When I've known someone for long enough, inevitably the question arises, "why do you like Morrissey so much?"
Here's the thing: I don't like Morrissey. I don't even love Morrissey. I am obsessed with Morrissey.
Am I proud of it? Not particularly. At this point, it’s not a secret that he’s a nationalist; even Lisa Simpson has called him a racist.
And yet, when things are hard, Morrissey’s songs are the only music that can make me feel better. It’s probably no coincidence that I’ve been listening to him non-stop since my father died almost two years ago. Oh grief, why can’t you be woke?
Morrissey has been in my life for a long time. I first heard The Smiths on a mixtape my friend Jared made me in the 90s. I got into Morrissey's solo stuff in the early aughts. (Nobody recommended that, I just picked up a Your Arsenal CD in a discount bin at Coconuts.) I finally saw him live at Roseland Ballroom in 2006. He opened with How Soon Is Now? It's still the best concert I've ever been to.
Despite having earned the nickname the Pope of Mope, Morrissey's music is not depressing. It's invigorating. It's a celebration of sadness, heartbreak, and longing. His lyrics are over-the-top, obnoxious, insufferable, and profoundly funny. They are a masterclass in self-indulgence:
"I wear black on the outside 'cause black is how I feel in the inside"
"I bear more grudges than lonely high-court judges"
"But she doesn't even like me, and I know because she said so"
"I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar"
"This world, I am afraid, is designed for crashing bores"
"And the pain was enough to make a shy bald Buddhist reflect and plan a mass murder"
“In my own sick way, I’ve always been true to you”
"I’ve had my face dragged in 50 miles of shit... and I do not--and I do not like it"
"I've been stabbed in the back, so many many times. I don't have any skin, but that's just the way it goes.”
“I love my bed."
I realize I live the kind of life that lends itself to listening to Morrissey. Meaning: I do standup comedy. Sometimes the set goes great, sometimes it doesn't go as well as you'd hoped, and sometimes you’d like to curl up in the nearest woodchipper. And more often than not, there's a train-ride home that's going to be filled with brooding and despair no matter what I listen to. So, what am I going to do, NOT cue up Life Is A Pigsty? Yes, I'm sure an episode of Pod Save America will make me feel just as seen.
Sometimes you just need to let yourself sink. And nobody helps you sink quite like Morrissey. He is a certified Sinkologist. He has been sinking for 64 years and counting.
I’m writing a solo show! It’s called Barbra Streisand Cloned Her Dog: A Show About Pets & Grief. I’m putting it up for the first time on March 6th. I’ll be doing a half hour of material on the same bill as my pal Nick Naney’s new solo show: “An Examination of the Dreams and Nightmares of a Mostly Unsuccessful Comedian.” Come watch us sweat! Tickets here. Poster by Clare O’Kane.