Morrissey - The Vegas Years

On the hottest night of the year, Morrissey brought his sparkly-shirted cabaret act to St. Georges Hall, Bradford... and blew up the stage. Literally.

Whether he likes to admit it or not, these are the Vegas days for the Mozfather. A few years back he was performing in front of huge letters that spelt out his name in light bulbs, a la Elvis: The Comeback Special. Now, while he's not yet wearing jumpsuits or doing ill-advised karate moves on stage, and the lack of burgers mean his waistline stays respectable (for a man of his years), a Vegas residency Greatest Hits package has become his lot, albeit in the slightly less glamorous surroundings of Grimsby, Stoke and Bradford. But should we expect anything else?

The setlist was one of his best in recent years, without an over-reliance on the last three albums, nothing too obscure, and some live gems I've not heard for ages... if ever. Perversely, these included the much-maligned You're The One For Me, Fatty and Ouija Board, Ouija Board: but as I'm an unashamed fan of both, I was pleased as punch. Great to hear Alma Matters and Speedway again too, while the mid-set one-two punch of There Is A Light... followed by Everyday Is Like Sunday would have made for a much more satisfying singalong encore than the tired combo of First Of The Gang (a great song, but it needs a long rest) and a lumpen This Charming Man... which left me feeling JC might be right about refusing access to certain segments of the Smiths back catalogue. Then again, the night's undisputed highlight was a rare 25th birthday outing for I Know It's Over, a performance that made me wonder what'd happen if Moz took the Vegas comparison to its extremes, ditched Boz Boorer and the lads, and took to the road with a proper showband instead... or even an orchestra? He'd have to devise a set-list that steered clear of the sonic battery of Meat Is Murder (no great loss) while favouring tracks like I Know Its Over, Trouble Loves Me and There Is A Light (with proper strings... imagine!), but surely it's time for some kind of change?

Instead, it looks like we can expect more of the same, at least until he finally decides to get off the stage. New tracks performed last night were People Are The Same Everywhere (you can guess the rest) and Action Is My Middle Name, one of his catchiest offerings in years - given that I was singing along by the second chorus. Of course, he's back to being without a record deal, and moaning that no one will have have him, but that's all part of the act. It's impossible to believe there aren't interested parties, given the current state of the music industry, even with his infamous reputation.

One thing that wasn't part of the act was the aforementioned explosion which silenced the main set's final song, Irish Blood, English Heart a few lines in. Darkness and silence filled the stage, and for a moment we all wondered whether it really was over. Given his frequent avowal that performing is the only thing to give his life meaning, it'd be perfectly proper for Morrissey to one day go out singing... but thankfully this was not to be the night. A panic of roadies saved us from the riot, but by then we'd had the best of him, and it was time to say goodbye, if not farewell. Vegas act or not, record deal or gurning busker, I still hope it's a long time before we say farewell to Morrissey forever...

The Race Is On

Something is getting on my nerves lately.

Well, something new. All the old things are still getting on my nerves too, but this is one I haven't noticed before - or that I'm noticing with far more frequency.



I've always been a fast walker. If ever I go for a walk with Louise, she always asks me to slow down. It's not like I'm in a hurry to get anywhere, I just have a naturally fast pace. I don't like walking slowly, unless I'm stopping to admire the view, and let's face it - in Bradford, there's no view to admire.

So when I walk across town for my daily caffeine fix, I'm used to passing most of the people who are going in my direction. Because most people walk slower than me. And that's fine. I don't barge them out of the way like Richard Ashcroft, I just step around them and carry on my mission.

But lately, more and more people seem unwilling to let me pass. Instead they start to speed up, to match my pace, or even get ahead. They want to race. Which in turn makes me walk even faster. Till we're virtually sprinting through the centre of Bradford like the winner gets Cafe Nero's last ever Americano, and the loser dies of caffeine withdrawal. Only they're not even going for a coffee... they just don't want me to get ahead.

Look, I don't ask for much out of life. But if I want to walk past you - please just let me walk past you. It isn't a race. There isn't a prize. This is just my natural pace and I don't like following you. Who does it hurt?

Actually, thinking about this, it's just one more nail in my mid-life coffin. I know why it's happening. It's because I'm getting old, isn't it? It's because those damned young people can't face the fact that a soon-to-be 39 year-old fogey has a quicker step than them. And it's only going to get worse, and more frustrating, and drag me further still into a trough of despond... with every passing year.

There's nothing else for it. I'm gonna have to get a segway.

Bradford On Sea

It's now more than six years since they destroyed Bradford, the city in which I work. I originally reported on the demolition back in 2007. (I didn't have a blog in 2004 when it actually began.) They knocked down a large part of the city centre - right outside our office window - in preparation for an exciting new shopping and leisure palace of wonderment... which never actually materialised.

A year later, it looked like things were moving again. The workmen returned, cleared away all the rubble, and began digging a huge crater for the development's foundations... and then, everything ground to a halt once more.

The public blamed the council, the council blamed the developers, the developers blamed the recession. Lee Harvey Oswald was spotted having his lunch on the third floor of a nearby book depository... you can guess the rest.

It doesn't matter who's to blame. It doesn't change the fact that we stare out of our office into a big hole in the ground that used to be Bradford. In an effort to placate the angry mob, the council turned a section of the site (sadly the section furthest away and not in any way visible from our window) into an "urban garden". They allegedly spent £300,000 on a fence, some tarmac and the planting of some scrubby grass... which promptly flooded because they'd forgotten to include any drains. The urban garden became an urban swimming pool and is now closed for extensive drainage work (rumoured to be costing an extra £30,000).

But the flooding isn't confined to the garden of earthly delights... as the images below reveal. The crater itself is also filling up with water. It's becoming a lake. So much so that seagulls have started living there, riding the waves that regularly lap up against the rusting steel of the fabled development's foundations. Sometimes geese try to land in the lake and the seagulls fight them off. At times it's like working next to a harbour. One day, we fully expect to look out and see a huge cruise liner docking. Maybe somebody swinging a champagne bottle on a bit of string. Sailors on leave propositioning prostitutes. You know the sort of thing.

But in case you're worried I might float away and never be seen again, fear not... last week, two blokes in Donkey Jackets and a van that said "Dewatering Experts" on the side (you couldn't make this up) were sent in to sort it all out. They walked about a bit, tapped a few pipes, talked on their phones... then buggered off. Still, it's good to know we're in such safe hands. You don't get that kind of service anywhere else... only in Bradford.