In a way, this is all Morrissey’s fault. And Vanessa’s fault. But mostly, like all things in life that I have complete control over, my fault.
I never wanted to start a blog, particularly a music blog. I’ve been reading music blogs for years, but could never think of a unique take that could justify spending the hours necessary to maintain it. I’m also far from the world’s best music critic, and can occasionally be at a loss for words to describe a good song. That’s part of why I love music so much, in fact. Listening is such a deeply personal experience that sometimes verbalizing why a song is so amazing cheapens it. It’s music, you know? If it wanted to be words, it’d be words. Yet, despite my loss for words on the specifics of a song, I feel like I spend way too much time bending people’s ears talking about the music I love, or hate or otherwise feel strongly about. And Vanessa got tired of it last Sunday.
I found myself unable to stop listening to I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris. She shrugged it off and made some remark about it being catchy, and I started yapping.
.
“That’s the thing with Morrissey,” I said. “Or at least his last few albums. He has this way of writing these awesome pop songs, and even his lyrics can sound hopeful the first time you listen to them. Then you listen to them again, and fuck, he pulls the rug out from under you. This is a song about being so lonely that the only thing he can do is hug inanimate objects, but it sounds like a poppy love song. He’s kinda brilliant in that way.”
I recounted In the Future When All’s Well from Ringleader, his previous album, and how even that, a few listens in, depressed the shit out of me.
And she had no idea what the fuck I was talking about.
See, here’s the problem, I tend to talk about music assuming that everyone I talk to has heard all the same songs as me. That is not true in the slightest. And really, what kind of person listens to Morrissey?
I got into the Smiths in college. It was probably a combination of seeing Thom Yorke mention them in interviews around the time of Kid A, and that stupid Perks of Being a Wallflower book that constantly referenced the song Asleep. And then when I actually got a friend to lend me “Singles,” they rocked my world. I mean, I was a depressed teenager, coping with the fact that I was not currently in love with anyone that loved me back. And what Smith’s song wasn’t about being unloved? When I was younger, I was sure they “got it.” In reality, probably less so, but there was something about those songs that my 19-year-old brain responded to.
I was about to get into why, at 27, I still found their lyrics occasionally meaningful, and she cut me off.
“Why haven’t you started a blog,” she asked.
“Because no one wants to hear me talk about this crap.”
“I don’t want to hear you talk about this crap, but at least you’ll have a forum where there’s a chance someone does.”
This blog is more self-indulgent than a typical music blog. I’m not going to scour the Indy music world for brilliant undiscovered tracks and post links to them. I’m not going to post news, and I’m not going to post reviews. I’m just going to babble, and if you’re not interested and you don’t want to read it, I totally understand. It’s a forum for me, and if no one else reads it, I can at least take some solace in the fact that I’m sparing my friends from my endless ramblings. The plan is this-- once a week I’ll post an entry. It may be about a current song that inspired me; it may be about an old song. The only constant will be that I’ll try to explain why I find a certain song relevant to my life.
And yes, in my life, I still like Morrissey. Not as much as I did when I was younger, and I don’t take him nearly as seriously as I did back then. Perhaps it’s because of that that I still like his work. When I hear the new song, or even some of the better tracks off his last few records, I hear great, self-consciously depressing pop songs seeped in misery. And I can only hope that at this point in his life he’s realized that he’s good at writing greatly sad lyrics and that’s why he still does it. I mean, I can only hope that “only stone and steel accept my love,” is written with at least a small amount of tongue planted in cheek, or “close your eyes and think of someone you physically admire and let me kiss you,” isn’t meant with the same cynical voice he may have written that with twenty years ago. And if it is, then yeas, maybe I’ve outgrown his intent, but goddamn if he isn’t still a straight up genus at crafting catchy melodies.
My name is F.C. Ross, and I wonder if you’re listening.
