Morrissey's Autobiography
You could never accuse Morrissey of not having a balanced - and unhealthy - diet of grievances; he has bags of chips on both shoulders.
Ever the misanthrope (‘I've come to wish you an unhappy birthday’), his Autobiography has a go at everything and
anything from Manchester - especially its school system - to record companies, marriage, the judiciary,
and his old band mate Mike Joyce (dismissed as ‘not even qualified enough to be
a nonentity’). His reaction to the death
of Neil Aspinall, former Beatles road manager and head of Apple, is
particularly nasty. Those who know Morrissey’s lyrics will find many familiar
themes here.
Despite his often tedious vitriol, I would still thoroughly recommend this honest, opinionated, sometimes infuriating, mostly admirable book. Apart from the protracted, self-pitying account of the post-Smiths court case, his style is never less than engaging and his characters, unlike so many of the cardboard cut-outs that litter the literary landscape, are made of real flesh and blood. The descriptions of his intensely Irish family are especially memorable and the short section dealing with the death of his beloved grandmother would move a heart of stone. In the proverbial nutshell, Autobiography is exceptionally well-written.
Despite his often tedious vitriol, I would still thoroughly recommend this honest, opinionated, sometimes infuriating, mostly admirable book. Apart from the protracted, self-pitying account of the post-Smiths court case, his style is never less than engaging and his characters, unlike so many of the cardboard cut-outs that litter the literary landscape, are made of real flesh and blood. The descriptions of his intensely Irish family are especially memorable and the short section dealing with the death of his beloved grandmother would move a heart of stone. In the proverbial nutshell, Autobiography is exceptionally well-written.
I found the pages dealing with his solo career much more interesting
than those devoted to The Smiths. He has many striking things to say about the exhilaration
of performing (“…. having never found love from one, I find it from thousands…’)
but also emphasises the artist’s responsibility to his/her audience. I can’t,
incidentally, understand his idolatry of the New York Dolls, or the 'winsome' Damien Dempsey (who 'captivates and enchants with all the love of one blessed and unselfish') but, as the man
said, it takes all sorts.
Finally, I have to say – as someone with only lukewarm affection for the
music of Morrissey and The Smiths – that Autobiography
has resuscitated my interest to the
extent of going back and listening to their albums again.
posted by Superannuated Man at 11:10 am
1 Comments:
I read, I think, the first 5 pages of this (never one to judge a book by its cover, me!), and thought - if the rest of the book is going to be as self-indulgent, I'll just pick up one of those books on the locker I've been meaning to finish.
Ah, Midnight's Children, how I've missed you. And One Hundred Years of Solitude, here you are again. Autobiography, you can continue to be a door stopper.
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