English Rock: Morrissey's You are the Quarry

I’ve been agonizing over this review of Morrissey’s new album, You are the Quarry, much like I agonized over the numerous rewrites of a letter to Morrissey back in 1989. I was 16, and my high school band was touring England that spring. I figured a well-worded, honest, profound, touching, thought-provoking, complimentary letter might get me an audience with Morrissey, a brief meeting in London or something.

I was convinced that Morrissey could be my best friend. I mean, “Listen to the music, the lyrics, he knows exactly how I feel.” Never mind that I didn’t fully comprehend the significance of his celibate pride, his politics, his vegetarianism, or his averse nature to celebrity/interviews/limelight. Never mind that Morrissey had much to bring to this relationship—poetry, singing, exciting stories, and an understanding of the human heart—and I was just a 16-year-old kid from suburban America.

I wrote and rewrote that letter, trying to express just how much Morrissey’s lyrics (combined with Johnny Marr’s guitar) worked to unlock the mysterious tape loops in my head—my fears, my desires, my self-loathing, my over-dramatized feelings. I sent that letter off to England, and apparently he wasn’t able to get back to me in time before our tour landed in London. I’m sure it was an oversight. . . .

Jump ahead through the years of being a Smiths/Morrissey fan: I missed the explosive, active years of the Smiths, so I mourned never being able to see them in concert. I bought Hatful of Hollow while in the UK, amazed that such a treasure store wasn’t available in the States (it didn’t get released in the U.S. for many years). I scoured the 2 copies of NME I picked up while in London for ways to find obscure recordings and publications that would further help me connect with Morrissey. I got to college (Northwestern University, just north of Chicago), found other Smiths/Morrissey enthusiasts, and we got on the El to go to the Aragon Ballroom to see one of Morrissey’s few shows in the U.S. supporting Kill Uncle.

I was completely overcome with awe watching Morrissey croon, pose, and soak up our admiration. We stood on our chairs (why they put those folding chairs out for a general admission show I don’t know) straining to see even more. As Morrissey closed a typically short set with hardly a warning, tossing his shirt to the crowd, we all lurched forward only to have those wrestling with the shirt to shove themselves and the rest backwards. Like dominos, those rows of interlocking folding chairs starting falling backwards.

As five rows of chairs and people fell on top of my legs, laying me flat against row 6, we all cried out for more. I never really thought he’d return to the stage again that night, and as they turned the bright house lights on so that we could sort out of legs and bodies from the chairs, I left feeling exhilarated—my hero had sung anthems for me—and hugely disappointed—I waited in line, shoved as far ahead as possible, stole seats from those who left them unguarded, stood on the chairs on tip toes, and risked having my legs broken in half, and it was all over in less than hour.

Since then, I’ve continued to make acquiring Morrissey CDs a priority, albeit not immediately upon release. I still will often go to the Smiths and Morrissey sections of a used CD store just in case there’s something rare in the stacks. Even after being disillusioned by Morrissey without Marr, being left wanting more at the Chicago concert, finding the solo albums always to be missing some elusive ingredient, I found that I could not resist the connection I felt to Morrissey. He can still sing my life.


The Kill Uncle tour featured Morrissey’s rockabilly backup bandmates (Boz Boorer and Alain Whyte), who have been his collaborators since then. However, the real rockabilly take on Morrissey’s solo work and the Smiths catalogue that the band played live has never really transpired into a rockabilly album for Morrissey. 1995’s Southpaw Grammar amazed me for its two extended tracks—an almost progressive rock approach that permeates with a concept album flair. Sure, you’ve still got some singles here, which was the hallmark of Morrissey/Marr, the goal of being a singles band. Yet, Southpaw Grammar challenges the listener immediately with the first track, “The Teachers are Afraid of the Pupils,” having an extended intro—a wash of keyboards, guitars, and noises, making us wait a full minute and 20 seconds to hear the opening melody and Moz’s voice, the voice and lyrics which keep bringing us back. The entire track is over 11 minutes. The 10-minute “Southpaw” closes the album, and the fourth track, “The Operation,” begins with an incredible, two-plus minute drum solo.


1994’s Vauxhall & I left me even more confused about whether to keep journeying with Morrissey as my heart-provoker. Here was Morrissey singing most openly about homosexuality. Sure the songs put it in terms of stories about other characters, but the album seemed to place Morrissey more strongly in the homosexual community. Here were much stronger references to erotica and gay nightlife. This was the most radical departure from the celibate pride of the Smiths’ debut. In Morrissey’s celibate pride, there was always the struggle of scorned love/unreturned love that appeals to heterosexuals and homosexuals. Vauxhall & I seemed to speak less to heterosexuals, and I suppose I felt the album made it seem that it was only a matter of time before Morrissey would be the sole possession of the homosexual community.

When I got to college and wore my Smiths T-shirts, a few people told me that they assumed I was gay. Many people had always jumped to the conclusion that the Smiths/Morrissey followers were all gay. Yet, the Smiths/Morrissey always had a much more broad appeal, however, I suppose that with Vauxhall & I I was afraid the T-shirt comment was coming closer to being true—wear a Morrissey shirt and you must be gay.

I didn’t buy Maladjusted. I didn’t even notice the long absence of new material from Moz. Yet, when the press appeared about the 2004 release You Are the Quarry (an album which sees Morrissey relaunch the Attack imprint with Sanctuary Records), I was back to 1989—waiting impatiently for the release of Morrissey’s first solo work, Viva Hate, eagerly anticipating what his voice would say to me. Fast-forward to 2004, and I had that same anticipation. I sensed a new era was upon us, and Morrissey’s voice would again speak to me.

While Morrissey lives in Los Angeles now, he shows no love for his present home on the opening track, “America is Not the World.” Another slow start to a Morrissey album, such as “The Teachers are Afraid of the Pupils” on Southpaw. In fact, you can go back through the catalogue seeing how many albums have used an overture-like beginning—“A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours” on Strangeways, Here We Come, an electric warblering “Alastain Cousin” on Viva Hate, or the antique recording on The Queen is Dead. This penchant for overtures was recreated in Smiths’ and, I believe, Morrissey’s live shows, as captured on the live Smiths release, Rank, the Philadelphia Orchestra’s “Romeo and Juliet” playing as the band took the stage.

While there’s a slowness to “America,” there’s nothing slow about the punch to Houdini’s stomach that this song is to America’s ego. In the election year of 2004, it makes us rethink our place in the world. Hearing his recent message of trying to improve our image in the rest of the world, it sounds like Democratic nominee John Kerry is listening to Morrissey.

Of course, Morrissey wastes no time in launching into a railing, electric attack on his own homeland in the second track, “Irish Blood, English Heart.” Where “America is Not the World” is from the torchy side of the album (see below), a mellower sound matching the pink hues of the CD cover, “Irish Blood, English Heart” is the tommy gun-slinging Morrissey of the front cover photo. Ironic or not, Morrissey declares his reluctant love for America in the first track, whereas in the second track, there seems to be little love for Great Britain. (For more about Morrissey’s vocal but conflicting political views, see the great study, Morrissey and Marr: The Severed Alliance by Johnny Rogan).

With Morrissey attacking the United States and Great Britain, why not also take on Jesus Christ? Track 3, “I Have Forgiven Jesus,” is one of the most honest conversations with Jesus I’ve seen in song for a long time. Morrissey asks Jesus the difficult questions, including, “Why did you give me/so much desire?” He turns the Cure’s “Friday I’m in Love” on its head, saying, “Monday—humiliation, Tuesday—suffocation, Wednesday—condescension, Thursday—is just pathetic, by Friday—life has killed me.” The underlying, unspoken question for Jesus is: why has Jesus given Morrissey a desire to love, a love that Morrissey feels will remain unrealized. Perhaps that desire is a homosexual desire, and if so, we continue to see why Morrissey has always said he will remain celibate. He is conflicted about his homosexual desires, seeing how God views homosexuality. Morrissey says that he forgives Jesus for this, but this most direct prayer-song shows that Morrissey is still torn apart inside. This song is ripe to be used for MonDevotions or a further discussion of homosexuality and Christianity, of the conflict between sinful desires and our desire to live according to God’s will.

You Are the Quarry still pulls together the band of rockabillies—Boz Boorer (guitars) and Alain Whyte (guitars), now with Gary Day (bass) and Dean Butterworth (drums), but torch is the theme. Always present even back in the Smiths, Morrissey has a tendency towards torch singing—full-voiced, over-the-top-emotional balladry. Torchy tracks include “America is Not the World,” “I Have Forgiven Jesus,” “Come Back to Camden,” and “Let Me Kiss You.”

With Marr, this combined into a sort of “torch rock,” and that rockier sound has never quite returned to Morrissey’s solo work leaving the torch a bit more exposed. Rufus Wainwright utilizes this same torch singing combining it with jazz influences and cabaret. Interestingly, this leaves Wainwright’s torch singing as much more visible, while Morrissey has seemed to cloak his torch in rock ‘n’ roll. Could this be an analogous to Wainwright’s very open homosexuality and Morrissey’s closeted, tortured, unsure, celibate sexuality?

You are the Quarry also sees Morrissey shining again the singles department. The first single, “Irish Blood, English Heart,” shows Morrissey grappling with his Irish-in-England heritage. The song is brooding, pulsing, and even charming while protesting. It begins with a guitar vamp that sounds like Starfish-era, but opens up to fawning electric curtains of sound that has come to define Morrissey’s sound since Vini Reilly’s touch on Viva Hate. The B-sides for this single are the rousing, Louder Than Bombs-like “It’s Hard to Walk Tall When You’re Small,” a mournful tragedy song about mother’s losing children (“Munich Air Disaster 1958”) returning to the controversial themes of “”, and the “you should hear me play the piano” entertainment world ballad (“The Never-played Symphonies”), a theme reminiscent of a past B-side, the cover of “That’s Entertainment” from the “Our Frank” single.

The second single, “First of the Gang to Die,” is another in the series of character studies, if you will. Kill Uncle gave us “Tony the Pony.” Vauxhall introduced “Spring-heeled Jim” and “Billy Budd.” Southpaw revealed “Dagenham Dave.” On “First of the Gang,” we have Hector who is the first in Pretty Petty Thieves to have a gun, do jail time, and die. The short stories continue on the B-sides. “My Life is a Succession of People Saying Goodbye” find Morrissey back in autobiographical melancholy, fleshed out by Roger Manning and Mikey V. Farrell’s keyboards and harp sounds. “Teenage Dad on His Estate” adds another character to further populate a small village of Morrissey’s creation. Finally, we travel with Morrissey to “Mexico,” taking a walk and realizing that the United States/the Lone Star State looms just north of the border, imposing its will on Mexico. This leads Moz to mourn what America has done, to mourn for want of his love, and to wonder why “if you’re rich and you’re white/you think you’re so right” (a common attitude seen in white tourists in Mexican resorts?).

While I find much on You Are the Quarry that speaks to me—a morally conservative, heterosexual, Christian pastor, track 10 leaves me thinking that wearing a Morrissey T-shirt still may cause some assumptions. “All the Lazy Dykes” is nothing but a song about urging a woman to come out of the closet. Think The Hours or Kissing Jessica Stein. When I wear my Morrissey shirt, I suppose some people will still make an assumption. Truly, though, I think we’re all just afraid of stating our desires and fears out loud; something that Morrissey has never had trouble doing.

Thanks to Morrissey and Attack/Sanctuary Records Group for the review copy.