"Surely it isn't a matter of conceit," she cried.
"That and nothing else."
She was frankly puzzled.
"Don't you think that people are most conceited of all about their senusal powers?" she asked.
"That's why they aren't sensual--only sensuous--which is another matter. They're always aware of themselves--and they're so concieted, that rather than release themselves, and live in another world, from another centre, they'd--"(Women in Love, D. H. Lawrence, 38).
I'm not sure how to began a concert review. It's something I'm not really good at. They seem so boring really but yet one feels compelled to write all the gory details. I stood in line for an hour! I meet some cool people! He played. He said. And then it all needs to flow in a logical order. I can't do that. You all know me too well. I'll just jot down some thoughts as they come. I'm including a set list at the bottom in case you're a real junkie.
First my regrets. I should have brought my camera. There was no checking of purses. I so could have gotten it in. And there was so many scenes to catch. But more on that later. I also could have gotten a good shot of him as he excited the building which leads to my second regret. Lack of planning. I should have Horacio meet me at the venue earlier. Camille would have gotten a chance to see him. Third regret...seat tickets. Never again. I would have been at the barricade had I bought GA tickets. I could have touched him....swoon. Plus the people in my section were scary banker types, and one woman trying to be 20 again, stunned that I thought Morrissey was gay, and horrified by the New York Dolls.
Memorable Moments: Morrissey changing the lyrics in "Irish Blood, English Heart" to "I am longing for a time when Americans will vote out Republicans." Morrissey imploring the audience to have a "Thanksgiving not a Thankskilling." Getting to see Morrissey's ass crack! (oh my!) The moment during the end of "How Soon is Now" when he threw himself back onto the drum platform with his legs tucked up behind him, and just laid there with his arms out. Chasing his tour bus with Camille yelling out the window "Morrissey!!!!" and waving her hand off. Someone waved to us from beneath the shade. Alas we lost the bus before we figured out where he was staying as the tour bus felt no need to follow traffic laws. When he played "Last of the International Playboys" and kept hitting his chest, saying "Me! It's Me!" Meeting an awesome welder from Florida who got to touch Moz (his first concert too). Baiting Morrissey fans with snarky taunts that they didn't dare respond to! Yelling out "Jesse I love you!" so that the band could get some love, and having him wave in my general direction. Calling the kids on the phone, and giving them a chance to hear.
Oh yes, friends, he was pure sex on the stage. His movements, his singing, the way he looked at the crowd. When he sang "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want," it really felt he was looking at right you. The whole show had this intimate quality that was like nothing I've never ever felt at a concert before. He was sick, and yet his voice never cracked once. He sounded so beautiful...better than the recordings. And yes it was good to just be in the same room with him. The venue was small enough to make everyone feel like they were close to him. He is so full of something...passion, sex, emotion. I don't know but he's special. While his fans horrify me a bit, I do see why they love him and why they do the nutty things they do. I find that now just seeing him is not enough. I thought it would be but no. Like Lacanian's constantly absence of the other, I want more. I want to be in the front and just grasp his hand for a moment. But then will I get nuts and have to meet him? I am almost scared to do another show.
But then, well, this is balanced with a kind of disgust with him as well. I was reading Lawrence this afternoon, and came across the above quote. I immediately thought "That's Morrissey." If it's true that he's celibate, I wonder if it's a conceit. A way to be sensuous without being sensual? His fans hurt each other to get his shirt. They are beat up by bouncers to get to him, and yet he encourages them to do it. He still throws his shirt in, knowing that people break their legs over this stuff. He fires his opening band for the stupidest thing. He begs his audience to love him, and throws sarcastic insults when they don't' love him enough. He feeds off this kind of self centered ego stroking. There's a part of me that just really hates him. And yet, in a true Lawrencian manner, I love him as well. Love his ego which is surely a sign of insecurity. I love his pain. I love the sex on stage. And isn't there something dreadfully conceited about me for craving this, for loving that he bares himself on stage? Don't we feed him as much as he feeds us? What a strange relationship, that between rock singer and fan. And how strange, that old woman that I am, find myself caught up in something I thought I was much to old for.
Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before / Tomorrow / Irish Blood, English Heart / Last Of The Famous International Playboys / Sister, I'm A Poet / The Loop / I Just Want To See The Boy Happy / One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell / Why Don't You Find Out For Yourself? / Jack The Ripper / Stretch Out And Wait / I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris / All You Need Is Me / Death Of A Disco Dancer / Billy Budd / Let Me Kiss You / The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores / Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want / How Soon Is Now? // First Of The Gang To Die