Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Last night I dreamt that Johnny Marr loved me

For the past few weeks I purposely didn't look up articles about Johnny Marr. I didn't want to discover that he too, like that other person from the Smiths, had become a terrible person.

Marr performs at the Granada Theater, Dallas, October 2018
Like most queer men of a certain age, I fell hard in love with the Smiths. The swooning, crooning vocals over jangly acoustic guitars. The preening wordplay and unmistakable sheer unlovability of its cheeky frontman.

Certain lyrics from The Queen Is Dead helped to push past the awkwardness between me and my partner when we were falling in love all those years ago. I repeated those words as my wedding vows to him in 2013.

Since the Smiths' breakup, I followed Morrissey's solo career. The first few albums are still good. But when I started hearing him in concert, it was clear that he meant to destroy any goodwill his fans had for his earlier career.

Refusing to play any of his popular songs and touring with his terrible neo-grunge band, even the better tracks from his later albums sound awful.

It's been seven years since I last saw Morrissey in concert. I refuse to see him again.

The spirit of the Smiths, however—as well as the spirit of all of his other great musical collaborations—lives on in Johnny Marr, clearly one of the most accomplished guitarists and musicians alive today. From his impressive professionalism to his setlist, it's clear that he loves his work and appreciates his fans.

The Smiths are dead. Love live Johnny Marr!

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