Celui Morrissey
My friend Jill and I stole into the Morrissey show on Tuesday night at the last minute, happily paying bargain prices to get in on the floor. Morrissey may be getting older, but he still rocked the crowd, tearing off his shirt not once but twice during the show. The first was quite a prize (if you're into that sort of thing), completely doused with man-sweat, but the second was mediocre: a t-shirt he had put on for the encore performance, reading "Je Suis Morrissey." At $35 bucks, I'd have sold it! The set was made up of two enormous, blown-up headshots of him, likely taken a few decades ago. More amazing was the number of people clambering up on stage to cop an embrace, or maybe secure a souvenir from his hairy chest. I don't think he played any of the twenty-some songs from the Greatest Hits album that I obsessed over in college, but his voice is so familiar and melancholy, that it doesn't much matter what he's singing. It's as dreamy an experience as ever.