THE 50(ISH) GREATEST ALBUMS OF ALL TIME
The (Drama) Queen is Dead
Album #24 : The Smiths — The Queen is Dead
I had my covid vaccine on Saturday. I was a bit worried about the reaction I would have to it — some people have been laid up in bed for days with swollen glands and pounding headaches. Personally, I was looking forward to lots of sympathy and feeling sorry for myself, flouncing around, and swooning like a Morrisey-inspired dandy. Somewhat disappointingly I actually felt absolutely fine.
Since that didn’t work, I decided to get drunk. There’s a lyric in a Smiths song (which sadly is not on this album) that goes: “I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, and heavens knows I’m miserable now.” Perhaps I could manufacture some attention that way?
I mean, is there anything worse than a hangover? (Yes, obviously, but just hear me out). You either come to slowly, bleary eyed and claggy mouthed, not 100% sure if you brushed your teeth last night… or, worse, you suddenly shoot awake with a gasp like a bad actor recovering from a coma (still unsure whether you brushed your teeth last night). And that’s just the start. Then comes the horizontal self-assessment: how bad do I feel? What time is it? Can I go back to sleep or do I need a wee first? Did I brush my teeth last night?
The risk of having a few drinks is that you don’t know how bad you’re going to get it. I mean, sometimes you do but in those instances you have made your bed and you need to lie in it. All day. Other times, it can be a complete lottery.
However, unfortunately for my grand plans, I was broadly fine on Sunday too. Was it something to do with the covid vaccine? Did they give me the right one? Am I now immune to everything?
…Did I remember to brush my teeth?
Anyone who has spent more than 30 seconds listening to The Smiths will know that lead singer Morrisey is another person who is very good at feeling sorry for himself. However, whilst I tend to channel my misery into eating as many McDonald’s chicken nuggets I can in a 24-hour period, Morrisey’s output tends to be a lot more (a) animal friendly and (b) poetic than my malaise.
The lyrics on this album are brilliant. At times morbidly moving (“if a ten-ton truck, kills the both of us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die”) and at others absurdly amusing (“As Rose collects the money in a canister, who comes sliding down the bannister? A vicar in a tutu”). Morrisey has found a way of transposing early-twenties angst and using it for financial gain. He is a proper wordsmith, a laureate, almost, and he embraces his role by being as pretentious as possible. Fortunately, he is (or was) backed by some of the some of the best, most original guitar playing on any album anywhere.
Having said all that, I am prone to my own brand of morose lyricism – I bet Morrisey has never been so hungover he has taken his glasses off and pondered;
“if I can’t see it, maybe I can pretend it’s not happening.”
Maybe there’s time to monetise my misery yet!
Thanks for reading — over the course of 2021, I’ll be reviewing 50(ish) of the greatest albums ever recorded. You can see the list here:
There is also a playlist featuring the best song from each album here.
