Ever the showman, old Stephen Patrick knew exactly how to play it. "Welcome to a night of torment," he smiled dryly after the opening crescendo of First Of The Gang To Die, before surging into a thrillingly desperate Still Ill, lit by a blitzkrieg.
 | | Morrissey (pic: Shirlaine Forrest) |
Just like the last time he played round these parts, he was in the mood for playful reminiscence. "It’s exactly like the Willows, just as I expected," he intoned, looking high into the crammed Lyric Theatre. This was supposed to be a seated gig but you wouldn’t know it. Before a note was played, the stalls were all on their feet and by the finale, a short and sweet Irish Blood, English Heart, the other two tiers had joined them. In-between, he worked through classics and new beauties, album tracks and long-lost loves. The Youngest Was The Most Loved snuggled up beside an unexpected Girlfriend In A Coma, which seemed to please the singer as much as the crowd, while To Me, You Are A Work Of Art and Trouble Loves Me both showed just what a vocalist he can be when he puts his mind to it. There was time for a couple of biting comments too. Radio 1 were chastised for failing to playlist him because of his age, even though "Madogger" is older, and the news that U2’s One had beaten How Soon Is Now? as the nation’s favourite lyric got a simple "Bono… he’s very nice, but really?"
 | | Morrissey (pic: Shirlaine Forrest) |
The sheer stupidity of that poll was written large as the band, led by the ever impressive Boz Boorer, ripped into the Smiths classic, pushing the deafening sound to rapture level. It’s a credit to Morrissey’s new found lust for music that Life Is A Pigsty, the centre piece to the impressive "Ringleader of the Tomatoes", only narrowly failed to match it in terms of epic discordance as it followed to close. As always with Morrissey though, the show was as much about hand-clasping his adoring fans as it was the songs, and his devoted congregation didn’t disappoint; the cry went up, "Get your shirt off!" Morrissey simply turned and smirked. "For what?" he replied, "you can’t be that starved." It’s the eternal balance that he plays with. To paraphrase one of his finest moments, does Morrissey rule the fans or do the fans rule Morrissey? I dunno. The truth is that this, fittingly given that Ringleader… was conceived in Rome and the Italian flag adorned both the drum kit and Boz Boorer’s double headed guitar, is no longer Morrissey’s comeback but his renaissance. Invigorated enough to write some of the best tunes of his career, he’s now setting about carving a role as the elder statesman of the disenchanted he always looked like being. He came, he saw, and he left us, with nothing more than a cheeky little "ciao", utterly conquered.
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