There's kind of a zenlike quality about it, the Buddha's matter of fact statement that, "Life is suffering."
I don't feel like I often see proper critical views on Morrissey, good or bad. People tend to talk either about the extreme gloom of his lyrics or the wittiness and while the turns of phrase seem to occur much more often in Morrissey lyrics than anyone else's, I think the really distinctive thing about Morrissey's attitude as expressed in his lyrics is a sort of peace with sadness. In most songs about suffering, the singer seems like he or she is pleading with existence, experiencing a kind of shock. Morrissey says things are horrible and he's kind of bemused. I think this is the quality that has made his music such a balm to me and others in dark times--most artists paint sadness as a sort of maintained crescendo. Morrissey seems to say, "Don't panic."
I was surprised to hear one of the songs from Morrissey's new album at the mall yesterday where I was having lunch with my friend Tim. I told Tim about Morrissey having a feud with his most recent record label, Harvest, and how, as a result, Harvest had yanked the album from iTunes so I didn't know who was negotiating to have tracks from the album played at the mall.
Tim works at Radio Shack and he told me about a young coworker who told him about this new indie band called U2 who somehow hacked the iPhone and distributed their album to everyone. Tim told me this coworker of his also very sincerely believes her Radio Shack location is haunted. I told him, "You should explain to her that U2 was actually a band that died in a plane crash at midnight in 1974, that everyone's iPhone, all over the world, crashed that night and ever since then, if a new U2 album appears on your phone it means your phone is haunted."
Twitter Sonnet #673
Redundant dollops of lacquer shine out.
Liquid stars determine the water weight.
Moisture warped violas screech all about.
A bee chopstick styles a figure eight.
Hatted saucer saucepans punish the Clint.
Stepping nicely in pink stables is sand.
Sunset payphone checks want the pocket lint.
Only the clean money can understand.
Solid Bewlay Brothers maintain the line.
Amorous Monday espressos spin round.
Evergreen convenience, thy name is pine.
The King of Crayons hid a pastel crown.
Ambivalent amulets leave tears late.
The patched rigging needle named the first mate.