http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxLFav1Z9EY
Who doesn’t love a lanky man with flowers hanging out of the back of his pants?
Though I’ve never thought of it before, I think the first song on The Smiths’ self-titled album is possibly one of my favourites (though with The Smiths, for me, I don’t know that it’s appropriate to even try to deem a list of ‘favourites’. I am afterall, so defined in so many of their songs). The very beginnings of both ’emo’ and ‘indie’ as we know it today. At least the music I like that falls into these categories can be seen as having originated with the band, whether it knows it or not. There is something so resonant about the subject matter of stolen innocence, and the way it ages one. The desire for lust and the way it braises one. The longing. Desparation. Disappointment. Romance. All conveyed in the simplest of ways only young Morrissey seemed capable of, really. How Miss. Convolution respects minimalism!
For several of the most emotionally unstable years of my life, I fell asleep listening to a cassette of this album every night. Nothing quite like the serene, sad moan of sensuous Morrissey to ease one into sleep.
The lyrics, as with most Smiths songs are particularly notable, and I’ve quoted them in more than one letter to some undeserving douche or another (particularly the ‘I dreamt about you last night. And I fell out of bed twice. You can pin and mount me. Like a butterfly’ line). Tonight I’m singing along in my Morrissey voice that people get such a kick out of.
But my intentions are far from humorous. On a night I meant to go to bed early. On a night I just brushed my teeth. On a night I will have one more smoke. After a somewhat well-balanced weekend of goodish deeds and being spoiled. But mostly of the latter. “Well-balanced” being a relative, and somewhat foreign term for me….
It’s time the tale were told
Of how you took a child
And you made him old
It’s time the tale were told
Of how you took a child
And you made him old
You made him old
Reel around the fountain
Slap me on the patio
I’ll take it now
Oh …Fifteen minutes with you
Well, I wouldn’t say no
Oh, people said that you were virtually dead
And they were so wrong
Fifteen minutes with you
Oh, well, I wouldn’t say no
Oh, people said that you were easily led
And they were half-right
Oh, they … oh, they were half-right, oh
It’s time the tale were told
Of how you took a child
And you made him old
It’s time that the tale were told
Of how you took a child
And you made him old
You made him old
Oh, reel around the fountain
Slap me on the patio
I’ll take it now
Ah … oh …Fifteen minutes with you
Oh, I wouldn’t say no
Oh, people see no worth in you
Oh, but I do.
Fifteen minutes with you
Oh, I wouldn’t say no
Oh, people see no worth in you
I do.
Oh, I … oh, I do
Oh …
I dreamt about you last night
And I fell out of bed twice
You can pin and mount me like a butterfly
But “take me to the haven of your bed”
Was something that you never said
Two lumps, please
You’re the bee’s knees
But so am IOh, meet me at the fountain
Shove me on the patio
I’ll take it slowly
Oh …Fifteen minutes with you
Oh, I wouldn’t say no
Oh, people see no worth in you
Oh, but I do.
Fifteen minutes with you
Oh, no, I wouldn’t say no
Oh, people see no worth in you
I do.
Oh, I … I do
My favourite picture of the Moz
Oh. But the ultimate. One of my two definitively Smiths songs. And more relevant than ever:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g8b3UkqTQNI&feature=fvwrel
I decree today that life
Is simply taking and not giving
England is mine – it owes me a living
But ask me why, and I’ll spit in your eye
Oh, ask me why, and I’ll spit in your eye
But we cannot cling to the old dreams anymore
No, we cannot cling to those dreams
Does the body rule the mind
Or does the mind rule the body ?
I don´t know….Under the iron bridge we kissed
And although I ended up with sore lips
It just wasn’t like the old days anymore
No, it wasn’t like those days
Am I still ill ?
Oh …
Am I still ill ?
Oh …Does the body rule the mind
Or does the mind rule the body ?
I don´t know…Ask me why, and I’ll die
Oh, ask me why, and I’ll die
And if you must, go to work – tomorrow
Well, if I were you I wouldn’t bother
For there are brighter sides to life
And I should know, because I’ve seen them
But not very often …
Under the iron bridge we kissed
And although I ended up with sore lips
It just wasn’t like the old days anymore
No, it wasn’t like those days
Am I still ill ?
Oh …
Oh, am I still ill ?
Oh …
As I recently said to a friend, why can’t there be a young Morrissey out there for me? And herein lies the proof. That special people really are special. You can’t hope to stumble upon a young Morrissey. Seek him out. And even if you did magically manage to find one, he would be likely to be a yet to be aware homosexual who would eventually break your heart anyway. But, it is still nice to dream (well, though I don’t agree entirely, at least that’s what the saying says…)