The Automatik

Attack Records, 2004

Morrissey is as anachronistic as a quill pen in an Internet cafe. Who else would have the guts to include the line “and spit upon the name Oliver Cromwell” in his latest album’s first single? Who else would sing the line with a vocal flourish normally reserved for sentiments heralding Oscar Wilde? It’s catchy all right, but nothing compared to “The First of the Gang to Die,” which has that trademark Moz chorus, ridiculously loveable guitar, lyrics about smooth criminals, and falsetto ad libbing. It’s like “The Last of the Famous International Playboys” updated for his male Latino fan base.

“I Have Forgiven Jesus,” despite its hilariously cheeky title, is as serious as a chart attack. When the crescendo swoops in towards the end, all unrelenting guitars and the achingly sincere question, “Why did you stick me in self-deprecating bones and skin? Jesus, do you hate me?” my heart twinges and I want to hear the answer. “Come Back to Camden,” a torch song if there ever was one, is beautifully reminiscent of Cockney Rebel’s “Tumbling Down,” but with slate grey Victorian skies replacing the glitter and boas.

Jellyfish/Air/Beck alum Roger Manning Moogs it up all over place and at first it doesn’t seem to fit, but when Moz’s voice, like a priceless Stradivarius, makes its entrance and warms up those cold keyboard flourishes, it works, especially in the shockingly danceable “I Like You.” I confess, it took me about 20 listens to fall in love with the album, but the more I listen to it, the more I am astounded at the absolute genius of Morrissey’s vocal cadences and phrasing. You can’t predict how he’ll sing a lyric, but when you hear it, you know there is simply no other way that it could have ever been sung.

When, in “All the Lazy Dykes,” he croons, “I’ve never felt so alive in the whole of my life” you feel as if you must observe a moment of silence after the song ends to pay tribute to the glorious emotion. “This world, I am afraid, is designed for crashing bores,” he laments, and you see the sadness in his eyes. Hear his lip-curling disdain when he says he’s had his “face dragged in fifteen miles of shit” (from “How Could Anyone Possibly Know How I Feel?”) and you believe it.

In “You Know I Couldn’t Last” he serves the music industry, the critics, and the fair-weather fans with an indictment that is unwavering in its fury. Even the other three former Smiths don’t escape his cocked and loaded gun. He hates it when the Northern leeches become successful. Opening with a guitar riff that would make Bernard Butler blush with shame and ending with a chilling admission of his own foibles (“but oh, the squalor of the mind”), it’s one of his most awesome accomplishments to date.

Morrissey claims that he hasn’t made an album since the 90s because no record company would let him make one without forcing him into any compromising positions. Before you roll your eyes and grumble about his ego eclipsing his pompadour, would you want it any other way? Sure he’s a friend to dogs, but unlike Bono, he doesn’t have to make commencement speeches at Harvard to prove it. There’s no one like Morrissey. The only one around here who is he is he, and truly, the sun shines out of his behind. We missed you so much, my dearest. Welcome back.