In 1984, Morrissey was invited by the editor of glossy pop mag Smash Hits to review the week’s singles. As was no doubt expected, Morrissey flashed his natural flair for writing pithy, caustic and highly amusing reviews: he dismissed Cyndi Lauper’s single as “grossly unmusical”; Status Quo as “unreviewable impertinence”; Tracey Ullman “hopeless”; and of Lionel Richie he wrote, “that people care for such things suggests an unholy amount of human misery.”

It’s a pity Morrissey didn’t continue with his career as a pithy pop reviewer.
 

 
More reviews from Morrissey after the jump…
 
Via Us vs th3m
 

 
There will be those who will see these two tickets as evidence of what could have been one of the greatest tours ever.

David Bowie
(with very special guest Morrissey)
Aberdeen Exhibition & Conference Centre
29 Nov 1995
7.30pm
Standing
£22.50

And, of course, there will be those who won’t.

Morrissey was originally the “special” support on the European leg of Bowie’s Outside tour in 1995, but after Mozz failed to turn-up for this gig in Aberdeen, he was dropped and replaced by The Gyres, Echobelly and Placebo.

Stories vary as to what actually happened, but it would appear there is still some kind of bad feeling between the two.

Earlier this year, Bowie refused to grant Morrissey permission to use a photograph of the pair of them together on the re-issue of his single “The Last of the Famous International Playboys.”

According NME, Morrissey then “rickrolled” Bowie by replacing the “Thin White Duke” with 1980s’ pop star, Rick Astley.
 

 
Updated June 16th—with thanks to David B Parkes
Via Nothing’s Changed and Bowie Songs Blog
 

Uncanny, eh?

Children’s television can be absolutely unbearable if you’re not actually a child. Luckily, the smart shows know this and throw you a bone every once in a while.

The BBC’s Horrible Histories recently decided to teach the kiddies about the life of Charles Dickens with a decidedly Smiths-vibe, and it’s an eerily accurate impression. Despite his reputation for being a bit humorless, I hope Moz would get a kick out of this one—I mean, it’s totally funny, and it’s for the kids!
 

 
Via Slate

Who sunbathes in socks? Morrissey sunbathes in socks. He is immune to tanlines because his body rejects sunlight

Screaming over what sounds like a soundcheck in the background, Moz and his interviewer do their darndest to get through the spot without completely losing composure. He may have jumped the gun foretelling the end of music videos (and thank heavens, since they provided some truly wonderful examples of his weird dancing), but you have to admire that moody Mancunian’s trademark negativity!
 

 
Brazilian designer Butcher Billy re-imagines Siouxsie Sioux, Mark Mothersbaugh, Ian Curtis, John Lydon, Morrissey, Robert Smith and Billy Idol as comic book superheroes. His series is called The Post-Punk / New Wave Super Friends.

Now only if there was a Mark E. Smith one. He’d probably have to be a supervillain, tho…
 

 

 
More after the jump…
 

Morrissey art by Tattooed Boy
 
I don’t often agree with Morrissey, but with this very eloquent statement on the Viva Morrissey site he has summarily hit the nail on the head. Hard.

As I write this, Margaret Thatcher’s funeral is taking place in London, and the national media is still on a campaign to whitewash any dissent. I could go into a list of these censorial acts (BBC refusing to play “Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead,” Big Ben silenced, etc) as well as explaining just why Thatcher is reviled by the British public, but Moz puts it much better than I could:

Surely How I Feel Is Not Nothing?

I have listened and I have seen a lack of truth that we had dared not believe existed in modern Britain. Margaret Thatcher has left the order of the world, and she is not to blame for the reports of her own death - reports so dangerously biased and full of intolerant menace that we now wonder how we can possibly believe anything that has ever been recorded in British history books.

The coverage by the British media of Thatcher’s death has been exclusively absorbed in Thatcher’s canonization to such a censorial degree that we suddenly see the modern British establishment as an uncivilized entity of delusion, giving the cold shoulder to truth, and offering indescribable disgust to anyone unimpressed by Thatcher. Even to contest Thatcher’s worth is termed “anarchist”, and this source of insanity - intolerant of debate, is spearheaded by the BBC reporting not on how things actually are on British streets, but on how they would prefer things to be. For those of us who survived despite Thatcherism, and who recall Thatcher as a living hell, The Daily Mail and The Guardian have a steadfast message for us: You are nothing. Our thoughts are further burdened by the taunting extravagance of Thatcher’s funeral; the ceremonial lavish, the military salute, stripping Thatcher’s victims of everything, and rubbing salt in wounds with teasing relish. It is all happening against us.

In thought, we have killed Thatcher off a million times, but now that we have the reality of her death, the Metropolitan Police have set up new laws against us, and within paragraphs of law, we are not allowed to register our feelings so that anyone might overhear them. Echoes of Libya? Echoes of any Middle Eastern patch whose troubles are thought too uncivilized for a democratic England where chivalrous respect is afforded to “freedom”, and where we are all servile to “democracy.” It is, of course, The Big Lie.

The fact that there will be such an enormous police presence at Thatcher’s funeral is evidence that her name is synonymous with trouble - a trouble she brought on herself. No one wished for it, or brought it to her, yet she created her subtle form of anarchy nonetheless. BBC News will scantily report on anti-Thatcher demonstrations as if those taking part aren’t real people. Lordly scorn is shown towards North Korea and Syria, and any distant country ruled by tyrannical means, yet the British government employs similar dictatorship tactics in order to protect their own arrogant interests.

There will be no search for true wisdom this week, as the BBC gleefully report how Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead “failed to reach number 1”, and they repeat the word “failed” four times within the brief report, and a shivering sovereign darkness clouds England - such identifications known only in China. There will be no report as to how “the British people have succeeded in downloading Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead to number 2”, and we are engulfed in Third Reich maneuvers as BBC Radio assume the role of sensible adult, finger-wagging at that naughty public who must not be allowed to hear the song that they have elected to number 2.

By banning Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead (and only allowing four seconds of a song is, in fact, a ban) the BBC are effectively admitting that the witch in question can only possibly be Margaret Thatcher (and not Margaret Hamilton), even though Thatcher isn’t mentioned in the song, which is in fact a harmless, children’s song written over 70 years ago. Whilst the BBC tut-tut-tutted a polite disapproval at the Russian government for sending a “feminist punk” band to prison for recording an anti-government song, they engage in identical intolerance against Ding dong the witch is dead without a second’s hesitation.Thatcher’s funeral will be paid for by the public - who have not been asked if they object to paying, yet the public will be barred from attending.

...

When Cameron talks he is simply speaking his part, but he is adamant that the scorn Thatcher poured onto others should not be returned to her. Her mourning family must have considerations that were never shown to the families of the Hillsborough victims, and although Thatcher willingly played her part in the Hillsborough cover-up, let’s not go into all that now. Instead we’re asked to show respect for a Prime Minister whose own Cabinet were her rivals. Thatcher’s death gives added height to David Cameron (a Prime Minister who wasn’t actually voted in by the British people, yet there he is – reminding us all of our manners), and he does not understand how the best reason for doing something is because there’s nothing in it for you…

Can the BBC possibly interview someone with no careerist gain attached to their dribble? No. On the day that nine British citizens are arrested in Trafalgar Square for voicing their objections to the Baroness, the BBC News instead offer their opening platform to Carol Thatcher, a dumped non-star of I’m a celebrity get me out of here, and to Sir Mark Thatcher (Sir!), unseen since the disgrace of his involvement in selling arms to countries at odds with Britain.

Excellently put. You can read the full statement here, it’s worth it.

There’s a very odd public mood in the UK right now, something strange is in the air.

 
And it’s been so long that it’s awesome again.

Morrissey’s re-release of his 1989 single, “The Last of the International Playboys,” was originally set to have a previously unreleased photo of Moz and David Bowie gracing the cover. Much to the chagrin of both Morrissey and myself, Bowie blocked the the use of the photo through legal Goblin King dance magic, leaving Moz to improvise.

What he used instead is only about a billion times awesomer—a picture of himself with Rick “Never Gonna’ Give You Up” Astley. Is Rick Astley a stand-up dude and a total sport, or what?

Obviously Morrissey had to know the pop culture implications of the picture. I wonder how long he lay in wait, patiently counting the days until nearly everyone forgot about that meme… waiting for the perfect rick-roll.

Mozzer’s the sleeper cell of rick-rolling!
 

 
Via Pitchfork

 
I’m going with “Sing Mew to Sleep.”

 
Fanboy Morrissey, who counts her masterpiece Blue among his favorite albums, interviews the great Joni Mitchell on NPR around the time that her matching Hits and Misses anthologies came out in fall of 1996.

From his very first question, Mozzer really hits the ball right out of the park:

Morrissey: Do they still refer to you as a female songwriter? Because it’s such a ludicrous—well, it’s become such a ludicrous title because to be called a female songwriter—

JM: Implies limitations.

Morrissey: Well, it implies that it’s not a real songwriter.

JM: Yeah.

Morrissey: I mean, you couldn’t imagine, for instance, saying Paul McCartney’s a great male songwriter.

JM: Right. Well, they wouldn’t do it that way. But I mean this has always been true of women in the arts. We supposedly made some progress in this century. We got the vote for one thing. But if you take the female impressionists, there were several of them that were very good, and they were not really allowed to belong to the academy. There was an extra “A” in front of their name, associates of the academy. So—and it was said of them that they were incapable of really tackling the important issues that men could tackle, that, you know, not that the subject matter of the impressionists was particularly important. It was just mostly delightful it seemed to me, people boating, people on beaches, you know, landscapes, so on. But they seemed to think that women could only handle domestic situations. And Mary Cassat painted women and children very beautifully, and that seemed to confirm it, but she had all the chops that they did.

One would think in this time period that I came along—mind you, there weren’t very many women writing and singing. There weren’t as many women as there are in the business now definitely. There were only a few of us—

Morrissey: But to use the expression “female songwriter” is to imply that the word songwriter belongs to men.

JM: Yes.

Morrissey: So do they still in this country call you call you a female songwriter?

JM: Well, they tend to lump me always with groups of women. You know, the women of rock. I’ve been always lumped in—I always thought, well, they don’t put Dylan with the men of rock. Why do they do that with me, with the women of rock, always within the context of the women that were happening within every decade I would get lumped in in that same manner.

One of my favorite compliments that I ever received was from a Black blind piano player, Henry, I don’t know what his last name was. And said to me, “Joni, you know, you make genderless, raceless music.” And I thought, well, I hadn’t set out, you know, saying “I’m going to make genderless, raceless music,” but in some part of the back of my mind, I did want to make music that crossed—I never really liked lines, class lines, you know, like social structure lines since childhood, and there were a lot of them that they tried to teach me as a child. “Don’t go there.” “Why not?” “Well, because they’re not like us.” They try to teach you those lines. They start at about 12. And I ignored them always and proceeded without thinking that I was a male or a female or anything, just that I knew these people that wrote songs and I was one of them.

Mitchell goes on to describe meeting John Lydon in Jamaica in 1977! Pure pleasure. There’s a transcript here.
 

 
Via Rock Speaks Quotes from the NME 1980-1994:

The only thing I’ve got in common with Mark E Smith is that Morrissey was once asked which one of us he’d shoot, and he said he’d put one in front of the other and shoot both of us.

Robert Smith

And the same last name, too, of course.

With thanks to Post Punk Tumblr!

 
The idea of a town-hall style interview with Morrissey probably sounded really good to MTV at the time, but honestly, I think the crowd-sourced questions from giggling teenyboppers feels a little ill-conceived.

You gotta’ hand it to him, though! He fields the situation with aplomb. He’s candid, earnest and manages to respond graciously to the fanatical fans.
 

“I know a lamb that’s a fucking asshole. Could I eat that lamb?”

Morrissey sits for a rudely/hilariously probing interview with the “Ringleader of the Tormentors” on The Colbert Report. Topics: Royalty (both British and American), the Royal wedding and vegetarianism
 

 
A young “Steve” Morrissey (he would have been 17 years old at the time) writes in the July 24, 1976 issue of Melody Maker:

The Ramones are the latest bumptious band of degenerate no-talents whose most notable achievement to date is their ability to advance beyond the boundaries of New York City, and purely on the strength of a spate of convincing literature projecting the Ramones as God’s gift to rock music.

They have been greeted with instant adulation by an army of duped fans. Musically, they do not deal in subtlety or variation of any kind, their rule is to be as incompetent as possible.

For a band believed to project the youth of America, New York - suburban life, anti-conformism, sex and struggle, or whatever, they fail miserably. And in the sober light of day their imperfections have a field day.

The Ramones make the Stooges sound like concertmasters, and I feel that the only place for their discordant music is the sweaty downtown Manhattan dives to which they are no doubt accustomed.

The New York Dolls and Patti Smith have proved that there is some life pumping away in the swamps and gutters of New York and they are the only acts which originated from the N.Y. club scene worthy of any praise. The Ramones have absolutely nothing to add that is of relevance or importance and should be rightly filed and forgotten—Steve Morrissey, Kings Road, Stretford, Manchester.

This issue of Melody Maker is on eBay with a “Buy It Now” for $35.00.

With thanks to Christian Paris’ FB page

 
Well, it’s actually a recycled photo that’s been making rounds on the Internet for a while. Apparently no one will ever be able to escape this image…

“In his new ad for PETA, Morrissey continues his crusade for animals and asks you to help eradicate the animal overpopulation crisis by spaying and neutering your companion animals,” PETA said on their website.

Below, an outtake I found from the cat-on-the-head photo shoot.
 

 
Previously on Dangerous Minds:

Heaven Knows He Was Miserable Then: Morrissey’s first postcard to a pen-pal from 1980

Via BuzzFeed

 
This is Morrissey’s first correspondence to his Scottish pen-pal Robert Mackie, from 1980.

21-year-old Morrissey was writing in response to a personal ad placed in Sounds magazine, and his message, written on the back of a postcard featuring a picture of James Dean reads:

Steven Morrissey
384- Kings Rd
STRETFORD
Manchester- M32 8GW

Dear Person,

So nice to know there’s another soul out there, even if it is in Glasgow.

Does being Scottish bother you? Manchester is a lovely little place, if you happen to be a bedridden deaf mute.

I’m unhappy, hope you’re unhappy too.

In poverty,

Steven

Morrissey and Mackie remained pen-pals for 18 months, shortly before the formation of The Smiths in 1983.
 

 
With thanks to Letter of Note