THIS
CHARMING MAN
As well as performing at the Usher Hall, Morrissey is the subject of two Fringe shows. Rachel Devine looks at the feverish devotion of the Mozziah’s fanbase
T he Smiths made music between 1982 and 1987. In band years that’s a relatively short period of time, but it was i ve years that produced four revered albums and stoked a mythology around the band’s singer Steven Patrick Morrissey that endures 30 years on. For many they were the last great British band; Morrissey is arguably the last messianic i gure (Mozziah) in British pop who hasn’t died or become irrelevant.
The fans who followed the band i rst time around – and subsequently Morrissey’s solo career – are now in their early forties. For them, the memories are heavily scented with nostalgia. But the appeal has crossed generations; there’s a whole section of the fanbase who were not yet born when Morrissey appeared on Top of the Pops brandishing gladioli and wearing NHS spectacles. What unites them is a feverish devotion to the man and his music. Many will be in Edinburgh on 30 July to see him perform at the Usher Hall, after which it might entertain them to stick around for two Fringe shows that delve into the psyche of Morrissey fandom: Amy Lamé’s Unhappy Birthday and Half a Person: My Life as Told by The Smiths. The latter is about a twentysomething Londoner whose existential grind takes place against a soundtrack of Smiths songs. The lead character, William, is the archetypal Morrissey fan: awkward, endearing and mildly obsessive. It’s a particularly virulent strain of obsession, being a Morrissey fan, as comedian and actress Amy Lamé (right) discovered when she i rst came across The Smiths as a teenager in New Jersey.
‘There was something about him that represented something I wanted, I just didn’t know it yet,’ she recalls. ‘He said
it was OK to be a loser because some people would still like that. There’s such a pressure to be a winner in America – it’s so stil ing and claustrophobic.’ In Unhappy Birthday Lamé explores the notion of über-fandom and how it can dei ne key moments in our lives. She invites the audience – and Morrissey – to her party for pass-the-parcel and an emotional unravelling, compounded by the non-appearance of the VIP guest.
‘It’s Waiting for Godot for the pop generation,’ says Lamé. ‘It’s a love/hate thing with Morrissey. Love me, hate me, I don’t care. He’s never fully answered certain questions: about his sexuality, about why he moved to LA. He’ll give a little bit but keep something hidden so you’re always compelled to keep searching. When it comes to being a Morrissey fan it’s not as easy as liking some l uffy pop puppet, and that’s part of the attraction.’ Whatever the allure, he is the ideal vessel for über-fandom: the movie idol looks that, if anything, have improved with age; the dark, complex lyrics; the obfuscation of details about his personal life; the controversial interviews. Even when his fans don’t agree with him – and they often don’t – many defend him on the ground he’s misunderstood, throwing apoplectic cyber-tantrums to make a point. Morrissey, to his credit, repays the adulation, graciously accepting the presents that come his way, dispensing hugs, inviting stage invasions and mingling with autograph hunters. He is a fan himself: in the late 1970s he co-founded The Legion of the Cramped, a fan club celebrating the musical output of cult American garage punk band The Cramps. At the heart of it all, of course, is a musical output that captures the essence of what it feels like to be an outsider. See also Marc Almond, Freddy Mercury and, more recently, Lady Gaga.
19 Jul–2 Aug 2012 THE LIST 15