Kensington, London, to stage a dirty protest, should he use this prestigious stage to air his grotesque, antiquated opinions.
Sitting just above the stalls, in the inner circle, I had the perfect view of a vignette of retro footage from jazz performances, retro sci-fi and westerns. It felt like this was the warm up, priming us for what was to come - Morrissey's mind-camp to prepare us to be indoctrinated into the Church of Mozza.
However, it ended up being more Adam Curtis than Anthony Burgess. This digital art piece was just a backdrop to what was an incredible concert. Morrissey's vocals quivered in places, but mostly soared, like through the opener of The Last of The International Playboys to Suedehead. His set-list was unsurprisingly made up of his own, solo material, plus a cover of The Pretenders track, Back on The Chain Gang. Sadly (and happily), the only Smiths song he played was How Soon Is Now, close to the end. He ended his landmark gig with I'm Not Sorry, but came back to do Irish Blood, English Heart as an encore.
The seated crowd enthusiastically sang along, applauded, cheered and gasped at the opening notes of every song. The atmosphere was a mixture of grown up boho and excited teen spirit. The was an unspoken camaraderie between gig-goers, who were there to drink in every moment of a living legend.
His tour has been slated by left-wing rags like The Guardian, who claim that he's lost his way. I disagree. Perhaps it was the acoustics of the Albert Hall or the civilised, metropolitan elite who made up the audience, but Morrissey remained silent. Focusing mainly on swaggering around on stage and moodily belting out his greatest hits.
This now-not-so-charming man has been tarnished by his hubris and habitat. Since he spoke to a lost generation with his poetic, visceral lyrics and killer hooks with Johnny Marr, he's a faded hero who's alienated the radical, liberal left who would've followed him anywhere. However, we shouldn't judge an artist on his politics. No one has disowned David Bowie for his alleged misdemeanours with teens at the height of his fame, Marlon Brando being a rapist doesn't stop him being the greatest actor ever and Eric Gill's disgusting private life doesn't prevent us from enjoying the beauty of his sculpture.
In this current climate, where no one seems to have led a moral life, can we really start to throw stones at talent? Especially art, where it exists to challenge emotion, culture and beliefs.
I would've liked to have seen more Smiths songs, like the Guardian reviewer did, but this didn't hinder my enjoyment of the evening. I felt I had been in the presence of something special - whether that prowess is current or not.
The reason I cited him as the frontman of legendary 80s indie band is because I'm a fan of The Smiths more than the miserable, self-righteous Morrissey. He's far more synonymous with his contentious points of view, like defending Kevin Spacey in an interview with German paper, Spiegel and telling the NME that immigration is to blame for the disappearance of British culture (whatever that means).
I was poised, after being offered free tickets by a friend, to see him at the magnificent Albert Hall in Kensington, London, to stage a dirty protest, should he use this prestigious stage to air his grotesque, antiquated opinions.
Sitting just above the stalls, in the inner circle, I had the perfect view of a vignette of retro footage from jazz performances, retro sci-fi and westerns. It felt like this was the warm up, priming us for what was to come - Morrissey's mind-camp to prepare us to be indoctrinated into the Church of Mozza.
However, it ended up being more Adam Curtis than Anthony Burgess. This digital art piece was just a backdrop to what was an incredible concert. Morrissey's vocals quivered in places, but mostly soared, like through the opener of The Last of The International Playboys to Suedehead. His set-list was unsurprisingly made up of his own, solo material, plus a cover of The Pretenders track, Back on The Chain Gang. Sadly (and happily), the only Smiths song he played was How Soon Is Now, close to the end. He ended his landmark gig with I'm Not Sorry, but came back to do Irish Blood, English Heart as an encore.
The seated crowd enthusiastically sang along, applauded, cheered and gasped at the opening notes of every song. The atmosphere was a mixture of grown up boho and excited teen spirit. The was an unspoken camaraderie between gig-goers, who were there to drink in every moment of a living legend.
His tour has been slated by left-wing rags like The Guardian, who claim that he's lost his way. I disagree. Perhaps it was the acoustics of the Albert Hall or the civilised, metropolitan elite who made up the audience, but Morrissey remained silent. Focusing mainly on swaggering around on stage and moodily belting out his greatest hits.
This now-not-so-charming man has been tarnished by his hubris and habitat. Since he spoke to a lost generation with his poetic, visceral lyrics and killer hooks with Johnny Marr, he's a faded hero who's alienated the radical, liberal left who would've followed him anywhere. However, we shouldn't judge an artist on his politics. No one has disowned David Bowie for his alleged misdemeanours with teens at the height of his fame, Marlon Brando being a rapist doesn't stop him being the greatest actor ever and Eric Gill's disgusting private life doesn't prevent us from enjoying the beauty of his sculpture.
In this current climate, where no one seems to have led a moral life, can we really start to throw stones at talent? Especially art, where it exists to challenge emotion, culture and beliefs.
I would've liked to have seen more Smiths songs, like the Guardian reviewer did, but this didn't hinder my enjoyment of the evening. I felt I had been in the presence of something special - whether that prowess is current or not.
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