Why
I’m going to Therapy Next Week: A Brutally Honest review of my platonic love
affair with Morrissey
Well dear readers,
even though I’m desperately behind schedule with this latest post, I hope that
the content hereafter will be ample restitution for my tardiness. Normally I
would give you a brutally honest review of something I had little or no
exposure to, but in this case I feel that is necessary to make an exception.
This week, I’d like to talk about the music of Morrissey.
I’ll be the first
to admit that at first I couldn’t stand him, or his music. I thought he was
kind of pompous and whiny. I would even make jokes poking fun at how sad he
always seemed to be. But one day in 10th grade, my first serious
girlfriend broke up with me- broke my heart. I remember griping, grousing, and
grimacing around the house all day long for about two weeks straight. Needless
to say this wore on my parents nerves to no end-eventually they banished me to
my room, in hopes that solitude would remedy my heart ache…okay well, they
probably just wanted some respite from their angsty teenage son.
I made my acquiescence known with the slam of the door (but not before I
pilfered a bottle of my Step Mom’s wine). Once the door was locked in
seclusion, the wne and I headed straight for my stereo. The wine and I sat for
a while leafing through my jumbo sized booklet of cds (I had around 500 albums
or so at that time) and I remember thinking: Nobody could possibly understand, how sad I am right now…. That’s
when it happened, I flipped to the next page of albums and there it was- the
only Smiths album I had; “ The Queen is Dead” so I decided to put it on. I
figured that Morrissey and I could have a session of drinking and moping.
This was hands
down one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I must’ve listened to I know it’s Over dozens of times that
night. His words were like a salve on my moldering heart. Love is natural and real, but not for us my love- not tonight my love.
Love is natural and it’s real, but not for such as you and I…my love. Just
like that I was hooked.
Those of you
reading this who know me personally, may also know that for the most part, I
find people who develop cult like admiration for things that are “too unhip to be
cool and are therefore cool anyway,” to be caustic and irritating. But, today
the startling realization came upon me that I am one of those people. It all
started this morning, when a friend of
mine sent me a link to some live videos of one of Moz’s shows, and suggested
that I check them out. So I clicked on it, and left the videos on for some
background. I occasionally glanced up from my work to see what was happening on
my TV screen. I looked up at one point, and there he was, hands flailing, and
wobbling his torso all around the stage, even pausing at one point to make the
sign of the cross (still not sure what that’s about). As for the other things
they’re pretty common tropes in Morrissey’s performances. If anyone else in the
world were doing them though, I’d surely be doubled over in hysterical
laughter, but for some reason these nerdy, awkward spasms only make me love him
more. It’s like he’s the only guy on the planet who could pull those
“stereotypical white guy moves “off and still walk away looking suave(at least
in my mind), but that’s not even the worst of my symptoms…
The thing that has
me seriously considering spending sometime draped over an analyst couch is,
that when I saw people being tackled by security for jumping on stage to touch
his hand, and being carted away still singing along; I couldn’t help but think,
totally worth it. Here’s where it gets Freudian strange though, at the end of the
show he takes off his shirt, and throws it into the crowd. As it fluttered down
toward people’s outstretched hands, I thought, God I’d punch somebody right in the face, or maybe even…No definitely, fight
off a pack of wild bears in order get my hands Morrissey’s shirt…
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