samedi, juillet 10, 2004

MORRISSEY Speaks To NME - Part 1

Rock'n'roll has seen many heroes, but one stands quiff and shoulders above them all... John Lennon has sold (about a million times) more records. David Bowie has gone through more dazzling reinventions.

Kurt Cobain is the grunge James Dean. Elvis Presley sums up an entire narrative about what it meant to be rich and famous in 20th century America. Michael Jackson has the best moves and is way, way weirder. None of them, however, is Morrissey. To be Morrissey is to be the most fervently worshipped pop star of all time, the man whose song 'Meat Is Murder' turned a generation vegetarian, an icon who promoted celibacy, Oscar Wilde and '60s kitchen sink dramas when all around him was empty '80s flash. To be Morrissey is to be arguably the best lyricist of all time, definitely the best interviewee, and the lead singer with The Smiths, declared the Greatest Artists Of All Time in the 50th anniversary issue of NME two years ago.

Morrissey is the pop star most closely entwined with NME. His first contact with us was writing a letter - which we published - frothing about Sparks in 1974. Ten years and several letters later, The Smiths would dominate NME from the front cover to the letters page ("Why don't you just call yourself New Morrissey Express," spat the non-believers). When the coverage turned hostile in 1992, after a notorious Morrissey performance supporting Madness at London's Finsbury Park, it felt like nothing less than regicide.

So what happened on Saturday August 8, 1992 that so poisoned relations between us? Well, when Morrissey took the stage it was in front of an audience that contained a significant contingent of BNP-supporting skinheads, unhappily a section of Madness' fanbase since their early 2 Tone days. Morrissey's backdrop bore huge pictures of skinheads. He sang one of his most racially contentious songs, 'The National Front Disco'. Finally, he brandished a Union Jack - a shockingly inflammatory gesture in the pre-Britpop days when the only people waving it were the far right.

NME wrote a long, troubled cover feature which took in everything from Morrissey's professed hatred of reggae to his obsession with the England of days gone by. It boiled down to the question: is Morrissey racist?

Morrissey refused to respond. In fact, he refused ever to speak to NME again.

Almost 12 years have gone by and everything has changed. After releasing one fantastic album (1994's 'Vauxhall And I') and two awful ones (1995's 'Southpaw Grammar' and 1997's 'Maladjusted'), Morrissey found himself without a record deal. Exiled in LA, for the latter part of the '90s he seemed like a rock'n'roll equivalent of Norma Desmond, the faded silent movie star played by Gloria Swanson who croaks "I'm still big! It's just the movies that got small!" in the '50s film Sunset Boulevard. Morrissey's influence was virtually undetectable in the nu-metal, dance, R&B and post-Britpop wimp-rock that dominated the late-'90s. He seemed as near to obsolescence as the fax machine in the age of email - faxing inevitably being Morrissey's favoured mode of communication with the outside world. Until now.

Over the past two years, the climate has changed. Bands like The Libertines (with their poetic, squalid visions of Albion) and Franz Ferdinand (with their cleverness and camp) owe much to the man who implanted those attributes most deeply in the popular music consciousness. Meanwhile, everyone from The Strokes to JK Rowling has come forward to hymn Morrissey's genius. The Ordinary Boys are named after a song from 'Viva Hate' and Dante from Hot Hot Heat has 'This Charming Man' tattooed on his wrist. The Queen may be dead (as the title of The Smiths' most celebrated album almost put it), but it was time for the king to return from over the water.

And returned he has - with a new album, 'You Are The Quarry', which is unequivocally one of the very best things Morrissey has done since The Smiths. Reinvigorated, he's promoting it everywhere from Glastonbury and Reading/Leeds to Meltdown, the festival he's curating on London's South Bank in June.

And here he is, face to face with NME after more than a decade, in an encounter that mainly takes place in a suite at London's ultra-plush hotel The Dorchester on a Sunday afternoon. Having worn a blue blazer and grey slacks in the morning, Morrissey's slipped into a little something more comfortable - jeans and a billowing white shirt unbuttoned to show a grandad-style vest. He looks healthy, wealthy, distinguished and trim, the now greying quiff standing proudly and defiantly aloft. And the conversation? Suffice it to say that an afternoon with Morrissey is the most fun you can have with your clothes on. Which, given the dire predictions he makes for NME's sex life (see part two of the interview next week), is probably just as well.

NME: In 1984 you said that if you got to 50 "it would imply a lack of resolve, or something".
Morrissey: "Yes. Well, I haven't reached 50. I've got plenty of time. Ask me again in five-and-a-bit years."

How do you feel about ageing?
"Well, people always ask me that as if I'm prehistoric - I don't know why. What is the reason? Am I ancient?"

No, but you've been around a long time.
"So have you."

It still seems unusual for pop stars to be over 40.
"(Slightly miffed) Well, babies who were born last week are ageing. Everybody's ageing. It's not something I can avoid, but I do feel quite happy about it. The further I move away from youth, the stronger I feel. Really."

Is that because you hated being young?
"Well I did, and I was never terribly fond of young people. When I was a child I couldn't stand kids and so the closer I get to absolute senility the more comfortable I feel. Also, when you are very young you tend to be slightly in awe of people who are older than you. You assume they know a lot more than you do, particularly people in positions of authority. And as you become less young you realise that people in positions of authority actually know next to nothing and that's quite shocking, I think. Everyone's just on the nod and if you can actually get the job done it's astonishing. Most people can't get the job done."

Is it strange coming back to find George Michael, one of your old '80s adversaries, doing the same?
"Well (sighs), no. Not at all (laughs). But people also speak to me about a returning. I don't think there's been one, but I think a lot of listeners returned to me."

Why do you think that is?
"I can't specifically know, but people seem to think that music in recent years has been so atrocious. At least they realise that I'm committed to it, one of those hopeless, blind drunk people who have music in their veins, who are not just passing through it."

Do you feel there's a more friendly musical climate these days?
"Well, I'm not looking for people to be kind to me and give me the best seat by the window, but I think there's a lot of the old nasty guard have been and gone."

Who were the "old nasty guard"?
"Music writers. They obviously outlived their usefulness and were destroyed in a nearby field (laughs). As well they should be. Most things in British music are trends and baiting Morrissey became just as much of a trend as anything else that was being written about music. But the dust tends to settle."

Is that why you're speaking to NME again?
"Well, partly, but also because I realise that the people who are at NME are a different breed now. It's not the old, crusty geriatrics who were there in the early to mid-'90s. It isn't the smelly old NME any more. And also because of 'You Are The Quarry' I feel that I have something to badger people about."

What's your take on the Union Jack incident?
"It was nothing to do with the Union Jack, really. They wanted to get me, and it was a couple of journalists who'd tried to get me for years, and then unfortunately all the British pressÖ they follow and it was just time to get old Mozzer."

Have you got any regrets about that period?
"No."

Would you do it all again?
"Well, I'd do it all again - but what would I do?"

It was a combination of skinheads in the audience, skinhead imagery on the stage and you waving a Union Jack around.
"Yes, but it was principally a Madness thing. They have that contingent."

Did you realise that contingent would be there?
"No. If the press truly believe that I was racist and trying to spearhead some fantastic movement surely they wouldn't give me the publicity, surely they wouldn't stick me on the cover of NME twice with no interview. But they knew I wasn't really racist but it was an interesting story and an interesting angle and just a way to stick in the knife."

The situation could have been defused if you'd have said something.
"(Emphatically) No. Not really, because it was so strongly charged. You can't really trust them to meet and talk and explain. Because then they'll say, 'Well we met him and he explained and he really is racist.' They're not going to say anything nice about you when they hate you that much."

Were you surprised when NME called The Smiths the Greatest Act Of All Time?
"Greatest act? God, it was only an act! Yeah, of course. I mean, I couldn't believe we won over Abba."

You said recently "other people have iPods, I have Meltdown". Have you got an iPod?
"I have - I was given one six months ago and I can't even open the box, never mind put the thing together, so it's just lying rotting in the corner. There's nothing on it."

What was the last record you bought?
"It could have been The Ordinary Boys single orÖ I did buy another single. It obviously went flying out of the window."

What do you like about The Ordinary Boys?
"Well, I was initially intrigued by the name, because it has a certain link to a certain group, so I thought that was quite nice of them. So I investigated further."

And were you pleased with what you found?
"Yes. And I think there are certain parts of that new wave - and it's difficult to use that expression, but I just have - new wave of exuberance. It seems to be happening, certainly in London. I'm not sure about the rest of England but certainly in London, which is good enough."

The Libertines obviously really love you.
"It's mutual. I saw them in Los Angeles and they were fantastic - really, really fantastic. I think if they can possibly keep themselves together, which is a long shot really, I think they'll take a firm place in history."

They're even more romantic about England than you.
"Well, that's very hard to believe, but I'll accept what you're saying."

Is living in America with Bush in power like living in the UK under Thatcher?
"Well, under Blair, I'd say. I think people liked Blair initially but in the end, those teethÖ I think Blair is just a bumbling fool as well as a liar. But, I mean surely he's doomed. Surely people are not going to vote for him again."

Who else is there to vote for?
"It doesn't matter! Popeye, anybody. Mickey Mouse."

Were you optimistic at the start of New Labour?
"(Laughs mirthlessly) Not at all. Absolutely not at all. How can you gaze at that face and be optimistic?"

Do you think it's got worse?
"His face? I don't know if you remember Larry Grayson. Larry Grayson - Tony Blair! Spot the difference!"

Why should one be proud of one's nation?
"Because you just are. Because it's there in your bloodstream. It's the environment you grew into and up with. And you just have an innate pride and a sense of preservation and also as you get slightly older you realise how much of it is constantly being removed, and that strikes you as being quite a sad thing."

What do you miss about Britain, then?
"Well, even though I'm working-class I miss a certain polite middle-classness. Which I know is absolutely pathetic, but the gentler side of England, the softer side. Which I know doesn't make much sense, but it doesn't make much sense to me."

What do you think of the current furore about asylum seekers?
"I think I can hear teacups rattling. (A butler arrives with a tea trolley) You see, that's the England I miss. Perfect. Sorry, your question is?"

Because of the fuss about asylum, questions of national identity seem to be at the forefront again.
"Yes. It's so difficult, isn't it?"

Do you think there'll always be those flashpoints?
"Well, it's a question of how many people you'll continue to allow to flood into the country, regardless of where they're from or why they're arriving. It's a question of how it affects the people who still live here. It's a question of space. And they're very tight about it in the United States, so it stands to reason why they should be here. But it's very difficult when people are being persecuted."

What do you dislike about life in Los Angeles?
"Well I do miss British television. You have to be slightly unhinged or unbalanced to watch anything on American television. It's light years from reality."

Speaking of TV, did you see John Lydon on 'I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here'?
"No, but I'd forgive him anything. He could appear on The Sooty Show and I'd forgive him."

Given that we haven't spoken to you for 12 years, who was your favourite band of the '90s?
"(Long pause) Did you ever hear 'Born To Quit'? It's by the Smoking Popes. I thought that album was extraordinary. But generally I can't think of anybody who I was slavish about. What about you?"

I think Nirvana cast the longest shadow.
"I didn't really know much about them until death enhanced the situation. I thought they were just hippies, initially."

Kurt Cobain's a kind of James Dean character now.
"Only because he's dead. I mean, death is a fantastic promotional tool."

Do you see Courtney Love at all?
"Yeah."

How do you get on with her?
"(Laughs) Well, I don't think people do get on with her. I think they just have to listen to her and entertain her a bit, which is very nice and entertaining in itself, but she's not a full shilling."

Do you like The Strokes?
"Well, I liked them before they recorded. I saw them a couple of times and they were really, really special, but there's always a but, isn't there? And there's always a butt-end. Er, (sighs) I'm not crazy about their artwork. And I think artwork is so important."

What do you think of The White Stripes?
"Comment: no."

What did you think of Jack White being involved in a bar brawl?
"Comment: no."

What do you think of Eminem?
"I think he's interesting but I don't like the form of music that he plays. And I wonder has he only been accepted because he's Caucasian?"

I think he himself would say that.
"Would he? It's quite interesting to say so many unsettling things and sell 16 million of a given album. He does appear to be white trash made good, which is a fascinating thing too. I really like that."

Have you got a mobile phone?
"No. I hate the way they ring, and when I see people use them in public I feel repulsed by that. I find it such an invasion. And also, I don't want to be tracked down and almost monitored every second of the day. (Sips tea) This tea - it's crude oil."

It's not very nice, actually.
"It's not at all. That's why I always ask for the bags on the side, because if they put the bags in the teapot they always put 78 bags in a tiny teapot. Honestly, the British just cannot make tea (laughs)."

Do you have a specific brand that you favour?
"Ceylon. Which, of course, is riveting information."

What are you most proud of?
"You'll be amazed to hear that I'm proud of many, many things. I felt very proud when the Manchester Arena concert sold out within an hour. That was astonishing; I was quite frightened that there would be nobody there except me. And I was very proud at the beginning of the '90s when Madison Square Garden sold out like that (snaps fingers). It was 22,000 tickets which I know for some people is nothing, but for me it was breathtaking. For the most part, I'm proud of most of the music. It's quite a respectable catalogue. I don't deny that there's blips and mis-steps but generally, all things considered it's quite nice, really (laughs)."

You followed up 'Vauxhall And I', generally regarded to be your best album, with 'Southpaw Grammar', which got the worst reception.
"Yeah, I don't know why because I was very pleased with 'Southpaw Grammar'. The sleeve of course was appalling and the artwork was appalling but, generally, I'm very pleased. (Laughs) You have a look of total surprise on your face."

What's the most important thing a fan's ever said to you?
"People always say to me, 'You changed my life'. And most commonly they say to me, 'When I was a teenager, you really helped me through the death of my hamster' or things like that (laughs) and I just feel a flush of pride. Because I think it's quite something to help people through their darkest hours."

You must have changed a lot of lives over the years.
"For the better, I hope. (Laughs) I could have destroyed a few dozen lives along the way - I don't know."
Is it true that you're writing your autobiography?
"Yes. It will bring England to its very foundations."

Are you doing it all yourself?
"(Splutters) Yes. I'm not really going to hire an old Melody Maker journalist to help me find the dictionary."

When will it be out?
"Too soon - for some people."

What would it take to reform The Smiths?
"Whatever it would take, nobody has. And I have said that the only way we'd ever get back together in the same studio is if we were all shot and somebody dragged the bodies in. The past is dead. It really is."

You spoke to Johnny Marr over the summer. Was that a pleasant experience?
"Great. But I think he has no will to do it, as I don't, because everything that needed to be said and done has been said and done. So what would be the point?"

I agree, really.
"Well, does somebody not agree?"

You must get enormous financial inducements.
"I've never had a remote financial inducement. No-one's offered me a pound to reform The Smiths, imagining it's within my control anyway. But if anybody knows the history of the court case and all that, they would never raise the question."

As long as 13 years ago, Johnny said that if you reformed it would be as Morrissey & Marr.
"As in Simon & Garfunkel. As in Sonny & Cher."

This interview was conducted by Alex Needham and originally appeared in the issue of NME dated April 17 2004.


Published: 15-06-2004-14-26