Heart of a Punk - Soul of a Rasta

Morrissey Manchester Apollo 22nd May 2009

The Prologue

"Tonight I'm going to see Moz"
"Tonight I'm going to see Moz"
"Tonight I'm going to see Moz"
"Tonight I'm going to see Moz"
"Tonight I'm going to see Moz"

Through the evil banality of the working day I kept repeating this mantra to myself over & over & over & over again. So by the time 4 o'clock came round the task was complete. I had convinced myself to such an extent that I didn't even bother to check online to see whether the gig had been cancelled. I shot off for Manchester totally brainwashed and without the slightest doubt in my mind.

"Tonight I'm going to see Moz".

The "Roundhouse Debacle" and the "Birmingham Symphony Hall Sickness" were gone, forgotten, and totally eradicated from my mind, because after all:

"Tonight I'm going to see Moz".

En route my mind pondered a known known. In life there are only three things you vividly remember. Three types of occurrence that get instantly etch a sketched into your memory. They are: THE FIRST, THE LAST & THE EXCEPTIONAL. Next year it will be my personal Manchester Apollo anniversary - 30 years since I first frequented the hallowed hall. My FIRST trip to the Manchester Apollo was to see The Stranglers in 1980 and my LAST (before tonight) was to see The Pogues in 2001. Somehow 2001 seems longer ago than 1980 - I don't know how that's happened?

Anyway please don't doubt my testimony even when I say I never went above the UK speed limited once - yeah right. But I made the 83 mile trip to Manchester solely in the time it took to play "Rattus Norvegicus" by The Stranglers and "Rum Sodomy & the Lash" by The Pogues, ok so I was listening to the 2004 extended version of the album, but all the same! As "The Parting Glass" closed I was being ushered into a car park, backed into the first space available, relived of 6 quid in dirty KA$H and given this little sign from my car's new guardians. Good old Manchester where "extortion with menaces" is still freely available.

On arriving, I find that time has certainly stood still as far as the Manchester Apollo is concerned - it's still there where I left it last a dirty great big iceberg block rising incongruously out of nowhere beneath a slate grey Manchester sky which is barely able to resist scraping the roof of its thirties façade. Around this colossal wreck nothing much has changed in thirty years either. A load of houses and a petrol station have been thrown up and some stuff seems to be missing also, I suppose it has been knocked down or maybe it just got bored and pissed off. But pretty much everything is as it has always been. And best of all - it's drizzling - yes! In Manchester! Well I'll go to the foot of the stairs.

Luckily I join the queue by one of the fire doors. I insert myself into the dry recess and melt into the black paint work, attempting to disappear from view. I have over an hour to wait before the doors open, time enough to enjoy myself, to settle back into my black hole and watch as every denomination human kind drift hither and thither before my
eyes.

First the stars:
"Sandra the Shifty Chain Smoking Stalker" rolling a fag between her delicate emaciated yellow fingers, and then smoking it all the way down to the burn. In the seconds between finishing one cig and rolling another she spent the time eking out a fresh fragment of finger nail to chew upon; whilst looking off into the distance or looking at the paving slabs and feet.

"The Germans" a trio comprising of a girl and two boys, dressed in inappropriately tight clothing and very heavy makeup. They pushed into the queue but no one gave a fuck because the rain had begun to ease. I watched their hands, I watched their eyes, and I intently watched their feints and posing. I watched how they kept to their own personal space and how they carefully talked in turn. I watched and I watched and I watched. But who'd be fucking who later that night I just couldn't decide.

"The Two Derelicts" holding precariously on to one another whilst spitting forth hyperbole through crenulated dentures into the faces of the touts. Derelict No1 dipped into his coat and with a magician touch produced a can of Gold Label Barley Wine. He made the Can spit then took a swig and offered it to Derelict No.2. Then once more Derelict No.1 delved in to the lining of his coat and brought forth another Can of golden and red. He gave this fresh unopened can to his friend and took the half extinguished one back. "St John 15" came to mind "Greater love hath no man than this".

"The Salford Snapper" with his camera swinging to and fro beneath his Punchinello proboscis, laughing with the touts, laughing with the Derelicts, shouting at a female snapper who strayed onto his patch. Was he someone or was no one or was he in fact himself, I've no idea, I couldn't say, but I never saw him take a single shot.

Then there were the bit part actors:
The general unwashed, the specifically clean, the flower bearers, the quiffed and greased fifties throw backs, the Fred Perry weekend Fascists, the Bauhaus brigands all shaved necks and DMs, the lost and alone oriental lady as thin as tracing paper sandwiched between the secretive American couple and the stoned lads constantly talking shop. You had the feeling everyone was here. Chaucer would have had a fine old time amongst this plethora of pilgrims on their way to worship. God knows I did.

The traffic flowed and ebbed. Red buses paused to allow the top deck stare. Cabs arrived kerbside, the doors immediately opened by the obliging touts, who greeted each new arrival with a winning smile and the same well rehearsed words "Do you need a ticket for tonight?" and "Have you got any spares".

At times the pilgrims ventured off to "MR SIZZLE" on the Hyde Road and returned with something meaty and greasy. (Really this is Morrissey show some restrain).
But mostly they ventured off to The Apsley Cottage pub returning with plastic containers brimming with golden ale (lucky bastards!).

At 6.45pm flyers and the presents were distributed.
At 6.55pm the bins were stuffed to overflowing.
At 7.00pm the queue was at its longest and the doors were opened.

At this moment of first movement a teenage couple sprang from a taxi. The girl strode up to the massed ranks and enquired of no one in particular. "Have you all got tickets?" No one audibly answered but the gist was gathered. And in a surprised little voice she exclaimed to her boyfriend "Oh dear you have to queue up even if you've got a ticket!" Their shock at this information was so crushing and the task before them so daunting I think they just went straight home.

Back once more after so long a time away. But everything is just how I left it. The hill and the crash barriers (what actually is the gradient of the hill inside the Manchester Apollo?); the thread bare and stained red velvet, the ceiling and its gently peeling gold paint and the puddle of urine in the corner of the toilets irrigated from afar by fine streams of golden piss. It's great to be back. I take a moment to breathe it all in, no sorry, I mean I took a moment to take it all in.

Doll & the Kicks
It has been a while since I've had to do this.
So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen boys and girls I am playing the "Stummer Card".

All I am allowed to say is that some of the crowd seemed to like "Doll and the Kicks". And, that on the night Doll of "Doll and the Kicks" wore on her head the biggest bow I've ever seen. A bow that size would easily mask unsightly baldness, I wonder from where one could purchase a bow like that?

Between the Doll & Moz we had some films!
Yes we watched some films!
I shit you not.

We had the Sparks video for "Lighten Up, Morrissey".
We had various clips, featuring amongst the many others were videos of Anthony Newly, Shirley Bassey, The New York Dolls and……………….. Vince Taylor? Again I shit you not. This was certainly a brave and most diverting move. However the clip of Anthony Newly with him singing one of his novelty records was a bit unfortunate because for me he was the only character in this montage who was more than just a hollow STAR. Hey lighten up Ed.

Morrissey the Wythenshawe Punk turns 50
Then the sheet on which the magic lantern pictures were being illuminated upon suddenly dropped and after the all encompassing roar of greeting died away we were off and into "This Charming Man"; the band blasting away in front of a massive homo erotic back drop. Yes homo erotic what else would you expect? A massive back drop of a sailor with a cigar in his mouth naked to the waist showing off his fine physique; with the word refusal write large across his chest.
I think its best I don't pass comment here; I might be seeing a double entendre where in fact there is only a double negative at play or perhaps someone who is just very confused.

"Irish Blood, English Heart" followed, then one of the best things off the latest LP, "Black Cloud". The Smiths' "How Soon Is Now?" caused another crowd eruption, as the set rattled on with "All You Need Is Me", "How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?" "Girlfriend in a Coma" and "I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris". The band came to the aid of Morrissey in places damping down the sound and making it easier for him to be heard without having to strain. "Let Me Kiss You", "Ask", "Something Is Squeezing My Skull" and "One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell" followed, before something I haven't heard for many a year "Why Don't You Find Out For Yourself?" from "Vauxhall & I". It was somewhere in the middle of this track that I realised the evening was going frightfully well because I didn't know what venue I was at, what city I was in, what time or what day of the week it was. I was a pilgrim lost before the shrine of the Moz and nothing else mattered. They continued with "The World Is Full of Crashing Bores", "When Last Time I Spoke to Carol" and "Best Friend on the Payroll" from the newly dusted off re-release "Southpaw Grammar". I think the last time I heard that live Moz was backing up Bowie but I could be wrong. Next "Sorry Doesn't Help", "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others" and a blistering version of "The Loop" with the final song being the final track from "Years of Refusal"; "I'm OK By Myself". At its conclusion Solomon Walker was left to give his bass a good old fashioned thrashing alone at the front of the stage. Young Solomon seems to have become a disciple of Jean Jacques Burnel on the Refusal album in fact there are quite a few moments on Refusal when you start to believe that the man who could never have been a punk, seems to be a punk at last. The encore was fittingly "First of the Gang to Die" which ended as always in a tumult of sound and group bows. We'd sung happy birthday. We'd seen Moz rip off three shirts and fling them into the crowd. We'd seen a girl slip through the fingers of security and give Morrissey a hug. Could we have wanted for more? Not really.

OK the performance was not Morrissey at his best. But as I said at the top there are only three types of occurrence that the memory truly retains THE FIRST, THE LAST & THE EXCEPTIONAL. This obviously wasn't the FIRST and hopefully it won't be my LAST, either at the Apollo or watching Morrissey. However this night will stay etched indelibly into the memory logged under THE EXCEPTIONAL.