as i drive around this fair city i enjoy having others read to me
Morrissey’s autobiography was a delight mostly because Moz is an exceptional writer
and it makes me feel like i should stop watching so much TV and start reading
you know, actual books
because when you hear someone lie Morrissey explain things or describe things
and every sentence is so descriptive with analogies and metaphors that come from ancient scrolls
and legendary literature and you’re all, wait was that original or a Shakespearian quote
you feel equal parts excited and ignorant.
i also liked that he just wanted England to love him and it didnt. not like LA or Mexico or Scandinavia.
here people would dress like him and scream his lyrics right back at him and fill up this one and that one
theyd damn near riot, but in his beloved UK they’d barely bat their lashes
i also like that his record labels barely supported him and no one knew what to do with his successes.
it is a pattern that i have seen in my own life: some people and organizations are built for mediocrity
they have zero interest in wild success, all they want to do is keep on keeping on.
they don’t want failure, but in an odd way they feel more comfortable with a hiccup or two
than they are huge accomplishments.
they’re terrified of breaking records, leading the pack, or breaking through to the new thing.
here The Smiths and Morrissey were selling hand over fist – even when the group broke up, yet the labels were far more willing to spend endless amounts of time and effort into the unproven and even failed,
than they were to the quirky vegetarian straight edge asexual exception to the rule.
in the book he even says that Michael Stipe has always wanted to go solo.