The death of The Smiths in 1987 saw the end of an era. The banner that united the loners and introverts (and shoplifters) of the world, fell. However, from the smouldering ashes rose something new, yet oh so familiar. Morrissey. The enigmatic frontman was not his usual coy self with regards to launching his solo career, as the recording of Viva Hate, alongside producer Stephen Street, came just three months after the July split of the band that revolutionized indie music in the UK. Come March of the following year, Morrissey’s first attempt at going it alone was enjoying a spell at number one in the UK charts.
The record begins with a shock – ‘Alsatian Cousin.’ Wallowing fans who had purchased the record in an attempt to cure the Smiths-blues would likely have been aghast, as they frantically checked to see if they had accidentally bought the new Depeche Mode album. This particular track, to say the least, contrasts a great deal with anything and everything released by The Smiths. Perhaps Morrissey was tired of turning left when the industry turned right, or perhaps this was Morrissey expressing himself, and it was in fact Johnny, Andy and Mike who refused to give in to the frilly shirts and synthpop conformity of the 80’s.
Viva Hate progresses and the light that shines upon Morrissey appears to change, until we find ourselves mid chorus of ‘Everyday Is Like Sunday.’ Perhaps a sinister smirk appeared on his sheepish face as he summoned the lyrics “In the seaside town that they forgot to bomb / Come, come, come nuclear bomb.” I also expect that irrepressible grins were a feature upon the faces of fans, as they began to realise that the Morrissey they had loved for the past six years or so was still with them, as he belted out his malevolent anthem with copious amounts of misery.
(As a resident of Southend-on-Sea, I can’t help but be concerned by the choice of location for the music video – Moz’ nuclear bomb would almost certainly flatten my house):
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0LeL9BUPtA]
Surrounded by a number of songs that could be perceived to be forgettable is the best song Morrissey has ever released as a solo artist in ‘Suedehead.’ Not only does it bring with it vocals that leave goosebumps and guitar that Johnny Marr would be proud of, but the arcane and perplexing lyrics that have secured Morrissey his place in British music forevermore. ‘Suedehead’ is more of a confession than a song, and the hair-raising apology at the centre of the song mystifies Moz fans to this day. Morrissey, the long-running winner of the Britain’s Proudest Man Award (Incumbent ’83 – present), is uncharacteristically begging for forgiveness – but from who? Johnny? I believe we will never know.
The album carries on calmly, Morrissey venting grievances aplenty, before our forlorn voyage comes to a sharp halt with ‘Margaret on the Guillotine.’ He unexcitedly begs “please die / make the dream real” as silence consumes the sound of wistful strings. Without controversy, it wouldn’t be Morrissey.
Twenty-seven years later, the gift of hindsight allows us to deduce that Morrissey has been a mainstay of British music, having released a further nine records with varying degrees of success. To the majority of people, Morrissey is little more than a dying flame that should be extinguished forthwith. To the minority – to me – he is a very relevant figure, with raw talent and something to say: Viva Hate proves this beyond any doubt.
Words by George Birch