Thirteen years ago on this blog I was about to see Morrissey for the first time live, & I was prepared to do a radio show in tribute to him. This is what I wrote for the blog:
I have this dread feeling when it comes to people whom I admire greatly that, if left alone with them, I wouldn't be able to say anything & they'd dislike me immediately. This is partially why I have become such great friends with Scott McLellan*. Part of me wants to say it'd be different with Morrissey, but everyone thinks they'd have a great relationship with Morrissey. It's not like people who become friends with Elvis Costello, then come to loathe him because of his current wife. Morrissey's wife is, I'm told, very down to earth. Like June Cleaver with chest hair. She uses all parts of the tofu when she cooks it. She is, it has been widely reported, the sort of girl you'd bring home to meet mother. Not father. Mother.
I have never met Morrissey, & I won't when he comes to town this week. But I feel like I really, really know him. Not like that asshole Johnny Marr. Do I get a sense of him from the new Modest Mouse record? No! I get a Mousey feeling, but that fucker's not Modest. Why should he be? Didn't he write the music for "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out"? Yes, he did. So he can call me all the names he wants. He can shit on my head when I am lying bleeding on the pavement because Morrissey kicked me in the teeth again, I DON'T CARE. He's allowed. But I still don't know him.
I used to know Morrissey, too. In his lean mean period, after he released one crappy record too many in the late 90s & was forced to turn to Bingo to make ends meet. You'll remember those days - I was afraid I had scarlet rubella, & you were daydreaming of making a reality television show where you'd be trapped on a desert island with only fifteen fifteen-year-old boys & girls & the soundtrack to "Hackers." Morrissey existed almost entirely in our heads, saved from ten years before when we were lonesome & we didn't want to believe people could take anything more seriously than we did. Morrissey disappeared, though - up the ass of the universe, I once heard you say - & you disappeared, too. You became part of Kenneth Lay's Ethics Squad & you were the number one Blowjob Researcher in Washington, DC.
Neither one of you did badly, though - Morrissey made a comeback & he's coming to town this week, & you went to the private sector & now study blowjobs for GE. I am estranged from you both. I guess, like the characters in the songs that Morrissey sings that I listen to & which I'll play on my show Friday, I got left behind.
No tears! I am not the saddest clown! Worry me not, endless past! I shall be free of you one day, if only because I plan to remove pieces of my brain one by one until I no longer remember grunge! I am prepared for collateral damage!
Tomorrow: a very long poem to Morrissey written when I was 17 & had never been kissed. Not even by Morrissey.
* I confess I had forgotten who this person was. Wikipedia tells me, "Scott McClellan was the twenty-second White House Press Secretary for President George W. Bush, & author of a controversial No. 1 New York Times bestseller about the Bush Administration titled What Happened. He replaced Ari Fleischer as press secretary in July 2003 & served until May 10, 2006." He's from Austin & he was literally born six days before I was.
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