Outrageous footage of the TRASH! party, every Friday night at The Studio in NYC. Featuring an insane cast of infamous NYC characters, including DJ Jess, Alex Malfunction, Stormy Leather, Michael T, Weirdee Girl, Alex Magnetic, The Glitter Kids, Jessie Lee, Debbie Delirium, Brendon James, Nellee Dii, Amber Ray, Kelly Hurt, Driven By Boredom, Sweet Loraine, Twig the Wonderkid, Angela of The Love Show, Rochelle La Bar, Dances With White Girls, Yoji Pop, Nicky Digital, Apathy Angel, Alex English, Raggedy Annika, Miss Amanda Leigh, Tré, Gavin Royce, Kit Cat, GiGi La Femme, Fat Shain, Justina Flash, Forest, and more! Thanks to our good friend and fan, Dan Baxter!
The video is set to the amazing remix of Semi Precious Weapons by DJ Jess’ act, Carpe PM, which you can download below!
“I just have one soul-searching question to ask you, which is… where the hell am I?”
- Morrissey
Webster Hall, 2009
Through a mist of sweat, apprehension, and psychotic fandom, I staked my claim at the barricade and was treated to 21 beautiful songs by that strange crooner, Morrissey. Since The Studio at Webster Hall is also home to both the TRASH! and Tiswas parties, I was able to arrive early and flirt with the bartenders before the doors flung open, and also pick up on a bit of Morrissey gossip. I learned that the venue had been on “lockdown” during the sound check, with no Webster Hall staff except sound engineers allowed in the building whatsoever, and, in accordance with Moz’ rider, no meat was allowed in the venue for a full 24 hours before the show. Also, amenities for the dressing room were not to be delivered by Webster Hall staff, and instead were to be delivered to Moz’ hired security, who would then carry it to the man themselves. Some commented that that was obnoxious, and Moz was too much of a diva, but honestly, after nearly 30 years in the business, isn’t this really just quality control? Soon I witnessed the grand tradition that can only be described as “The Running of the Moz”, wherein fans much more furious than I leapt over stairs, plowed through the elderly, and trampled over small children to stake a claim at the foot of the stage. I laughed at their bizarre obssessiveness, and then (ahem) sprinted like a madman to join them. Fortunately, I found myself in good company, camping out with Matt from The Music Slut to my right, and behind me the talented Peter and Michael from the infectious band, The Dossier. We patiently put up with the pre-show tape, including the inaudible monolouge which I believe was on during the “Greatest Hits” tour, followed by a not-very-exciting collection of songs including one remix of a track from Years of Refusal, and then a cover of another Morrissey tune. (If anyone remembers the exact tunes, please comment!) As cute as the pre-show tape was, I much prefer the mix tape from the old days, with songs from The Buzzcocks, Serge Gainsbourg, and the like. It was, after all, the first time I ever heard this:
Up first were The Courteeners, whose latest record, St. Jude, I had picked up last fall. They’re a tight, jaunty pop group from Manchester, who’ve got a number of sprightly songs, but ultimately suffer from each song sounding exactly alike. That’s not to say once they get their initial ideas out of the way, the won’t have more impressive material and dynamic range in the future. I suggest enjoying their singles for the now, and keeping them in your peripheral. (On an adorable side note, I believe the rhythm guitarist’s parents were in the balcony, as a group of middle age couples kept whooping at him, forcing him to grin shyly between riffs.)
With the crowd suitably warmed up, the pre-show video began. Morrissey began this tradition with the last tour, and it has become a highlight of each show unto itself. The classics were back, such as The New York Dolls performing “Looking for a Kiss”, as well as hysterical footage of David Johansen being curt and clever backstage in The Doll’s heyday. Gone was the James Dean screen test footage, and the vintage European pop songs, but in their place I was happy to find three videos by one of my favorite groups, The Shocking Blue, including “Venus” and “Inkpot”. (No “Send Me a Postcard”, though, which is easily their sickest and best tune.) And of course, there was everyone’s favorite “poor man’s” Elvis, Vince Taylor. He’s a one-schitck wonder, but you have to love a pop star who pretends to slap his own band around, then casually ignores the Donna Reed look-a-like he’s supposed to be dancing with.
Finally, the intro tape plays and the pope of mope comes striding to center stage. The crowd cheerfully goes wild, and damned if I wasn’t paralyzed by those searing blue eyes. I’ve heard rumours of them, but nothing can prepare you for just how piercing those sea blue eyes really are. Our hero is as hefty as he’s been since 2004, but not nearly as tragic or beaten as he appears in the sour make up and lighting from the “I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris” video. He beckons us with the aforementioned question, then jumps belly first into the punchy rendition of “This Charming Man” that we’ve been treated to lately. What his guitarist, Jesse Tobias, lacks in subtly and emotive flow, he more than makes up for with boundless energy combined with stoic, rhythmic discipline. In other words, the mystique of Alain Whyte is gone, but the celebration and cheer is over flowing. It would be the first of 5 throwbacks to the days of The Smiths, with the remaining selections being “How Soon is Now”, “Death of a Disco Dancer”, a totally surprising “I Keep Mine Hidden, and the pre-apocalyptic anthem “Ask”, which easily made the best transition to the modern translation by the new band. “How Soon is Now” is indeed a pop culture cult classic at this point, but tonight’s rendition would be nowhere near as intense it was during the 2004 tour. However, with Tobias on guitar, while it may not have been a jaw-dropper, it was at least a jaw-breaker. This was also the first of a few times our boy would flail about fetal like on the floor, which elicited more than few chuckles from security in the pit.
“If it’s not love, then it’s military MIGHT that will bring us together!”
Speaking of the pits, Morrissey was genuinely not amused with the quality of the venue, but genuinely hysterical in his dissatisfaction, prompting the following quotes:
“A rat just fell from the rafters and landed on my head!”
“I hope you didn’t pay more than 20 dollars for a ticket, because my dressing room is just a chair and a bucket, to do with what you will…”
He also asked:
“Would you be offended if I asked you a very serious question? (pause) Good, you’re about to be offended. We have been invited to sing on the “Ellen” Show. Should we?”
Though I screamed, “Yes!”, mostly because I’m a sucker for lesbian daytime television, most everyone else screamed, “No”, and Morrissey seemed to sincerely agree. Other banter included words of warning regarding Carnegie Hall, cautioning:
“I’m told that if you show any sign of life at Carnegie Hall, you get clamped, towed away, and your legs removed, and, uh… oh brother”
Those of us who know and love the man recognized this as subversive call the crowd to make their attempts to show their mad love tonight, as the following night it may not be possible. When he introduced the band, starting with genius songwriter Boz Boorer, he ended with himself, saying:
“And I am a myth.”
Years from now, I’m sure we’ll all realize just how true this throwaway reveal really is. Some of us, I’m sure, already do. But myth or reality, We were treated to a nice collection of material spanning every solo release except Viva Hate, Maladjusted, and suprisingly, Ringleader of the Tormentors. We bopped to the rockabilly stylings of Kill Uncle’s “The Loop”, complete with upright bass, “Seasick Yet Still Docked” from Your Arsenal, “Billy Budd” (A personal favorite.) from Vauxhall and I, and the best surprise of the night, “Best Friend on the Payroll” from Southpaw Grammar. I’ve always felt that Southpaw most reflected Morrissey’s true solo aspirations, with off kilter, yet familiar, pop melodies that lyrically steer between the casually flippant (”He’s got the hold world in his hands… stood at the urinal”) and the poignantly traumatic. (”There is something you should know… the girl of your dreams is here and all alone”)
(There was some feedback in the monitors during this song, seemingly from a loose string on Boz’ guitar, and at times Moz seem genuinely perturbed by the disturbance, which I imagine he imagined was just one more thing to dislike about the venue.)
We were, of course, smothered with new and recent material from You are the Quarry and Years of Refusal. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ve noticed that Morrissey has only one good idea, but it just so happens to be a brilliant one. His entire career, he’s strived to combine irony, humility, pomposity, hilarity, tragedy, and poetry into the 3 minute pop song. With the last three records, Moz has gotten this setup down to a science. While some older fans lament his sing-song stylings of recent singles, I find them clever, catchy, and comfortable, in the way that you look forward to a new episode of your favorite show, or enjoy the recent paperback by your favourite prolific author. The new songs may not shock and dismantle us like when we first heard “Suedehead” or “Still Ill”, but they’re still OUR pop tragedies, and dammit, no one else is doing it better.
“And when I die… I WANT to go to hell!”
The crowd sometimes seemed frozen with their infatuation, but our boy did kneel down to our depths for handshakes, gifts, and other strange pleasantries. I got the first handshake of the evening, and someone to my right tossed an Elvis record onstage. Morrissey, despite having a bulky frame and a massive head, has strangely small hands, which they say is a sign of creativity. (Who are “they”? I don’t know…) While his face does have a hint of “I wouldn’t want to talk to you on the street”, you can easily see that he respects the relationship between crowd and king, and almost by rote he goes through the motions of reaching out to his kids. There is, to be sure, something to be said of an artist whose “motions” ARE reaching out to the kids. As old and complacent as both he and we get, it’s good to know that the foundations of the past, present, and future of this curious connection has been, and continues to be love, love, love.
“I am human and I need to be loved… just like everybody else does”
The man was dressed as a human, certainly, with ragged jeans, and an unfortunate, blue plaid shirt, which was quickly tossed and replaced. I know some would rather not have him reveal the pouch at his age, but this reveal seems to me to be so specifically what Morrissey is about. He’s both parody and intimacy, and having him show us all that he is, literally, becomes less about silly pop star posturing, and something surprisingly touching. We were never meant to have posters of the man plastered on our bedroom ceiling, but instead, maybe, photos of him pasted into our photo albums, along side our family and best friends. But pop this is, and while Moz gets the freedom to be who he is, the band in the back was condemned to a less flattering brown with bow-ties costume that felt more UPS than U2 rock star. I will give Morrissey credit for knowing his craft, though, as having the boys aligned so, only served to steer a subliminal spotlight back to the star, as sheepish as he would have us believe he really is.
Curiously, I started the day musing to Morrissey in the shower. (As so many of my days begin.) I was fantasizing in my head over just what I would ever ask him if I was ever given the mic during the concert. Moz has a happy habit of handing over his weapon of choice, and we always hear the usual “We love you” or “Thank you”, which is pleasant enough, but obvious, cliché, and never as exciting as we’d like it to be. I eventually decided, if this were to ever happen to me, I would try to play the game and make him smile. I landed on the notion that I would ask him the name of “his baby”, making reference to the recent album cover, with him holding his tour manager’s child. All of this, of course, was a silly daydream on my party, or so I thought, until he unbelievably handed me the mic after “The World is Full of Crashing Bores”, and determined not to be one, I muttered, “What’s the name of your baby?” To which he amusingly replied, “Tiger.” This just goes to show that if you wish for something long enough, and hard enough, and in the shower, it just may come true.
The three tracks I’d been hoping to hear were “This Charming Man”, “Something is Squeezing My Skull”, and “It’s Not Your Birthday Anymore”. We were lucky enough to get “Charming”, and “Skull, but I was denied “Birthday”, much as I was denied “Life is a Pigsty” during the THREE times I saw him on the last tour. Still, for every “good enough” offerings of mid-tempo rockers like “Crashing Bores” or “How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?”, there were rollicking interpretations of “Irish Blood, English Heart”, and new classics like “Let Me Kiss You”, which specifically has come to surprise me over the past few years, much in the way the seeming sleeper songs from Vauxhall and I, like “Used to be a Sweet Boy”, would start to infect you after the shattering effects of “Now My Heart is Full” or “Speedway” would wear off. This might be the best effect of Moz’ recent work: the way the supposed sing-song melodies may not strike you as furiously as he has in past, but eventually wrap their charm and choruses around your tongue, until you find yourself your self singing “You have killed me, you have killed me…” to your local barista without realizing it.
This is, finally, rock and roll, and you get as much out of any life experience as you put into it. With pompadour properly waxed, bracelet and boots strapped tight, wallet, cell phone, and pocket items safely stowed away in coat check, I prepared for the absurdity that is the encore at a Morrissey show. I couldn’t imagine a stage invasion possible, with the barricade pinning my thighs and center of gravity at an uncomfortable and unfortunate angle, but somehow, in some way, I managed to lift myself up from the teeming, screaming masses, and leapt the pit! I got a solid, if brief, hug around Morrissey’s broad shoulder, before being dragged away like the petty criminal I was in my teenage years. Moz’ security only escorted me as far as the sub woofers, and while I was tempted to stay onstage, I decided to let others have a go. (No one else, despite some truly furious attempts, was able to make the jump.) On my way offstage, I was greeted with cheerful handshakes from the crowd, including a proud pat on the shoulder from Ben Cho, who does the Morrissey Night every Sunday at Sway. It was a frenetic and fantastic finale to a warm and delightful evening, and though it may be obvious and cliché, let me just say to Morrissey, “We love you” and “Thank you.”
All of this, of course, was a silly daydream on my party, or so I thought, until he unbelievably handed me the mic after “The World is Full of Crashing Bores”, and determined not to be one, I muttered, “What’s the name of your baby?” To which he amusingly replied, “Tiger.” This just goes to show that if you wish for something long enough, and hard enough, and in the shower, it just may come true.
