Published on Jul 7, 1997
Back when I was in college radio, I received my initiation into
the moping world of The Smiths and their lead singer Morrissey via
a listener request. Within time I had acquired all of the group’s
albums, and had begun to explore the solo career of Morrissey.
And while he always had a few good tracks on his albums, they
just failed to impress me the way The Smiths did – end even
their albums could be spotty at times. (This, along with the
“insult” of declaring The The “okay” spelled the end of one
relationship – it’s hard dating a critic, she learned.)
Morrissey’s 1992 release
Your Arsenal contains some of his best-known tracks courtesy
of alternative radio, but it also contains some of his most boring
material.
The poppy songs are incredible – I am constantly impressed by
Gary Day’s bass work on “Tomorrow,” one of the songs that
originally made me want to pick up this album. (For some reason,
the version I have is a Canadian release.) “We Hate It When Our
Friends Become Successful” is one of Morrissey’s finest moments,
featuring stellar guitar work from Boz Boorer and Alain Whyte. Even
the “hidden” hits, “Glamorous Glue” and “You’re The One For Me,
Fatty,” tend to grow on you.
But, ah, the pressures of being the melancholy Dane (even though
he’s British, I know) of the alternative world finally begin to
take their tolls on the music. Morrissey tends to lose track of the
goal – writing a decent song – by concentrating on how poetically
miserable he is. “Seasick, Yet Still Docked,” “The National Front
Disco,” “Certain People I Know”…. these all could have been great
songs, if they only weren’t so damned boring.
And it’s not that I am against Morrissey’s musical view of the
world – as the existentialists called it, “this bitch of life.” In
some senses, this is some of Morrissey’s most positive music in a
while – which is saying a lot. But if he could just cut down a
little bit on the dramatics, this could have been a better album. I
heard him the
first time he proclaimed “London is dead”… he didn’t have
to repeat it ad nauseam. (He would sink even lower into this poetic
cesspool on
Vauxhall & I , an album so bad I stopped buying his solo
albums.)
When he keeps hitting you over the head with these images
wrapped around songs that just fail to go anywhere, you end up
starting to worry about the boy. He’s been on this “I-am-miserable”
kick for well over a decade – I think the well really began to dry
up with this release. There’s only so many ways you can express
boredom without becoming boring yourself. Unfortunately, Morrissey
has started to cross that line.
However, one should give him some credit – he hasn’t collapsed
to the public pressure (and, I’m sure in some sense, pressure from
his label) to reunite with the rest of his old bandmates for a
reunion tour a la other groups (I won’t name names, but you can
guess
Who
). Oh, sure, he could have taken the easy way out and made a
quick pile of cash. Instead, he has chosen to slug it out on his
own, come what may. For that alone, he earns my respect.
Your Arsenal does have some moments of brilliance within its
short time frame, but for the most part, it fails to satisfy in the
long run. Diehard Smiths and Morrissey fans will undoubtedly love
it – the rest of us can wait for the eventual “best-of”
collection.