An Aging Morrissey Performs His V-Day Massacre

Ex-Smiths Singer Brings His Torment to Akron

Morrissey

Feb. 14, 2000

Akron Civic Theater

I can still remember the first time I heard Morrissey sing. I was 13 years old and the song was The Smiths' "Panic." That voice was so unabashedly singing what I was always dying to say at the time: "Hang the DJ." The sentiment was so right, yet the music was all wrong. It was too slow and unabrasive in its jangly pop sound, and on top of that, this guy was crooning, not screaming. This was, though, the sensitive side of our punk-rock selves that my friends and I were all hiding, and this pretty boy was out there exposing it to thousands of teenage girls, and had been doing so for almost seven years at that point. The fact that I traded my copy of Never Mind the Bullocks... to a friend for Louder Than Bombs soon after that first listen should be enough to say that I quickly came to accept the man who might as well be the Elvis of alternative rock and have stuck with him ever since.

On the first Valentine's Day of the new millennium, Morrissey was in Akron at the Civic Theater, bringing some of his classic cynicism and drear to many a jaded young lover -or rather, mostly old ones. The mean age of the crowd probably exceeded my own by at least 10 years, but that was merely testament to the longevity of Morrissey's career, spanning almost two decades from his days with The Smiths to his present solo work.

Not unlike a scene from a David Lynch film, Morrissey and his longtime touring band came onto the stage offset by blood red velvet curtains, heralded by a brooding yet swanky Playboy-esque soundtrack and bombarded by roses and valentines. Quickly dubbing himself "James Bondage," he welcomed the crowd to his "Valentine's Day Massacre" with a surprisingly sincere bow and seemingly jovial mood. Constantly moving and posturing for an unseen camera, swirling the mike cord around like a rhythmic gymnast, Morrissey seemed like a bizarre hybrid of a second-rate Vegas lounge singer and Freddie Mercury. Although at first seeming to more than look his 40 years, that unmistakable voice - falling somewhere in between Frank Sinatra and T. Rex's Marc Bolan - managed to bring back the old sex-symbol status amidst the newly-gained paunch with a little help from the eventual shedding of some clothing to the audience.

Using his presence and his voice to dote upon and attack the crowd all at the same time, Morrissey almost conceded to give the crowd exactly what they wanted for nearly 80 minutes, which for Morrissey is an unusually long set (especially in light of his last performance in these parts, when he stormed offstage after only a handful of numbers).

The set spanned almost his entire career, opening with "Swallow on My Neck," a track from his most recent album of B-Sides and rarities, My Early Burglary Years. Then, breaking into Vauxhall and I's "I Am Hated For Loving," he made it apparent that he was still the forlorn heartbreaker of days gone by, kneeling down to the countless swooning fans clamoring to touch him at the edge of the stage while simultaneously singing to them, "I still don't belong / to anyone - I am mine."

While bypassing many of the mainstream hits from his solo career, Morrissey appeased his diehard fans with a number of his older and more cult favorites like "November Spawned A Monster," "Hairdresser On Fire," "Tomorrow," and a beautiful reworking of "Now My Heart Is Full."

Even more surprisingly though, Morrissey was more than happy to oblige the crowd with five Smiths songs including an almost eerily impassioned version of "Meat Is Murder," during which he spent the latter half of the song sprawled out on his back.

The abundance of Smiths songs in the set was most likely a metaphorical middle-finger to Smiths guitarist and former collaborator Johnny Marr, due to their long-standing feud.

Upon closing the set with "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me" and finishing within his usual encore of "Shoplifters Of The World Unite," it was virtually impossible to deny that the man still had it - all of the old, arrogant brilliance that has made him one of the most infamous, spurned lovers in rock music. It was hard not to leave feeling somewhat satisfied in knowing that even with all of that love flying around, it was still okay to be bitter.

It's Raining in the Graveyard of Love: Morrissey brings his anguished brand of alterna-rock to the Akron Civic Theater, thrilling the crowd with material culled from his solo career and his years as the lead singer of the Smiths. (photo by Sire Records)