Morrissey, the Mountains and Mortality
9:35 PM. Jefferson, CO
Away for a couple days in the mountains with my wife.
We started listening to Morrissey’s autobiography on the drive down here. The guy is so poetic, I am going to have to go back and read it later too because he’ll describe something so beautifully that it’ll cause my mind to wander and I have to get back on track. I hate comparing him to the Bible, but the Bible does that to me all the time.
One thing that struck me in particular was that, growing up in Manchester in the 60’s and 70’s, he knew there was great things happening, but they weren’t happening in Manchester; they were happing in this place called Elsewhere. I can relate to this. Growing up in an unimaginative family, in an unimaginative town, I too looked to television as a means of knowing how other people lived. Maybe Saved by the Bell was a bit far-fetched, but I don’t think Beverly Hills 90210 was. I basically lived in Cheviot Hills, right next to Beverly Hills (technically Palms, but I was literally a ½ block from Cheviot Hills) and I saw kids driving BMWs and Mercedes.
He described his upbringing, his Irish culture, his English life and the doldrums of school. All the teachers and priests acting like assholes. It’s ironic, because last night we watched the Peter Case movie and he was bemoaning all the hate in the world (just from one direction though) and he said hate doesn’t come from the human heart, only beauty comes from the human heart. I don’t think Morrissey would agree. I know I don’t. Artists go inward because we have nowhere to go outward. That I understand, but the refusal to participate in the people’s lives enough to understand the human condition… that I don’t understand. It made me lose a little respect for Peter as a writer because it would be like someone never having had a drink trying to write like Bukowski because they think it’s cool. It’s not cool, it’s fake.
I certainly don’t always agree with Morrissey, I do love a good bacon cheeseburger after all, but he’s one of the rare famous people I haven’t met that I would want to. Even if he was mean to me, I think I would enjoy it. Back in LA, there were always these rumors about where people drank: Jon Hamm at the Derby (or was it the Dresden? I just know it was on Vermont), Harry Dean Stanton at Dan Tana’s and Morrissey at the Fox and Hound. I never went. Not sure why, but I didn’t. There aren’t enough Morrisseys and Noel Gallaghers in rock music anymore. Everyone pretends to be rebellious as they continue to say the safest things possible as to not upset their shareholders. As Jon Cooper recently said, “Rage Against the Machine isn’t raging against the machine, they ARE the machine.”
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After we got up here, I got the news an old family friend had passed away. I hadn’t seen him in years but he was definitely a dude you don’t forget. He was in his early 70’s, but very fit. I could say I was shocked, but nothing shocks me anymore. I’m sad for his family, I know he will be missed, but he’s home now.
As if I wouldn’t have been in a contemplative mood down here anyhow. This house has an electric piano and I brought an acoustic guitar. I played both for quite a while, doing a little writing on the piano. Being untrained, or self-trained, on the instrument, I’m limited but I always seem to stumble into something I like and can build off of. I grilled steaks and then we watched the sunset over the mountains from the hot tub on the back deck.
Now, freshly showered, listening to the music of Franz Liszt, and writing, but struggling to keep my eyes open. Sometimes I just have to get things down before I forget.
Until tomorrow.