Morrissey
(Ambassador Theatre)
14 Oct 2002

The quiff may have thinned somewhat, but at the grand old age of 43, Morrissey is still in great shape, his white shirt soon transparent with sweat, his collar loosened to accommodate frequent skin-revealing tugs. Moz begins by gently teasing his devoted with ‘I Want The One I Cant Have’, one of three Smiths songs in his current set; "Why do you come here?" he wryly addresses ‘Suedehead’s’ opening line to the adoring audience.

It’s probably the kind of gig that only a true-blue fan can really appreciate, but the uninitiated might find heavy going. His voice is unchanged and there’s the same exaggerated theatricality to all his movements, each strangulated vowel punctuated with whips of the microphone or a self-mocking gesture.

Much of his set derives from early solo albums like Viva Hate, and are mainly played straight, although long-term right hand man Boz Boorer strums a banjo to disconcerting effect for ‘Everyday is Like Sunday’.

Morrissey’s (possibly false) announcement of his recent marriage is greeted with a mixture of laughter and panic, but he hasn’t changed that much. He’s still urging us to pledge our troth to vegetarianism, launching into a still disturbing rendition of ‘Meat Is Murder’ which he finishes by writhing on the ground to a cacophony of animals-in-distress noises.

His new material is well-received -‘Mexico’ tells of lovelorn jaunts to the city close to his LA abode and an earnest moment comes with ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’, a slightly clumsy renunciation of the country of his birth, wherein he calls for the abolition of the monarchy and spits on the name of Oliver Cromwell.

Before he departs for his mug of Horlicks, ‘There Is A Light’ makes for a joyous finale. As he flings his shirt at the audience and departs with a heartfelt declaration of love, there’s no denying that, contrary to popular opinion, Morrissey has made a lot of people very happy.

Fiona Reid