There Is A Light That Never Goes Out: Morrissey’s Eternal Choir

What is it about Morrissey that makes us want to sing? At his recent 5-night gig at New York’s Hammerstein Ballroom, the audience sang along with nearly every song (save for the new singles), not only echoing those words that have meaning for them, but effectively rendering themselves as a passionate and universal chorus. The global harm-onies that Morrissey has inspired and maintained from his audience for the last 25 years both during and outside of his concerts is perhaps one of the most distinctive features of his artistry. From The Smiths’ first album to his latest solo album, “Ringleader of the Tormentors,” Morrissey has managed to transform the pop audience’s role from that of domestic, languid consumers into compulsively faithful collaborators within the live arena- what one might refer to as Morrissey’s Glee Club. In addition, as I considered the audience/performer dynamics within an ecological perspective, the event offered a rich and complex litany of observable behavior.
    As he sang the chorus to “Last of the Famous International Playboys” on Saturday, Morrissey intentionally paused to allow the audience to playfully complete the multi-syllabic “International” piece of the song’s irresistibly catchy refrain. Morrissey consistently reframes the performer/audience relationship as a means of reflecting the latter’s lyrical expertise of his songs as well as his love for them as listeners and sonic partners.
    Now critics of the artist might view the participation that Morrissey elicits as a disingenuous ploy to manipulate his fans into believing that they are an integral aspect of the performance. But I would argue that Morrissey’s invitation to sing connotes his belief in a relational dynamic rather than one that is exclusive and hermetic. Although he always maintains his leadership as the front man, the concept of the shared chorus expresses a comfort to temporarily shift his power to the audience as well as the pleasure of its immediate return. Ultimately, the reciprocal design serves the function of integrating Morrissey with his audience, not only in terms of emotional connection but, more specifically, by the fact that their voices are heard.
      It was the audiences’ knowledge that Morrissey was listening as well as their self-recognition as a chorus that reflected a role switch and, even if only momentarily, the co-authorship of the song. The singer was not merely placating or condescending his fans through this tactic. Rather, he intentionally and exactly defined the role and temporality of the part he wanted the audience to play as a functional element of his improvisational performances and his gender performativity. It is this enactment of gender that proves to be behaviorally fascinating not only in terms of Morrissey’s performance but in the specific behavior that the singer attracts from his audience.
    In his song, “Sing Your Life,” Morrissey writes, “Sing your life/Just walk right up to the microphone and sing/All the things you love/All the things you loathe/Oh, sing your life.” The notions of joining him as a vocalist and taking the part of singer in one’s own life are a consistent thread throughout the artist’s oeuvre, a relatively unfamiliar concept within the realm of British pop that not only serves to set the stage for the emotional and spiritual fusion between the artist and the spectators but social conflicts between the fans as well.
    While the age range of his audience was composed of nineteen to thirty-five year olds, there was a multiplicity, ambiguity and volatility of gender roles that spanned the core his fan base. Indeed, as the opening act was ending, two women between twenty and twenty-four years old began fighting over personal space as they both tried to make their way closer to the stage in anticipation of Morrissey’s arrival. One of the women was visibly drunk and she screamed out, “Get the fuck away from me! You’re too fucking close!” In turn, the other woman yelled back, “What’s the matter with you, you drunk bitch?” Although they did not engage in a physical altercation, their verbal disagreement lasted for over ten minutes until they relocated. Both women were of small physical build and I found it surprising that their respective boyfriends took comfort in the observer role, smiling at each other, without any attempt to break up the fight.

    Viewed under the lens of gender roles, the core of the women’s behavior seemed to be strictly located within the arena of competition. They were not only vying for the closest area to the desired object of the performance, but also battling for personal space. Furthermore, their resultant behavior bespoke a sustained violence and willfulness that society would not generally expect from “feminine,” petite women. Rather, their actions echoed a competitive spirit as to who could be more forceful or “masculinized” within the encounter, particularly within the context of their male partners’ idle social stance. It was within the temporality of this moment that the women’s socially prescribed gender roles as heterosexual female fans and girlfriends shifted into an unfixed, mutable space, where their behavior adopted the muscular, obstinate characteristics so often associated with heterosexual men when engaged in a physical or verbal conflict.
    While I cannot fully assess the personalities of the two women given my brief observation, it is unlikely that they would have encountered each other in this manner outside of the concert’s environment. It is also possible that the women were asserting their personal definitions of womanhood to each other and to their partners as a means of (un)consciously debunking the Cartesian binaries of male/female and masculine /feminine. Butler (1999) discusses how the notion of gender is not a fixed ego-oriented identity but rather a repetitive, stylized performative act that finds resonance in the structure of its duration:

    Morrissey’s performance itself was riddled with fantastical and multifarious acts of gender performativity, wherein he would repeatedly play out ambiguous mannerisms, denoting his co-existence between the masculine and feminine. For example, he alter-nated between actions such as pounding and flashing his chest while drawing attention to the tulip petals he had connected to the crotch of his pants. After the encore, Morrissey confidently took off his shirt but covered up his chest as if to hide his breasts. Here, it appeared as if Morrissey was oscillating between the proud, confident exposure of the male physique and the shy, self-conscious demeanor of a woman who was ashamed of her body. From my perspective, the performer was astonishing in his management and freedom to shift between these seemingly naturalized acts of gender that rendered his live identity all the more elusive, seductive and intangible. Butler (1999) provides another particularly salient observation on this issue:

    As an attentive listener and fully engaged participant, I reflected upon how identifying as a gay man has been expanded and shaped by fictive acts of gender~ especially those performed by Morrissey~ that derive from my authentic sense of identity as well as my presumptions about other people’s behaviors. Perhaps the garish, Argentinean ring I wear every day, my love of singing, covering Smiths and Morrissey songs, and my visual presentation~ indeed, all of the collective behaviors that inform my daily life and career pursuits~ are performative acts of gender that serve to politically and culturally negotiate my worldview and further enrich my transformative notions of self. Morrissey’s on-stage persona has not only functioned as an inimitably masterful reconstruction of sexuality but, more importantly, has effectively collapsed and reshaped Western society’s bifurcated notions of gender.