Morrissey, the grumpy and big-mouthed genius who will move us until we die
The British approves the premiere of his latest album thanks to the classics of always, in the last concert of the first Barts Festival at Poble Espanyol
BarcelonaIn little more than a decade, Morrissey has gone from playing at Sant Jordi Club, and his visit being a major event, to playing at Poble Espanyol and it having little cultural relevance. Nowadays, everyone knows the reasons why this has happened: this grumpy old man no longer makes particularly good records and, above all, insists, day in and day out, on behaving like a complete idiot, whether by skirting (or directly crossing) red lines with racism or cancelling concerts at will. But the songs, alas, the songs are still there, intact, epic. So when Morrissey, the leader of The Smiths, the great English pop singer of the eighties, blows his own trumpet, he always has a congregation ready to listen to him once more.
Dressed in black, unbuttoned and surrounded by flowers, a habit he has maintained since The Smiths, Steven Patrick Morrissey was in charge of closing, this Saturday, the first edition of the Barts Festival. A luxurious farewell for a newly created festival that has attracted 68,000 attendees. But he must also be acknowledged for some bad luck: the British artist was coming to present one of the most inconsistent – or downright bad – albums of his long career. Make-up is a lie is an anodyne and repetitive LP, a work that no one will remember in the near future within a catalogue brimming with anthems.
The concert began by showing off with Billy Budd, a song with powerful guitars that has appeared and disappeared from his live shows. Always prone to surprises, yesterday's was The youngest was the most loved, breaking a trend that works very well for him: when one has so many albums, just playing the best one from each is enough. Yesterday he did it with two great songs, I'm throwing my arms around Paris and First of the gang to die, the standout track from You are the quarry, from 2004, perhaps one of Morrissey's last great albums. When it played, the audience woke up after a somewhat sleepy start. And that was after one from The Smiths had already been played, A rush and a push and the land is ours.
"The world has ended, everything has ended", said Morrissey, grumpy, on stage. He will get it right with what he says or sings, but his voice remains as good as ever: 40 years have passed and it still shines above all else. This gentleman will leave making the best melodies in the world, and singing them even better. Some Saturday ballads, like "Kerching Kerching –the most successful by far of the five that sounded from the album– or Now my heart is full, were exciting and transparent, intoned with the usual softness.
The rain gave wings to the concert
After a rough first part of the concert, two elements entered the stage, and at the same time, to change the trend: the rain made its appearance at just the right moment, when How soon is now?, old hit of the Smiths. Whether it was magic or a stroke of luck, the epicness of the moment gave wings to the show, which faced the second half with much more punch. And while the fans endured the summer downpour, the Manchester singer unleashed his best weapons, moving with charisma on stage as if nothing was happening. As if those flashes of lightning, which emerged from behind the stage, didn't exist. And they did exist, but it didn't matter, because then the beautiful song was playing Everyday is like Sunday and the rest didn't matter.
The end of the recital was introduced by a prophecy: “This will be the national anthem of Spain”, he said before embarking on The bullfighter dies, which he hadn't done in the whole tour, and it was accompanied by cruel images of bullfights. It is no coincidence that these images appear at his concerts in Spain, as Moz has sent a letter to Pedro Sánchez to ask for them to end once and for all. By the way, as always, not a trace of animal food in the entire venue: security guards were fed up with opening attendees' sandwiches to check that no chorizo, bacon, ham, or any other cured meat entered.
After speaking out against governments, in general, Morrissey closed the night with his first major solo hit, "Suedehead, and the two pieces he has concluded his shows with lately: Irish blood, english heart and Jack the Ripper. A concert, in short, that without changing the lives of its most loyal followers, left moments of signature genius. Everything concluded with There is a light that never goes out. There is little to say about this marvel: it is one of the best and most exciting songs that human beings have ever written.
And so it is Morrissey, the ill-tempered and big-mouthed one who will move us until we die. And doing so by listening to him, as the song says, "it will be a pleasure." The contrasts, which in a good and a bad sense are his personal trademark, also apply to concerts. In any case, it is clear that, whether he hits the mark with the repertoire or not, no one will ever reproach him for his attitude on stage. There he is an almost incomparable genius. Down there, it's another matter.
