:: Record Review

Morrissey

Greatest Hits
(Universal; 2008)

Rating: 53%

“How do you solve a problem like Morrissey?” as The Sound Of Music nearly asked. Once a lithe lyrical acrobat who gave witty interviews, he has become a bit of a comedy figure for the wrong reasons—stout of paunch with confused views about immigration and a musical output of ever diminishing returns. Coupling this with his vanishing sense of self-awareness he may soon turn into the Ricky Gervais of British pop. But more of that later—we have his Greatest Hits to get out of the way first.

Straight off, I find it rich that this is called Greatest Hits. Save for “The Last Of The Famous International Playboys,” “Suedehead,” and “Everyday Is Like Sunday,” none of these songs are really “hits” or “great” by any stretch of the imagination. It also fails to pick up from his last hits compilation —the similarly scattershot Suedehead (1997)—by ignoring Southpaw Grammar (1995) and Maladjusted (1997) to focus on his last two albums. So far he has released more compilations than albums proper and despite this he is yet to release a definitive or comprehensive “best of.” Therefore, tracks like the mighty “The Boy Racer,” “Dagenham Dave,” and the shimmering “Alma Matters” get overlooked for the wheezy “Redondo Beach” and the plodding, controversy-desperate “I Have Forgiven Jesus.”

Without mentioning the “S”-word, Moz has a great canon of work and, despite settling into formulaic doleful rock, he is still capable of pulling out beauty from even within the most execrable albums (the title track from Maladjusted (1997) being a case in point). Also, like “the band of which we dare not speak,” he has released singles and b-sides that have no real home. I’m talking about “Sister, I’m A Poet,” “My Love Life,” “I’d Love To,” “Boxers,” “Sunny,” or “Pregnant For The Last Time” again frustratingly spread across numerous cobbled compilations. And what of those flights of fancy that seem to crop up without fanfare—“Interlude,” the sumptuous, flirtatious duet with Siouxsie Sioux, or the torch songs which glow like embers showing his mellowing voice at its best—“I Am Hated For Loving,” “Seasick, Yet Still Docked,” “I’m Not Sorry,” or “At Last I Am Born”? Why aren’t these presented?

Alas, it seems Morrissey is a ruthless self-editor and just as with World Of Morrissey (1995) or My Early Burglary Years (1998) he is projecting himself as the sensitive fop with a rough and tumble edge—a character developed from the spurned and confrontational “Alsatian Cousin” through to his latest line of disaffected characters living with crime and violent childhoods on “The First Of The Gang To Die.” This furrow, though, has been ploughed to shit (even in his pre-solo days) and although he may sing about people with tattoos and switchblades, it doesn’t quite ring true. I think it’s time he left that Morrissey behind for one we can believe in or, at least, enjoy.

Take the admittedly funny showboating garage rock of “All You Need Is Me,” which shows Morrissey believing his own hype and berating his haterz. Put a vari-speeded sample in the background and he could be Kanye West. Wouldn’t it be great to see Timbaland working with Morrissey? Or Morrissey spitting his lyrics over the intro to a Brandy single? And look at recent single “That’s How People Grow Up,” courting disgust by its juxtaposition of the misery of breaking one’s spine and of not being somebody’s “Sweetie.” It smacks of the irony laden cringe comedy of Sarah Silverman. Let’s see Morrissey on the talk show circuit as a stand-up.

The point is, as this Greatest Hits shows, Morrissey is doing the one thing we never thought he would do. He’s become a pastiche. We know more about his loneliness and mental despair than we do about Britney Spears’ but at least Britney is actually getting hospitalised and medicated. Morrissey looks quite comfortable and, if rumours are true, in a happy relationship. When he was being truthful we felt he was talking to us and for us. Now, his songs alienate as he becomes ever more self-reverential (just check the vainglorious cover photo compared with the middle-aged fatty that exists in reality).

Maybe, by addressing this self-reverence, we’ll get the solution those Austrian nuns were never singing about. Morrissey should concentrate on being effortlessly brilliant rather than constantly just telling us that he is. This is not a “best of,” this is a Facebook profile set to music. Remove Poke.