What the ...

I love conspiracy theories, you guys!  I mean, I believe some pretty weird shit so I'm open to the idea that anything is possible.  More things in heaven and earth, etc. etc.

This means I was obviously SUPER EXCITED to get an email from my friend Jok with the subject 'A mystery solved.'

I think he might be right. 

From The Diana-Morrissey Phenomenon

THE DIANA-MORRISSEY PHENOMENON

August 31, 1978:
19 year-old Steven Morrissey first meets guitarist Johnny Marr,
the one who will launch Morrissey's career several years later
by aggressively enlisting him to co-found a band: The Smiths.

August 31, 1997:
19 years to-the-day since Morrissey met guitarist Johnny Marr,
Princess Diana is killed under circumstances foreshadowed
in Morrissey's work, beginning with an album by The Smiths.

The theorist makes some pretty far reaches of logic but this is my kind of theory.  Tenuous links are the best kind!

Interesting fact: if you watch the video (I did, bien sûr) you'll see some images of Diana (R.I.P.) from a famous interview she gave.  I don't remember anything she said in that video but I remember it coming on television.  I'd been a lifelong admirer of Princess Diana (whatever, I was a little girl in the 80s and she was a for real glamorous princess) and, against all logic, I was astounded when she sounded British. It is obvious she'd have an English accent (duh) but because I'd only ever read anything she said my imagination's version of her voice was American.  The same thing happened when I saw the first Harry Potter movie.  I don't think this is unique.

Here's what I learned from this video: SPM always had really fucking excellent hair.

Here's what I didn't learn from this video (but expect to learn from the website): whether or not SPM arranged for Princess Diana's murder.

This is some serious David Icke shit.

Additional players

Jok: born nowhere near Manchester around the same time as Big Daddy (I can never remember who's older but I've known Jok like 6 years and he's never told me his birthday).  We have regular weekend coffee and talk about precious things.

David Icke: born in 1952, David is an ex-footballer turned conspiracy theorist.  My (admittedly) limited knowledge of his beliefs include the understanding he believes the Royal Family to be alien lizard people or similar.  I've never read his books but I so want to!  

I'd be surprised if David features in this blog again but Jok probably will.  I think I'll try to get him to read Autobiography.

 

More pages ... less rage

Why is there less rage?

Big Daddy has been skipping pages.

Yeah, seriously.

He said he's skipped about twenty pages because he 'didn't give a shit about SPM's love of poetry.' I tried to read him the lyrics to 'Cemetry Gates' to explain why the poetry is SO! IMPORTANT! but he just sort of pooh-poohed me and tried to go back to reading.



Note: Cemetry Gates has a bonus 'coming out' lyric. 


I fear he's running out of steam, which is sad because his complaints about SPM are pretty amusing!  It may not even be running out of steam, I think he's finding SPM's prose insurmountably dense (a complaint I've heard and read elsewhere) and likes him less and less with every page.  I suspect he always thought my disdain for Morrissey-the-man (as opposed to Morrissey-the-solo-artist) was misplaced and silly.  I think that disdain is trickling away and becoming understanding. Note: yes, I know, technically it's Morrissey-the-public-persona-not-Morrissey-the-private-individual but that's too long to type.  Artistic license, innit? It's been almost a week since he last sat down with Autobiography. 
 
Today Big Daddy has a meeting with SPM's sister's BFF. I told him he should use it to get the dirt on SPM and to answer some of the questions I have about him.  He said he'd ask her 'if he remembers.' Pfft!  Not very dedicated to my future as a celebrity blogger, is he?  Terrible.

The only real gem we had was a laugh about SPM's break up with Bryan Ferry.  He loved him until he found out his favorite meal was veal. Poor SPM, too delicate to cope with a difference of opinion.  That makes me want to do a load of sad face emoticons while chuckling.

:(:(:(:(:(:(:(:(:(:(:(


I might have to give Big Daddy crazy side-eye whenever he picks up a book that isn't Autobiography.  We're in this until the bitter end, dang it!

Facebook bonus

Additional (but still important) cast members

Our Tracey: Our Steve's wife, actually from Salford.  I'm unclear on her position on The Smiths (and also Herbie Hancock but I bet she's not a fan).


Big Daddy asked Our Tracey this on Facebook and I felt it merited inclusion.

Tracey Our Steve needs to tell me if St Mary's was really worse than Strangeways, cos Morrissey makes it sound like some child torture camp from a Charles Dickens novel. I realise Morrissey is, like, about 7 years older than me but surely it can't have been all _that_ different?

Pages 15 - 28...ish. Still early pages.

I'll be honest: this started out pretty loud and got quiet.  I think Big Daddy is

a) actually enjoying this book.
b) mugging for the blog.
c) uncomfortable with his new found fame despite (b).


I came in to the living room and found Big Daddy on the sofa reading.  'What're you reading?' I asked.

Note: THIS IS WHY IT'S NOT WEIRD ANNIE LENNOX WOULD FORGET THE LYRICS TO HER OWN SONGS.  I am blogging about my husband reading Autobiography and I asked him what he was reading because, in that moment, I actually had no idea.


'Morrissey,' he replied.

Duh.

I ignored him and hassled my cat by forcing her to act like a noisy pillow.  I looked at Facebook and thought about my bad headache but didn't actually do anything about it.  I got up to feed the dog and thought about watching my recording of Monday Night Football so I could finally see that Fulham goal everyone's talking about and hear what Gary Neville had to say about United's draw on Saturday.  Instead, I kind of just stuck with Facebook and read a review of Morrissey's book.

'You liar!'

'Oh, hang on! Let me get a pen.'

Big Daddy asked me why I needed a pen.  Um, I'm blogging this.  Duh.  Ok, so blogging doesn't normally use a pen (because it's a weB LOG, get it?) but I don't have a laptop and I was nowhere near the computer. Besides, I wanted to have an accurateish record of what he'd said.

Anyway, he complained about SPM saying he had no electronic gadgets or distractions in his home and then talked about the TV shows his parents watched.  Clearly SPM is unclear on electricity but that's cool, I'm sure I can find someone to explain it to him for a fee.  He can even hit up the Insane Clown Posse but may not actually understand at the end of that conversation.  There was a lot of swearing about how SPM undermined his own statement by talking about television 'in the same fucking paragraph' as his statement there were no electronics.

Big Daddy started talking about his pay-as-you-watch-television-set (with a slot for 50p in the back) and I thought, 'Jesus, England, you could have used this technological energy to standardize MIXER TAPS IN EVERY BATHROOM but instead you chose PAYG television.'

What the actual fuck?  This country is fucking freezing and raining like all the bastard time (SPM was totally right when he said 'the rain falls down on a humdrum town') and instead of one faucet for your hot and cold sink water and every house with actual heating some asshole decided coin operated TV was the way forward.

Oh. Em. Eff. Gee. I think I'm turning into Morrissey, you guys. 

'God, they couldn't have been that fucking poor if they had an holiday in Staten Island.  Unless England has a Staten Island.'

I would have said my family went to New York on vacation but that doesn't sound as pretentious and off-the-beaten track, I guess.  Then I looked at a picture of SPM's mom in a bikini on this vacation and she was totally a looker.

After deciding SPM was like, a proto-hipster (hipster before it was uncool?  I'll come back to this with something funnier in like six months.) I went back to my reading and forcing my cat to be my pillow.  After what was probably four pages of reading time I stood up to wander into the kitchen and Big Daddy said, 'Jesus, how did no one know he was gay?'

Background: Big Daddy and I have always wondered this.  Several of The Smiths' songs are clearly about being gay. 'My only weakness is a listed crime,' guys. COME ON.  He means SEX WITH DUDES.

Note: my ironclad reasoning applies if the lyric is 'list of crimes,' too.  Go me!


There are other lyrics in other songs.  I might get Big Daddy to have a listening party with me where we write down every song lyric that is SPM going, 'I'm queer.'  How this is a surprise to anyone is beyond us.

It actually kind of makes me sad for both SPM and his legions of queer fans.  I'm conflicted about famous people coming out: if someone doesn't want to come out I can understand all the reasons why they wouldn't (even if I may disagree with some of them) but at the same time I don't think famous people actually owe us anything.  I don't think they owe us certain behavior and have to be role models but at the same time, with young, queer people still committing suicide how can you actually not be out?  How can you not do your bit to help break down heteronormativity?

Anyway, the reason for Big Daddy's confusion is this: SPM used to watch Miss World (he called it 'unmissable high drama') and scored the candidates with his own, complex scoring system.  There are a lot of stereotypes at play, here, but I get it.  If you asked someone to come up with a 'young, queer male stereotype' I'm pretty sure this would be in there.

I've never been into beauty pageants.  I think they're bo-ring.

'Oh, fuck OFF.'

Big Daddy read me an excerpt of SPM complaining about (I guess?) the cruelty of Tarzan (yeah, the TV program) for showing 'elsewhere' that wasn't Manchester.  Actually, the excerpt came after the part where Big Daddy just opened and closed his mouth, completely incapable of verbalizing his irritation at SPM.  Eventually this ended with a lot of swearing and the insistence that of COURSE [SPM] wasn't seeing elsewhere.

'It's because you won't leave your fucking room.'

Interesting fact: SPM fainted the first time his dad took him to Old Trafford to see George Best. What? I don't even know.  What?  I'll bet his Dad was pissed.  If I had a kid, I probably would've just left it to recover on the concourse (this is why I don't have kids).

To finish off Big Daddy's reading our intrepid hero (actually, I'm not sure if that's me or Morrissey at this point but we'll assume the latter) claimed the teachers at St. Mary's Secondary Modern routinely beat the boys.

SPM had better watch out because WE CAN ACTUALLY FACT CHECK THIS.  Big Daddy is going to ask Our Steve if that's true.  If so, SCANDALOUS.

Interesting fact: when Big Daddy and Our Steve were kids one of the schools in Stretford had an headmaster called Mr. Bent.  The sign outside the school read, 'A. Bent, Headmaster.'  Yeah, my husband is still laughing at this after 30 years.  No judgement: I'll be laughing that the suburb of Manchester is called Chorlton-cum-Hardy for many, many years to come.  It's never not funny, you guys.

Bonus coming out lyric (willful ignorance FTW, I guess):

But now you know the truth about me
You won't see me anymore
But I'm still fond of you


This blog post actually presents a top ten list of SPM's lyrics which address gay themes or allude to his homosexuality.  I don't 100% agree with all of the interpretations but some of them I did a metaphorical fist pump.  In any case this blog post is really interesting.

Bonus review by Sasha Frere-Jones in the New Yorker.

You might as well face it you're a dick with a glove.

Today I learned the lyrics to 'Love is a Stranger' by the Eurythmics don't include 'something something session.'  I have always, always assumed Annie Lennox just didn't know the words to her own song. Is that actually so strange?  Weird shit happens all the time, plus she scares the fuck out of me.  I basically categorize her with Grace Jones: super talented women who terrify me because I have some ridiculous childhood association with them that makes me fear them.  Grace is easy (she was a fucking scary assed James Bond villain) but Annie? I don't know!




New to my mondegreen repetoire (can I call it that? Is that a Thing?) is Queen's 'Lemon Bar.'  I'd never heard it until a few weeks ago.



Even though I know the lyrics are 'are you ready for the hammer to fall?' it never sounds like that.  Never.  I think lemon bars are gross so it made even less sense than it would if I liked them.

Full disclosure: I actually can't stand Queen.  I want to like them (Brian May's anti-dachshundist views aside) but I just ... don't. Yes, I know Freddie Mercury could sing with the best of them but I think Queen suck.  I also think this about The Carpenters (Karen with the Voice, etc).  See how I capitalized it?  I know it's actually that good.

Big Daddy makes fun of the mondegreens sometimes. Today when Mr. Mister's 'Broken Wings' came on the radio he tried to pretend he'd misheard the lyrics.  Jackass.

Until I learned that something called 'Vegemite' existed I thought the lyrics to Men At Work's 'Down Under' were 'he just smiled and gave me a piece of his sandwich.'  Makes sense, if you think about it from the point of view of someone who's never heard of yeast spread. COME ON.

Anyway, this talk of mondegreens is unrelated to my boy SPM but it did lead me to one of the funniest YouTube comments of all time. To wit:

The beginning

'I'm looking forward to reading this,' said Big Daddy.

I wasn't listening.  I was watching Man United beat Real Sociedad by one (offiside) goal and browsing Facebook on my phone. 

Digression: I swore I would never do that and avoided smart phones for ages.  I do it all the time.  I am that asshole. 

Ryan Giggs was being amazing and I think Morrissey is a dick.  I'd already told Clint he was 'feeding the monster' by actually buying Autobiography.  If I was going to read it I was going to get it from my local library.

'OH FUCK OFF! JUST FUCK OFF!'

I don't like being interrupted when I'm watching United (unless it's by Facebook, obviously) but I was amused. 'What's the problem?' I asked Big Daddy.

'Oh, Morrissey, he's just a fucking dickhead. He thinks this is fucking Charles Dickens.  He thinks he was so fucking poor.  What an asshole.  I know the neighborhood. I grew up there, it's not like that.  It wasn't like that.'

He carried on reading and I heard the following things:

'Fuck you.'

'Oh, you think you're Oliver Twist.  Fuck off.'

'Shut up.'

Then he laughed and said, 'this is the first time we've met Morrissey's sister.'

'The first time Morrissey met her?  Is she younger?'  God, I'm hilarious.

'No, she's two years older,' he said.  He pretends he's not amused by me but he is.  I'm fucking hysterical. 'This is the first time Morrissey's introduced her in the book.'

Big Daddy then read a passage from Autobiography where SPM's sister gets him to sniff Pond's cold cream (already a woman after my own heart) and shoves his nose into the jar in a classic dick move (again with the after my heart thing) and said, 'I love his sister already.'


Interesting fact: Big Daddy works with a woman who is this sister's BFF from childhood.  SPM wrote her a poem for her 16th birthday (she still has it) and they used to harass him by calling him 'Steven' because he hated it.


When I went to bed Big Daddy continued to rant about SPM's florid prose.  His initial reaction?  'No wonder he never became a writer.'

SICK BURN, BIG DADDY!  Ouch.


NB: the conversations are paraphrased but the gist is accurate.

An introduction

I'm a big fan of The Smiths.  Huge.  They're one of those bands I would pay pretty much any amount of money to see if they reformed.

Disclosure: I might love The Smiths but I'm definitely not a fan of Morrissey, the man (or even of Morrissey, the solo artist).  The reasons are numerous and some are serious while others are pretty ridiculous.  That said, I still get excited every time I pass his childhood home on the bus and point it out to myself like some kind of fangirl. With the exception of 'When Doves Cry' I don't think music gets that much better than 'Strangeways, Here We Come.'

I'm OK with that and with my relationship with Morrissey.

My husband also likes The Smiths (although not as much as I do) and grew up in the same neighborhood at approximately the same time as Morrissey so he was enthusiastic about reading the Autobiography.  He was hoping to see some of his childhood memories through Morrissey's eyes.

Digression: is that not as ridiculous a title as Russell Brand's My Booky Wook? It totally is.  Note: I enjoyed My Booky Wook a lot.

Our neighbor, Clint, is an avid Smiths fan. He told us he'd bought Autobiography and complained that the first 150 pages was Morrissey (can I start calling him SPM now?  It's easier.) waffling about bands he liked and not his youth. Clint said he didn't care about Patti Smith or the New York Dolls, he cared about SPM.

Two days later there was a knock on our front door.  Clint handed Autobiography  to my husband in silence, wearing a glum expression. This blog is a collection of some of the things my husband has said while reading Autobiography.  His rage is hilarious, it's kind of like me reading Dan Brown.

The Players

Stephen Patrick Morrissey (SPM): born in 1959 in Trafford, Manchester. Probably a genius, singer for one of the greatest bands of all time (in your face, Kanye).

Big Daddy: my husband, born in 1966 in Stretford, Manchester. Almost ex-goth, Gary Numan's 20th biggest fan. Generally a fun time.  He has fond memories of Manchester from 1970-1992 and I think prefers shitty old Manchester.

Here's the location of SMP's childhood home and below is the Google Maps route between their two childhood homes (I picked the iron bridge route, OBVIOUSLY).

Our Steve: my brother-in-law.  Born in 1968, attended the same high school as Morrissey but spent the 80s listening to Herbie Hancock and break dancing on linoleum stolen from his kitchen.

Enzo: my dachshund, probably not a fan of The Smiths but I can't be sure. He definitely enjoys the theme song to The X-Files.

Me: born in Southern California, 1980. I moved to Manchester in 2002 and, in an epic display of snobbery, believe you only really understand The Smiths if you've lived in Manchester.  This city (which I love so hard) is SPM's biggest muse, or was, and it shows in his music big style.  Wyclef Jean is my favorite solo artist but my favorite song is R. Kelly's 'Ignition (Remix).'

Sam: a friend from work who named her cat after SPM.  As in, his name is Stephen Patrick Morrissey.  I don't even know if she knows about this blog but I bet she'd appreciate it.