London - Royal Albert Hall (Mar. 7, 2018) post-show

Post your info and reviews related to this concert in the comments section below. Other links (photos, external reviews, etc.) related to this concert will also be compiled in this section as they are sent in.

Setlist:

The Last Of The Famous International Playboys / I Wish You Lonely / Jacky's Only Happy When She's Up On The Stage / Suedehead / When You Open Your Legs / Munich Air Disaster 1958 / Home Is A Question Mark / My Love, I'd Do Anything For You / The Bullfighter Dies / If You Don't Like Me, Don't Look At Me / Back On The Chain Gang / World Peace Is None Of Your Business / Hold On To Your Friends / Everyday Is Like Sunday / Jack The Ripper / Spent The Day In Bed / Speedway / How Soon Is Now? / Who Will Protect Us From The Police? / I'm Not Sorry // Irish Blood, English Heart

Setlist provided by docinwestchester via @ConorMac1903 / Twitter.


 
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A

Anonymous

Guest
The shirt toss is now completely out of hand. It's an unedifying spectacle to see men in their fifties fight long into the night over a shred of cotton.Pathetic and embarrassing for those involved. My idea would be for a raffle to be held and the lucky winner to be presented with the shirt in its entirety by Moz or a band member.

I was at a Morrissey concert and Morrissey threw his shirt and it landed right in my hands. However another bloke grabbed it and the look on his face was that of a ravenous gnarling salivating rabid wolf so I immediately released it not wanting to lock horns over a piece of fabric. He was then jumped on by a pack of bloodthirsty hyenas.

Unfortunately I was never able to entice anyone into the haven of my bed with the words "Would you like to come upstairs and see a piece of a Morrissey shirt that I once captured."
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
Scott Ford with his barrel chest and child like arms. Darling, you are not of any importance. Toni Mutton barging her way past a whole row, telling people “Moz wants to see me”
And good ol Trinty again abusing the British public. Please Trinty, just f*** off love.
Other than that, wonderful night. Mount me Moz baby !

I heard Trinity BIT someone earlier in the tour, in the scrum for Morrissey's shirt after a show!
 
U

URBANUS

Guest
So that’s who he is. All those Smiths questions could have been answered by a five year old. He looks like a real bitter man even then. How does a Development Chemist become a Smiths fan? Not very sexy or boho is it.
Bradford is my neck of the woods so i’ll Keep an eye out for a pale, greasy haired, wooden toothed Chemist shopping for a new shirt in Burtons. I can see him now on his lunch break sat by the town hall eating his prepacked egg mayonnaise sandwich and his packet of Seabrook crisps. Keep an eye out for me “skinny” I’m 6 ft 2, handsome, successful, straight white teeth, a decent haircut and a job to die for...,
Pilgrimupnorth
I did LOL but I am quite sure that Peter is a much more sophisticated man than most here believe he is. Well travelled and loads of cash from winning that quiz show plus what he makes for a living. He can play the guitar and sing and seems to have a nice place in the countryside to go to whenever he fancies it.
I don't blame him at all for letting politics perhaps cloud not only his judgement but also his life in general cause that is what happens when we are dragged into it and it ends up being more of a burden than a benefit to us.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
So that’s who he is. All those Smiths questions could have been answered by a five year old. He looks like a real bitter man even then. How does a Development Chemist become a Smiths fan? Not very sexy or boho is it.
Bradford is my neck of the woods so i’ll Keep an eye out for a pale, greasy haired, wooden toothed Chemist shopping for a new shirt in Burtons. I can see him now on his lunch break sat by the town hall eating his prepacked egg mayonnaise sandwich and his packet of Seabrook crisps. Keep an eye out for me “skinny” I’m 6 ft 2, handsome, successful, straight white teeth, a decent haircut and a job to die for...,
Pilgrimupnorth

I'm surprised he wasn't asked "Complete the song title "This Charming..."

No offence but I always assumed Skinny was like an ex-bootboy tough as old nails from the East End y' know what I mean mate? You 'avin a laff givs' us a fag will ya Fagin put on a bit of GBH and we'll pogo right?

And he's like a posh twitchy Public School royal ra ra ra toff trying to win a gameshow to show off his intellectual superiority to the high-tea drinking ladies. Oh look at me I'm the brain of Britain!

Ain't very punk is it? Ever get the feeling y' been cheated?
 

evennow

Writers on the storm
Really? So repeatedly telling people to f*** off because they disagree with him doesn't show any intent? Yeah, right.

His posts have read like a cry for help for some time.

I do see your point, but he mainly does this in response to some personal attack rather than a simple, reasoned disagreement. Some people have a difficult time turning the other cheek, as it were, when confronted with hateful remarks.

He has been called some pretty vicious things here. As soon as the gloves come off, it becomes a street fight. I think we can agree that name calling and personal attacks are juvenile and pointless no matter who posts them. Cry for help or self-defense...I guess it depends on your point of view.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
When I googled a William cooper quote came up “ In a fleshy tomb I am hurried above ground” as well as a poem buried above ground with the line “ I fed with judgement in a fleshy tomb am buried above ground”. Wonder if either were an I spiration
 

countthree

Well-Known Member
I do see your point, but he mainly does this in response to some personal attack rather than a simple, reasoned disagreement. Some people have a difficult time turning the other cheek, as it were, when confronted with hateful remarks.

He has been called some pretty vicious things here. As soon as the gloves come off, it becomes a street fight. I think we can agree that name calling and personal attacks are juvenile and pointless no matter who posts them. Cry for help or self-defense...I guess it depends on your point of view.

Poor uncleskinny... it seems Morrissey in the RAH ia too much to digest.
 

MrShoes

Well-Known Member
Subscriber
Totally agree. It is a horror to witness lately, not to mention dangerous for those around who choose not to be involved.
I could never get the appeal of having a scrap of shirt. I'd want the entire shirt. Or nothing. But that's just me.


I have caught enough portions of shirt to construct one whole! It may be a horror to watch, but oh the scrum! Its the fight that must be fought!

MrShoes
 
U

URBANUS

Guest
Poor uncleskinny... it seems Morrissey in the RAH ia too much to digest.
It should have been too much for Moz as well but his anti royal stance apparently means nothing. The man is so full of shit and picks and chooses what to say and back or hate and so on without seeing the big picture.

You played in the ROYAL Albert Hall silly old man but money before pride and politics and all that.
 

evennow

Writers on the storm
Poor uncleskinny... it seems Morrissey in the RAH ia too much to digest.

Morrissey is a lot to digest that is for sure. He is the Da Vinci Code of music. Trying to understand why he says what he says, or does what he does, or chooses to sing what he sings is at best cryptic.

I think we could all use a decoder ring:

5dur.gif
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
I heard Trinity BIT someone earlier in the tour, in the scrum for Morrissey's shirt after a show!

This is slightly true. But it wasn’t in the scrum. She also attacked someone in Newcastle, Brixton and quite bizarrely, RAH, because the poor guy had the misfortune to accidentally knock into her (spilling his pint everywhere)
Why that feral child is allowed into these shows is beyond me. She’s pondlife with a self entitlement beyond anything I’ve seen.
 

Peppermint

Well-Known Member
It should have been too much for Moz as well but his anti royal stance apparently means nothing. The man is so full of shit and picks and chooses what to say and back or hate and so on without seeing the big picture.

You played in the ROYAL Albert Hall silly old man but money before pride and politics and all that.
It's just a name, Urb. She doesn't actually own it. We have various Theatre Royals across the UK, Royal Leamington Spa, Royal Tunbridge Wells. He's probably played in most of them, over the years. It's a historical patronage thing.
 

Orson Swells

Well-Known Member
Skinny had a mind once. Now he's reduced to trolling morrissey forums. Sad.

This makes me feel a little guilty. After one of his recent anti-Morrissey attacks, I told him to take a long good look at himself in the mirror... now I can see why he doesn't want to.
 
U

URBANUS

Guest
It's just a name, Urb. She doesn't actually own it. We have various Theatre Royals across the UK, Royal Leamington Spa, Royal Tunbridge Wells. He's probably played in most of them, over the years. It's a historical patronage thing.
Not at all, sanctioned by the queen and they always gather there for certain concerts and so on. Royal Albert Hall is double royal in that its name is made up of Royal and Albert.
I am starting to dislike you young Morrissey history revisionists.
 

Peppermint

Well-Known Member
Not at all, sanctioned by the queen and they always gather there for certain concerts and so on. Royal Albert Hall is double royal in that its name is made up of Royal and Albert.
I am starting to dislike you young Morrissey history revisionists.
Sanctioned by the Queen? Aw, now you disappoint me, Urb, it's not like you to make stuff up. She has nothing to do with it, it's owned by the nation and run as a registered charity. Granted, her great-great-grandmother Queen Victoria built it, but that's stretching a point, wouldn't you say? Would you like to be held accountable for things your ancestors did in the 1860s? Anyway, thanks for the 'young', that's cheered me up no end.
 

joe frady

Vile Refusenik
So here í am at at the Royal Albert/CHAS, one more time. Alot of our German friends in the house (thanks to the non-euro tour schedule) which is quite appropriate, given the queen vic named it for her german hottie.
í always love coming here, ever since the first time in 2002 ~ a legendary double. (And before í forget, the 'my tomb above the ground' shirt scrawl ~ í have a definite feeling in my bones that was a line of his from a previous RAH show. could be wrong, often am.)

í find my seat in the terrace stalls about ten feet from stage right, to the strains of Madame Butterfly on the PA. Maria Callas? Maybe. Whoever, it's a knockout. And putting arse to velvet, í gaze up at a 40 foot Peter Wyngarde filling the proscenium. Oof. Quite the welcome; Callas & Wyngarde ~ Morrissey lies somehwhere between the two?

Before him, some foreplay ~ the YouTube support acts. í forget now why we ever had support bands, cos this is great: t.A.T.u squeaking 'í am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar' as they cavort in skimpy schoolgirl costumes is fun, as is James Brown getting a US TV crowd of young white blondes to chant 'say it loud / i'm black and i'm proud'. í think í may have had a mini-stroke at the segue of a 3 minute, 40 foot close-up of Dionne Warwick going into The Sex Pistols 'God Save the Queen' film. So forgive me if the rest of this review is...wrong. (í do just recall that the Pistols were preceeded by some camcorder footage of a David Hoyle Vauxhall pub cabaret turn ~ 'How important is ones nationahlatity to ones identity...To me? Fook Awl ~ cue Steve Jones}. The Sex Pistols blasting the RAH, higher than heaven, was enough for most good nights out. Most, but not all...

So Peter falls from the gods, and on strides Morrissey. And í mean strides. Apart from everything, there was a physical change in him tonight that was self-evident. He looked better, he moved better, with a confidence and power that í hadn't seen for a long time. It may just be that his hips have come out of retirement (í frequently detected swaying, in time - as opposed to...dancing), but as he whipped, lassoed and curled his cord he slid and glided around his stage with ease, grace and none of the hesitancy or slight awkward stage prescence of older, younger days.

But this aint Miss World at the RAH (í think), so on to the main thing. It is a bold bravura opening with 'Playboys' that points the way ahead, and confirms the little that í have previously read about this tour ~ The Voice. Tonight there is a complete and total command of his vocal that is simply undeniable. On previous tours, to a lesser or greater degree, there have always been little niggles or flickers or 'issues' that appeared to mark the shows, even if only for certain sections. Tonight, nothing. His range is more broad than ever, he can shift tones from one song to the next, or even within the same song. But the key is: he knows it. There is a confidence in his strength that seems to give birth to a different kind of concert this time, in another meaning of the word. Perhaps the vocal confidence explains and engenders the physical vigour; or the other way around? A certain rigour abounds. Throughout the course of the next 90 minutes í sometimes wonder what that confidence breeds; in the sense that, to know one has complete control of ones means of expression. But expression of what? Pain, loss, regret, love, hate, bullfighters, Etc., all that Moz guff. It must be...interesting?

'Playboys' end with a rousing vocalised refrain, and then we go into the first of tonight's songs from 'Low in High School'. í loved, and love, the album. í had very little expectations ahead of release. Trust me, the last thing that í was waiting for, or needing, last year was an all-new Moz album. But the first single made it's way to my ears. And it would not remove itself. No matter what. í was delighted by it's lightness of touch, it's humour, and just the living sound of it. í avoided any further new songs until í could listen to the album as a whole, which í did, at length, repeatedly, many times (thank you Scotrail Westcoast). And ít won me over, wholeheartedly. But it took a little time, as in 4 songs. The next song up at RAH was one of that quartet which í thought sound perfectly fine on my first few listens but didn't quite grab me by my gilded beams ~ 'I Wish You Lonely'. It has since, and to-night it was a perfectly sung and played version of the song. But like most of the 'LiHS' songs it failed to score much more than that. Perhaps it was due to a lack of the heft of history which alot of the rest had behind them. One cannot fail the renditions in their faithful fidelity ~ the falsetto was immaculate, and the 'last tracked humpback whale' climax was passionate ~ but, in situ, they didn't impress me as much as í was wanting them to.

The same applies to 'Jacky', it was strong, but no KO for this flyweight. At the close of the song, after the (paid) photographers left, Moz took a little tissue from his sleeve and mopped his brow. í half-thought he might toss it to the pit, but he tucked it in his pocket for later. Like your Mam used to do. What else would he have up those sleeves (more on those to come...)

í forget exactly, but it was around this point in the show that he stopped the action to read a list of complaints, before pulling out an A4 sheet. Cue laughs. He made the request to loosen up on security and the 'you never got this at the proms' line. And then he asked Max (Conwell), Morrissey's long-time lighting genius, if he could have a particularly bothersome spotlight in the gods-right turned down, or else 'he may just have to get his hat & coat' (gulp). Half of stage right plunged in to darkness (which wasn't great for my enjoyment) but they toggled about a bit and it seemed ok in the end.

'Suedehead' swelled into being next, 30 years old but fresh as a daisy, with his vocal control making it seem fresher, and more keenly felt, than ever. (With an Indian motorcycle backdrop a nice little memento of the Fairmount film). And as odd a song as ever it was. í have always thought this song to be a queer old fish; one of his more oblique lyrics to 'triumphantly' launch his solo career, with a literal apology for a chorus, a sickened climax, and a good lay refrain. Perhaps that very opacity explains what gave it its power (and a Top 5 smash!) on the back of 5 years of Smithsian 'clarity'. What, exactly, is it about? And why suedehead (he always maintained that it was about a specific person). Its live power has always lain in the very real passion he puts into that 'obliqueness', and to-night is the topper. He effortlessly switches from the thrust of thrust & cut of 'I Wish You Lonely' & 'Jacky' into a softer, wistful vocal of regret and romance, requited or not, that renders that memory in pinsharp poignancy (here is the first point where í thought ~ it must feel...good..?)
The extended sing-a-long lay refrain (essentially, yeah, you were a pain, but, still...) is delivered with a beautiful brio.

Not for the last time to-night, í think that the best of Morrisey live is like the most perfect little plays that you could ever see, with M. as director/writer/ actor. Except more so.

'When You Open Your Legs' spreads into view next, and is the strongest of the new songs, so far, but doesn't quite soar to further heights beyond the album version. í think that it must have been at this point that í scrawled HIPS on my peta flyer. no further explanation required really...

'Munich Air Disaster 1958' is the first lovely surprise in the set, and it's power here is hard to disassociate from the footage played above the stage of red shirted young men dancing through black&white opponents into our hearts. 'Down to where Mother Nature makes their beds' has always been a haunting line, in every sense, and the ghost is rendered in flesh and blood here. A stunner.

...
 

joe frady

Vile Refusenik
...

'Home Is A Question Mark' was the first song on the new record that captured me. Lovely song, great opening line, Etc, and then he got to 'I dunno' and my heart cracks a little. It was the first lyric that gripped on 'LiHS' and felt impassioned to me and, now, the living, breathing, in-the-finely-tailored-flesh version confirms my belief then. And í knew that 'I dunno' would get me to-night, and it did; the soaring, questioning chorus undercut/answered so eloquently by that cute colloquialism. He shifts and shrinks and softens his tone from 'Home / is it just a word?' for the immense and devastating, to me, 'SAVED MYSELF?' climax. And 'If I ever get there / would you meet me / Wrap your legs around my face just to greet me?' is an even greater line, live: funny, shocking, lovely, loving, a little bit icky, but wouldn't you love to ask it just once of somebody? Even if they left you soon after, it would be worth it...

'My Love, I'd Do Anything For You' is another rousing rendition of the album opener, which, again, for me, fails to develop beyond the heights of the recorded version. But again, love the falsetto.

'The Bullfighter Dies' follows, but is too short for a gin run. For any Kensington Gore hounds missing 'Meat is Murder' you will be happy to see somebody being given an uppercut stabbing by a bull's horn. Hooray!

Another B-side surprise 'If You Don't Like Me, Don't Look At Me'. Did í need this? Was í waiting all these years for this to come along? Not really. í needed 'Christian Dior'. í was waiting for 'Sweetie Pie'. But it was actually lovely enough, for a Wednesday night in Kensington.

'Back On The Chain Gang' is a charming rendition of a charming song. Not alot more to add, other than í recall thinking that it was clearly a version delivered with all the care one would imagine of a loving friend of the person who wrote it.

Did í think that í really needed to hear another live rendition of 'World Peace Is None Of Your Business' after the last perfectly fine tour? Not especially. But í was wrong. It is still a fine soaring Morrissey vocal and Jesse killed the guitar solo (in a good way).

On 'Hold On To Your Friends' Morrissey delivers a gorgeous, deep blue velvet vocal to-night, again displaying the control í've talked of; switching from the soaring upper register of his range on 'World Peace..' down to the smoother sonorances of this classic. And í don't mean to tread on Jamie's toes here, but í did suddenly miss Alain terribly on this song.
A 'Morr-i-see' chant staggers up from the terraces behind me at this point, which gets a cheer of its own (!), before being taken up briefly by the room.

The room (and every room, if the world were just) then rises as 'Everyday Is Like Sunday' hoves into view, with a soft brown Blackpool b&b shagpile of a vocal, following the tease of Gustavo's extended piano intro from 'In Your Lap'. Boz and Moz were in on-going discussion during this about something or other, before Moz took up an odd semi-prone pose, braced well, propped and primed on the drum riser. íf í were a yoga man, í would imagine it is called something like 'The Swan's Scream". Which they should have done, such is the beauty of this song to-night. When í end up a cancerous wreck, í will recall the sound of a massed Kensington singing along to the chorus AND I WILL WEEP WITH JOY.

At the climax Moz is stage left as a beaming boy runs down from the terraces (my 2002 spot, co-incidentally) and stretches across the speaker, just enough to touch the hand. The crowd cheer, and the boy is a combustion of joy as he bounces back to his seat, where a girl hugs him wildly: Momentous Permanence.
Morrissey reacts to this by singing 'Oscar Wilde...Oscar Wilde...Oscar Wilde' as the closing refrain. The crowd cheer the name.

Perhaps he was summoning something, because then...
We come to the song that, this time out, Morrissey has chosen to be, what í have previously called, the dark jewel at the heart of the set. In past campaigns it has been 'I Know it's Over', 'Asleep', 'Moon River', 'Life is a Pigsty', Etc. To-night it is 'Jack the Ripper'.

í loved this song when it was just a pallid loitering slip of a thing on a B-side, and í've loved it as it, and í, have grown in heft & years. That central guitar figure by Boz is god-sent, and if Jesse had just played that for 5 minutes í would be moist. The guitar line alone 'speaks' to me of beauty and hope soaring, but denied denied denied. Something about that descension will forever kill me. But then Morrissey graces that guitar with one of his darkest lyrics ~ a love song to batter thy heart. A song of violence and denial, a song of the dark hidden corners of love, of not knowing what's good for you and loving it. And of always crashing in the same arms, yet not caring. Love as a threat, a promise and a final request. This night he sings it with a fierce and abandoned intensity rarely witnessed ~ from soaring to sneering to crooning to lullaby. Never have insults, insights and incites been so lovingingly thrown. During Jesse's screaming guitar solo Morrissey can just be heard resurrecting the ha-ha-hahs from 'Bigmouth..', lost and gone, gone.

As the song builds, all the while, Morrissey proceeds to roll up each of his shirt sleeves. Slowly. Now, í don't remember this happening when Tony Blair used to do it, but to-night this turns out to be the single most Erotic thing that í have ever witnessed. Obviously...obviously?...it was the context wot did it. But if í had ovaries they would have popped, if í had balls they would have retreated from whence they came. His naked arms conduct the darkness around him, raised heavenwards, spread canyon wide, flailing and downcast, and straining out toward us ~ threatening then beckoning.

All this is in the midst of a sublime, scarlet chiaroscuro light show that has Morrissey's face half in red half in black, flickering back and forth, shredding through the dry-ice vapour. The whole mis-en-scéne is of a hellish inferno, sheathed in smoke, blood red light strafing the darkness, all watched over by an image of a bloodied and shackled man, being led to incarceration, apparently at ease with his fate, cigarette dangling from swollen lips.

You cannot look away from the stage, and yet this is a passion that you wouldn't necessarily want any part of. A tale of murderous desire, possibly taken too literally. It's a rendition that in some territories could be illegal. Novelists would kill their kin to get such power in 700 pages, film-makers in a box set of their best efforts, playwrites in a dozen West End sell-out runs.
NOBODY ELSE DOES THIS.

From the sublime to...'Spent The Day In Bed'. Pop-tastic though. Still. A palette cleanser perhaps, prior to 'Speedway'. It's not as magnificent as the 2011 live version, but delivered with a skillful, prowling, seething sensuousness, bathed in a crepuscular emerald. And my sodden heart skipped at the Orbison a cappela. In the manner of a chapel indeed.

'How Soon is Now' is another song that í could easily let slide. í know that it's a 'classic', but so is...'Little Man, What Now?'. To me. Having said all that, this was a quite excellent version, better than the last few tours, which were just noise-fests to me. And í have been present when Moz may have been said to be faxing it in a tad, but this vocal seemed to me to be alive and engaged (perhaps drawing inspiration from t.A.T.u's interpretation). í enjoyed the addition of 'í am (still) the son and heir' in the 2nd verse, which í read as still, since the 1st verse. As opposed to 1985. í enjoyed the articulacy of his yelps of 'No! No!..Yes! Yes!' beneath the guitar bed. And in the club going verse, í enjoyed the vocal disintegrating into dribbling gibberish (but that may be influenced by it happening 6 feet in front of me).

And while it may have been The Chemicals, but the Wah-Wah was particularly Wah-Wah to-night. The phasing & volume & intensity was such that í began to go a bit Wah-Wah myself ~ like the aural equivalent of a strobing fit.

What was truly special though was that following Matt's crashing ending there came one of 'those' moments that you get at concerts once in a long while. And it was just a moment: We clapped wildly, Moz thanked us,
and then something else entered the room. We all clapped louder and roared more, but it was more than mere volume. A sudden wave of...something (love, if you wish, but it seems reductive to put a word on it) washed through the Hall, and on to the stage. Everybody felt it, hence the queer double cheer. Moz felt it, smiled a smile that í won't try to describe, and offered a second, quiet 'Thank You'. Less than ten seconds, maybe. But forever, definitely.

From the sublime to...'Who Will Protect Us From The Police?' It is the only meh song on the new album for me. í get the whole tripartite patriarchy structure of daddy, police, god. But that's just about all that í get. Not a total duffer, just...really? Live version is not improved by the crap cop videos.

And then a delightful surprise ~ 'I'm Not Sorry' ~ always one of my beloved songs from 'You are the Quarry'. There is beauty in every runt. And the delight isn't only in the surprise, as this re-tooled version with Jesse on a poignant and plaintive slide guitar is wonderfully done. Morrissey inhabits and elaborates upon one of his more low-key, dolorous vocal shadings (an altogether other colour and intent from the mirror image brightness of the 'i'm so sorry' chorus of 'Suedehead' only an hour ago). It's the oddly insistent subtlety of his style that captivates, quietly but firmly un-apologetic.

The amiably conversational tone is wonderously underscored to-night as he wanders across stage right, and instead of going into 'the woman of my dreams', he begins to shake the hands of some people who have rushed down the terraces to the speaker's edge, about 6 feet from me, and begins to sing 'And hello..to you.. and to you..well hellooo..he-llo', and still in melody, 'yes..well.. that's very nice..thank you' Etc. It is a quiet gem of a moment.

The song climaxes with something that í never knew that í actually needed ~ a slide guitar/flute finalé. Superb.

After a brief interlude, Morrissey & band take their bow with 'Irish Blood, English Heart'. í have heard enough renditions of this song to last a lifetime (í mean that as a complement) so, while í would rather have a dozen other closers, it is a thunderous climax, done perfectly. It seems churlish to resist. And what a ripping good tosser Morrissey undoubtedly is.
It also takes me back to the first time that í ever saw Morrissey perform the song, at that first night here, over 15 years ago, and all that time has wished upon us since then.

Before the final song, Morrissey's final words of advice to us are ~ "As always...be kind to yourself... be kind to animals...and look after your Mother." The 2nd seems as natural to me as the 1st seems un-natural; an enduring problem, as well as a problem endured. And the 3rd is now moot, as my own died last summer; not passed away or over or on. Died. í looked after her until the very end, and í was ready to look after her for years yet. But the human mind can be an awesome thing; in its beauty and its horror. The horror of a mind FORGETTING HOW TO TELL YOUR BODY TO BREATHE. Imagine that. She died in her own home, with the two people that she fought to give life to, and loved most in this world, fighting to give life back to her. As the black night bled out the blue of a new day, and the sparrows sang their nervous little chorus, my Mother went to her great reward.

And so, The Palladium expects...


.
 
U

URBANUS

Guest
Sanctioned by the Queen? Aw, now you disappoint me, Urb, it's not like you to make stuff up. She has nothing to do with it, it's owned by the nation and run as a registered charity. Granted, her great-great-grandmother Queen Victoria built it, but that's stretching a point, wouldn't you say? Would you like to be held accountable for things your ancestors did in the 1860s? Anyway, thanks for the 'young', that's cheered me up no end.
Yes Queen Vic built it and that was I was on about. I hope you didn't think I meant the current queen.

ROYAL and ALBERT and MORRISSEY played a gig there AGAIN. What a complete sell out.
 

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