After all the hype I’d decided not to read Morrissey’s
biography. The old contrarian couldn’t be trusted to give anything but a one
eyed account of things and the book was sure to be full of score settling and
whinging. No, I’ll get by without it.
I was waiting for the train at Liverpool Street station with
half an hour to spare, so wandered over to the bookshop. There it was, in prime
position, right in front of me. I’ll just have a quick look. I opened the book
on page 269. Siouxsie Sioux was “ a physical blancmange that is six parts Kate
O’Mara, two parts Myra Hindley and two parts Fenella Fielding “. I let out a
huge guffaw and immediately reversed my hasty decision not to buy the book.
Does it warrant it’s “Penguin Classic” status ? I’ve no idea
and quite frankly don’t much care. It is a
great read though and I couldn’t put it down, although on many occasions his,
yes, whinging and moaning really grated.
The descriptions of his childhood, in what seems like a
Dickensian Manchester conjure up monochrome images of lives of relentless graft
and grind. His schooldays were not exactly a bundle of laughs either, with
corporal punishment and a loathing of children seemingly mandatory requirements
for the teachers.
As feared, much of
the book is given over to score settling. Amongst those incurring the Morrissey
wrath are Rough Trade’s Geoff Travis, Tony Wilson, John Peel, Seymour Stein of
Sire records, Judges, New Musical Express, the British press generally and, of
course Marr, O’Rourke and Joyce ( and, God, doesn’t he go on about the court
case ). However, the person who undergoes the most comprehensive demolition is
the odious Julie Burchill. Good work Mozza old boy.
The book seems to me to be a strange mixture of the very
well written and the incomprehensible. Try this “ I will never be lacking if
the clash of sounds collide, with refinement and logic bursting from a cone of
manful blast.” What ?
There is, as expected, some great lines. “Naturally, my
birth almost kills my mother, for my head is too big.” On “The Duchess of
Nothing”, Sarah Ferguson, “ She is a little bundle of orange crawling out of a
frothy dress, the drone of Sloane, blessed with two daughters of Queen Victoria
pot-dog pudginess.” It seems every few pages someone incurs the elegant vitriol of
the Mozza pen.
A fair chunk of the book is concerned with the infamous
Morrissey/Marr vs O’Rourke/Joyce court case. He argues his case well and at
some length and it’s very clear this particular wound is yet to heal.
You do have to wade through a bit of the usual Mozza
nonsense relating to animal rights and an especially ridiculous defence of the
cuddly Cray twins. But you’d be disappointed if he didn’t make a bit of a twerp
of himself at times, wouldn’t you ?
If you have even a casual interest in The Smiths or
Morrissey read this book.
