It Really So Strange? Morrissey Fans and the Art of Being Maladjusted
Words: Katrina Schwarz
On the morning that will mark her 195th concert attendance, the World's
Biggest Morrissey Fan is asleep in a car parked outside Sydney's Enmore
An unforgiving tour schedule and a relentless
ambition to be front row centre for tonight's show - for every night's
show - means that the World's Biggest Morrissey Fan, on her first visit
to Sydney, will not see much more of the city that the stretch of op-shops
and organic food outlets that face the concert venue where, come 11am,
she will take her position at the front of a queue that has yet to form.
Such devotion is not without
its rewards and in her rental car the World's Biggest Morrissey Fan dreams
of that moment - another concert, another country - when her idol held
her outstretched hand and mouthed thank you "Its a new song - its
called I Like You..."
"You're not right in the head and nor am I
and this is why / You're not right in the head and nor am I / and this
is why I like you, I like you, I like you."
Subject to scorn, derision and the worst kind of caricature assassination
, the Morrissey Fan, in symmetry with the Maudlin Mancunian who is their
elected heir, is a misunderstood and profoundly misrepresented soul.
Painted into the corner of a teenage bedroom in which they are forever
spotty, forever fumbling, snot nosed and sexually defunct - the Morrissey
fan is, in the parlance of another singer-songwriter, "a loser baby".
So, why don't you kill me?