Because We Must

Morrissey is everything a lead singer should be. Great hair, impeccable style, sense
of high drama which verges on the ridiculous, and a trademark voice that's instantly recognizable.

With a career that spans over 20 years, the Great Man ended his 5 night residency at New York's Hammerstein Ballroom with a spirited flourish which served to remind the audience exactly what they should expect from a front man. Chris Martin and Co. take note.

After a bouncy and lightweight - yet srangely fulfilling - set from opening act Girl In A Coma, the curtain lifted for the main event.

Firing off with a thumping rendition of The Smiths' Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before, Morrissey took the crowd on a rollercoaster ride through his now extensive back catalogue.

From the poppy, Steven Street days came Last Of The Famous International Playboys and a pulsating romp through Interesting Drug. A nod to the Rockabilly era of Your Arsenal came in the form of Sister I'm A Poet (complete with double bass), and memories of Vauxhall and I came flooding back with the strongest song on that record, Why Don't You Find Out For Yourself?

The band were tight and confident and injected a newfound muscle to the sound as they powered through some more recent songs from the excellent You Are The Quarry. Thankfully, only one track (You Have Killed Me) was played from the snooze-fest that was Ringleader Of The Tormentors.

But it was the sprinkling of songs from his days in The Smiths that really landed the knockout blow. The jingly-jangly guitars that still have Johnny Marr's name written all over them led Morrissey effortlessly through Girlfriend In A Coma and the now default crowd pleaser How Soon Is Now.

But that was just for starters. A beautifully meandering stroll through Stretch Out And Wait was later followed by a truly extraordinary swaggering, swirling performance of Death Of A Disco Dancer which captured a heady mixture of fore-boding aggression and delicate fragility. By the time our blue-shirted protagonist had collapsed on the floor in faux-despair during Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want, the crowd were eating from his frequently out-stretched hand.

The encore of First Of The Gang To Die prompted the masses to surge to the front and bodies were hoisted aloft and thrusted toward the stage - of which two people actually made it on. Then the shirt was off, tossed into the crowd like a piece of meat as the feeding frenzy began.

I managed to squeeze my ungainly frame to the second row from the stage and for a split second - while being thrown around during the encore - I felt 15 years younger. Yet the law of mathematics is such a wonderful equalizing force, and when I woke up this morning with a feeling that a small huddle of Boy Scouts had started a camp fire in both of my knees I realized that those 15 years had been clawed back, and another 20 had been added just to teach me a lesson.

To fully appreciate Morrissey, you have to understand that the devil is often in the detail. A raise of an eyebrow, the flick of the microphone cable, the unfurling of a hand, the sway of the head - they're all critical components of his stage persona, and his performance and you either get it, or you don't.

At 48, it's somewhat surprising that Morrissey is still as relevant as he is. Some point to this as a sign of his unique charisma, while others see it as a sign of the increasingly bland music scene.

I think it's probably a bit of both. After all, when was the last time you got a kick in the head fighting for a shirt at an Elton John concert?