I regret having sold my Smiths records nearly three decades ago for less than they had cost me to buy as new; not that I would now necessarily listen to any of them a great deal, but if I’d known what a good investment it would have been to keep them, then I’d have done so. But that really wasn’t on my mind back then. With hindsight The Smiths were superb up to and including Meat is Murder, after which they gradually lost the plot. Steven Morrissey’s tales of personal woe and his mythologising of Manchester were always a bit contrived; though it occurred to me whilst looking at a copy of his Viva Hate LP in a record shop in Chorlton (a short stop-off on my way to the Unicorn Vegan Grocery Co-op), why don’t the local tourist office consider a Moz-themed tour of the city? And what a good idea it would be to start a vegetarian cafe called Steven’s where all the staff look like Morrissey circa 1984.
Having recently borrowed from the local library and skimmed through Steven Morrissey’s autobiography, it is obvious not only how conceited he is (and has been throughout his professional career, right down to just using his surname), but that there is a sulky childish precious Moz inside every self-declared MGTOW. It is just that nowadays they can give out their grief on the internet rather than writing letters to the NME. Morrissey is tall and in his younger days, before he filled out with middle-aged spread, he was quite handsome. So whilst his declared celibacy and tales of rejection can appeal to all MGTOW, in his case his ‘rejection’, as well as being a good marketing tool, was essentially a choice borne out of aloofness and a smug superiority to all around him (though it took a virtuoso guitarist four years younger than him to pull him out of his shell). It also spoke of abstinence, the way that many view vegetarianism.