Just back. Simply dreadful. I have followed the Smiths/ Morrissey since the start, for the best part of 30 years, and tonight’s performance was not only the worst show I have seen him perform, it was also one of the most disappointing by a “name” artist I have seen too.
With a brilliant seat, on the front row of the terrace, closest to the stage, barely ten feet away, in one of the best concert auditoriums anywhere in the world my expectations were high. But from the start things were not right. The acoustics are so good in this 3,500 seater that you can literally hear a pin drop. But the opening ,“This Charming Man” was wrecked with a leaden arrangement. The beauty of those chiming guitar phrases was eschewed in favour of lumpy power chords, the fey words and phrasing lost in the maelstrom.
The set, as played earlier in the year, had been reworked, and not for the better. A slew of less familiar songs replaced favourites, which is fine if the quality is there, but it wasn’t. Morrissey did not look as though he had his heart in it, and his singing worsened noticeably as the set wore on, by the end it looked as though he could not wait to get off. Physically he looked unfit, out of shape and lacking in energy.
Enigmatically he told us that they “nearly didn’t make it tonight”, but did not explain why. Then as the set drew to a close he quipped that “the morphine was kicking in”. If he is still not fit, he should not be playing these rearranged dates. He looked like a man out of love with his music, and his fans. Not only was the set missing many favourites, what was played was uneven and staccato in pace.
Long sections were, quite frankly, boring, crying out for the likes of,“ Panic”, “You Have Killed Me”, “Bigmouth”, “Irish Blood / English Heart”, none of which were played. “Let Me Kiss You” and “Seasick, Yet Still Docked” were omitted again pointing to problems with Morrissey’s voice. Highlights? “ I’m Wrapping My Arms Around Paris” and the closing ,“Life Is a Pigsty”, and that was pretty much it. A perfunctory “First of the Gang to Die” as the sole encore wrapped up a set of around 80 minutes, which grossed him about £1250 a minute. Are these rearranged shows simply about money? The short running time certainly does scant justice to his back catalogue.
The uneasy silence, rather than ecstatic applause, which greeted the sudden end to the main set which had no sense of build up or drama told it’s own story. One of the things which has sustained Morrissey’s career has been his sense of the contrary, his single-mindedness, and bloody-mindedness, which is fine when you are right. But tonight he got it horribly wrong.