Every Day Is Like Wednesday
Ten blocks from the Uptown Theatre they were easy to spot.
Looking like people who had escaped from bedsits 20 years ago they were now walking away from their medication and their SUVs.
They had somewhere to go. Moz was in town.
At the corner of Valentine and Broadway, a perfect address for Morrissey, I watched a succession of loose-shirted men with a glazed look on their faces stand back from the Uptown to snap their hero’s name in lights. Or plastic.
We were about to witness rock’s finest cabaret.
-Show me what’s in your pockets
-Just these, my keys
-Don’t take them out of your pocket
It had me wondering if my keys would actually work on the theatre itself.
Kristeen Young opened with a keyboard that played itself and a drummer whose first name was baby. A lot of noise for a baby. Not a million miles from Siouxsie Sioux. No bad thing. First show to ever cause vibrations in my manhood.
Anticipation. Videos on a giant sheet. Morrissey’s fanhood of the New York Dolls not forgotten. Nearly full now.
They were all there. The fat, the sweaty, the Irish, the dysfunctional, the big-haired, the short, the forty-something, the gossipy. And that was just me.
Lights off. Pete Wylie’s Imperfect List. Apart from things like “Adolf Hitler” and “Apartheid” the scouse female also said “Lost Keys”. So maybe Moz was just looking out for us at the doors.
Lights on. Morrissey in a suit, like a barrel-chested Bryan Ferry. Backed by 5-man band for some reason dressed as Umpa Lumpas.
Says ‘Missouri’ five times until it’s distorted into ‘Morrissey’. What does he do in Arkansas?
Roar off into The Queen is Dead. Loosen the tie. By the 3rd song the jacket is gone. By the 6th the shirt goes into the crowd. After Iggy Pop this might be the most famous torso in rock music.
Morrissey quips frequently, teasing the crowd for turning up. Mid songs he shakes hands respectfully with those who knew he would.
Panic on the streets of London. Crowd leaps. Sings along. Some people came to see The Smiths. He calls it a turgid night in Kansas City.
The last two albums dominate the set list. Rightfully so. If you don’t know them just know that Morrissey was a fat kid on a council estate and then he grew up never to find love, only then to find love, only then to lose love, and then to lose his shirt.
Moz interviews a couple of fans at the front. But he hands them the microphone. They could say anything. An English accent. Flying home the next day. Returning to the Moz Tour in two weeks. It’s an addiction, shrugs Morrissey.
A day after his 48th birthday he tells us he’s 46. And that he was up until 5am the night before. The Umpa Lumpas are very good. That’s a very big drum you have there. Everything happens under two giant monochromes of the face of James Dean.
Bang bang bang. Three very old favourites. Ecstasy for a crowd fed by formatted nostalgia radio. Girlfriend in a Coma. Morrissey quips about the songs resonance. And the sweat. Our sweat. Our smells.
Every Day Is Like Sunday. A huge reaction. The joyful crowd invitation of a nuclear bombing. Moz is all presence. Charisma. His voice perfect all night. Reads a small banner near the front. All you need is me.
The Boy With The Thorn In His Side. Oh no, this one is my favourite, the crowd corrects itself. Does Morrissey see mouthfuls of lager in raised plastic cups and think, oh, they really like this one?
I counted five shirts. Only one more went into the crowd. Moz milked it. With sweat.
Without even touching The Smiths‘ canon Moz has such a repertoire to choose from. He could do three totally different gigs of this quality. His arsenal.
Jesse Tobias plays a rockier guitar than some of those other jangly collaborators. With lights in your eyes it’s hard to see a grown man lying on a stage.
No games at the end. A big end. Life is a Pigsty and How Soon is Now. Walk off for a break. Quickly back on. Our performers take a bow. Last of the International Playboys. Cheers and beers.
You’re Gonna Need Someone On Your Side. You could do worse than the ringleader of the tormentors.
Morrissey, don’t ever stop. Come back soon.
Love,
Kansas City
More Morrissey:
• The Smiths: An Irish Band
• Irish Blood, English Heart, Spanish Liver, Italian Sausage
• Morrissey Makes Top 20 Greatest Rock Heroes
Other Morrissey Reviews:
• The Pitch
• Back to Rockville
• Riverfront Times
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
Em, perhaps so I am a little too young… It sounds so similar in performance to his show I saw last Summer near the chicken sheds, however, myself and the chicken farmer walked away with bad tastes left in our mouths… All the dislikeable political mumbo jumbo between songs - so unnecessary and unappreciated by the crowd… I would say, in my finest Lord of the Rings accent “Go Away and NEVER come back”
*SWOON*
He is an icon always and forever. Thanks, Eolai. I felt like I was almost there. Lucky you.
Sadly, I’ve never had the chance to see him perform live.
Did you catch that NME poll a few years ago that asked what was the most influential British band?
Yup.
It was The Smiths.
e - Outdoor versus indoor, his homeland versus his adopted homeland, and no politics whatsoever on Wednesday in front of just over 1,000 adoring people there for him and nobody else; it shouldn’t be quite that similar.
And you are too young.
He was TOTALLY at Valentine and Broadway. Fine observation, that.
I’m older now you know!