Morrissey “You Are The Quarry”
Oh -- how painful it is to know and to be known. The constant battle as to whether we should let ourselves be loved before we are hated or to hate before we admit how much we wanted to be loved.
Like the billions of us that were teenagers once, I know this impossible tension. And, like the billions of us that are adults now, I try to avoid it with every fiber of my being. Which is why I rarely listen to The Smiths anymore and why I largely avoided Morrissey once I left college. It’s not for lack of appreciation of his music. He does what he does better than anyone has ever done before or since. He sounds like a man genuinely falling in love with every word he writes, questioning them, despising them and then falling completely once again as they leave his mouth, all the while still knowing that everything is doomed. If there were an international flag for heartbroken wallflowers, surely Morrissey’s face would grace it (as it does every one of his solo albums).
Yes, it’s hard to be a Morrissey fan. It requires one to confront the honesty and contradiction of the man and his music. The part of him that wants to be loved and also the part that seems much happier alone. For me, it has just been easier to keep my distance — to hear his music on Spotify playlists or on record players at artsy friends’ apartments. My Smiths’ records stay on the shelf. But any time one of his many great singles comes on, something knowing will flinch within me.
Graciously, Morrissey made it easy for me to ignore him. As I was leaving college and trying to adult, he was not releasing new music. After the rather ignorable “Maladjusted” from 1997, he waited seven years before returning with “You Are The Quarry.” In the interim, he moved to Los Angeles, very reluctantly resolved a lawsuit over money with his former drummer and, most notably, searched in vain for a new record deal. By 2003, much of this would be behind him. He signed a deal with indie label, Sanctuary, and had a suitcase full of new heartache and venom to offer in song.
“You Are The Quarry” was both a much anticipated return and a purported “return to form,” following the lack of luster from “Southpaw Grammar” and “Maladjusted.” And, on the whole, it is an excellent album full of excellent songs. Morrissey’s vocal performance is nearly flawless. He was clearly ready for this moment — ready to talk about America, England, himself, the impossibility of love, and, of course, how we are all horrible beautiful lovable monsters.
Morrissey’s lolling, singular croon still floats and stings. He is, as always, a sharp poet. But, it has to be said, that the production on “Quarry” threatens to ruin everything the singer and writer had been readying himself for over those seven long years. Jerry Finn, who was highly respected as an engineer and almost universally beloved by artists, had notably worked with Pop Punk and Emo bands. He produced or engineered massive records by Green Day, Blink 182 and others, offering them the space and sounds of business class needed to complement the raw loudness of their music. Morrissey needed none of those complements and his music suffers as the instruments get louder.
Though “You Are The Quarry” never interferes with the underlying compositions, there is insistent synth and effect button pushing, too forward lead guitars and even a theremin appearance that do the songs a disservice. Overall, the mix is loud and muscular in the way 1990s Alternative Rock sounded on the radio. For bands that require or deserve that volume — Oasis or The Killers, for example — this heavy and deep sound can be effective. But Morrissey sounds better on a feather bed than on a jet airplane.
With a glut of songs to choose from, Morrissey was still able to assemble a strong album, end to end. He announces and renounces and announces his Americanness again in “America Is Not The World,” a delightful indie pop song wherein he eviscerates both America and himself. It’s a perfect and perfectly familiar opener, just with a new setting.
Other standouts include “I Have Forgiven Jesus,” which, but for its title and lyrics, would have made for a great Adult Alternative singalong. The simple, mid-tempo synth, bass and metronomic beat are the perfect girders for one of the truly great narrative reversals in Pop music. Unlike Patti Smith, Morrissey does not eschew Jesus. No, he has the humor and gall to offer Jesus his forgiveness while he tossing us lines wrapped in flower grenades:
I have forgiven Jesus
For all the desire
He placed in me when there's nothing I can do
With this desire
Monday - humiliation
Tuesday - suffocation
Wednesday - condescension
Thursday - is pathetic
By Friday life has killed me
By Friday life has killed me
“First Of The Gang To Die” is Morrissey’s necessary and wonderful ode to his Mexican fans -- the arty goth girls and the macho, but gender fluid, muscle boys who he could now see daily in Los Angeles. It’s smart, if a little smarmy. And it has a great guitar riff and an ear-worm chorus under the constant threat of the synthesizers.
But, in an album full of grand choruses, none are prettier or more on brand than the one in “I Like You” wherein he finds the precise intersection of coy and sweet gothic romance. In a lower register than most Morrissey tracks, he sings:
It's so shameful of me - I like you
You're not right in the head
And nor am I, and this is why
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you…
The verses in “I Like You” are modest bunt singles, just waiting for the moment when Morrissey, the doomed, sad sack slugger can come to the plate and deliver a big hit for the chorus. There are also moments in the song where he fails to connect, even sounding like a stuffed up Bryan Ferry. But in the outro, his voice soars over the fence for a game winner.
“You Are The Quarry” contains several songs that would have sounded wonderful in demo or stripped down form. But seven years, a new context and new producer got the better of Morrissey’s insecurities. You can almost hear the reluctant star vacillating between the big sound of an arena and the 70s AM radio schmaltz. He could theoretically succeed in either milieu. But in between those two poles -- with just the swirl of guitar, bass and drum -- is the very same man who made us swoon twenty years earlier.
Around the time of this release, Morrissey surprisingly returned to England and held his spite in check long enough to appear on TV with Jonathan Ross and Jools Holland. Even on this friendly home turf with adoring hosts and fans, Morrissey is overcome with discomfort. His smiles look injurious. He appears desperate to be polite and clever while giving away absolutely nothing. In spite of the grey hair and the thicker frame, he still looked and sounded every bit like the precocious, painfully shy teenager whose heart and brain were bursting equally. Inside that middle-aged gut and those Alt Rock effects was still the greatest romantic Indie music had ever known.