Select Magazine's
CMJ New Music Magazine's
Uncut Magazine's Review
Rolling Stone Magazine's Review
Fallout Magazine's Review
Assorted Newspaper Reviews
Section 3 Review
Rocket Magazine Review
BAM Magazine Review
MR.Showbiz Review
It musn't be pretty being Morrissey. His glory days as the reigning Hero of Sad Young Things are behind him (Kurt took that crown), but the poor dear doesn't seem able to play any other role. None of his solo albums are bad, yet none but the first (1988's "Viva Hate"), and a few subsequent singles, are fabulous. What's more unfortunate, though, is that beyond the remnants of his rabid cult, Morrissey hasn't mattered for nearly a decade. His wit remains pointed, his emotions true, but his relevance was lost over all those years of singing the same somber song. Pop has moved on, some of it backward, particularly the Britpop that's the Smiths' legacy. Morrissey, however, has stayed put. Granted, his rut may be more poignant than anyone else's, yet a rut it remains.
With a title that suggests self-parody, "Maladjusted" offers more of the same when it should deliver surprises. All the familiar suspects are here (producer Steve Lillywhite, songwriting colaborators/guitarists Alain Whyte and Martin Boorer, the usual rhythm section), yielding predictably dreary results. Whereas the Smiths' upbeat creativity served as a counterpoint to Morrissey's miserablism and emphasized his mischievous merriment, this band's sluggishness drags down even the rare hook: "Alma Matters" stumbles when it should skip along. A few string-led arrangements provide respite from the rock mediocrity, but the lyrics on orchestral tracks such as "Sorrow Will Come in the End" (a spoken riposte to a recent Smiths royalties case that ruled in favor of the band's least-remembered members) tend to be overstated and ugly. The abundant melodrama suggests old Alice Cooper ballads.
As with his every solo outing, "Maladjusted" extends a few moments of the old Smiths-onian magic. It says something that the album's most personable, appealing tracks all deal with Morrissey's masculine relationships. Here's where this most private of pop stars takes his biggest risks, and you can hear the tenderness that's missing from the by-now-rote social-observation songs and woe-is-me ditties. "Papa Jack" addresses a lonely father he cannot forgive; "He Cried" shows admiration for a fellow revealing forbidden feelings; "Roy's Keen" giddily celebrates an eager-to-please window cleaner; and on "Wide to Receive," Morrissey is singing as directly as he can about taking it like a man. It's hard to believe that he's got any fans left who'd want him to do otherwise.On the dust jacket of his 1994 Morrissey hagiography "Landscapes Of The Mind", Moz made the following novel claim: "I'm in a dialogue with my audience, and that's something I need." Now in '97, "Papa Jack" goes against this golden view of fan/star independance: "Papa Jack wants to turn back the clock, and reach out to the kids he once had, who have flown/Looking deep in his heart, Papa Jack doesn't like what he sees...now you can't always have it your way." Suddenly enraged, the song becomes The Who's "I Can See For Miles" and we have the boxing-thug Moz we have known since the skinny model ditched the foliage years ago.
Which is just as well, because "Maladjusted", his ninth LP, enjoys the aptest name since Melvyn Bragg. Still smarting from losing a fortune to ex-Smiths drummer Mike Joyce in court, this is Moz at his bitterest, a mocking response to the cumbersome stinker that was "Southpaw Grammar" and his increasingly marginalised position. Beginning with feedback and a voice intoning "On this glorious occasion, on this splendid defeat," the world-view is debased with relish. Glib and predatory, he sings of transgressing; "Working girls like me/With my hands on my head I'll flop on your bed...Maladjusted". It's an opener as exhilarating as "The Queen Is Dead".
Like "Vauxhall & I", "Maladjusted" reveals personal subject matter rather than just complaining about pesky kids (as on "Southpaw"). Alternating self-loathing and dubious self-suffiency, "Trouble Loves Me" ("Still running around.....at your age") tells of an unattained love, like a grown and jaded "There Is A Light". Speculation is invited about his lively interest in the aesthetics of the male form. "Even when it's under your nose, you just can't see it can you?" goes "Roy's Keen". Camply doffing the toupee to George Formby, it tells of a charming yet dangerous window cleaner "dunking the shammy" and going "up the ladder".
Sometimes you see a little more than you'd have liked, of course. The spoken word orchestral "Sorrow Will Come In The End" (now removed) is as fascinating as it is unendearing. "I've got no space and no time in my life anymore for revenge" (from "Ammunition") is a line that clangs. The single "Alma Matters" is Smiths-model melancholy that could be from any time in the last ten years. Similarly, "Satan Rejected My Soul" is unrankable with the music being made by Suede or the Manics.
It mightn't have fans forgiving all as with "Vauxhall & I", but there is still a good deal to recommend "Maladjusted". The voice, linked to some fine musical moments, is unchanged. He's still demonstrating the same confusion, confession and refusal to go away that made him so great in the first place. And rather than joining Wacko Jacko in the deluded star chamber, this is an LP you can take seriously. Even if, like his quiff, the lustre is fading, he's still a star in an increasingly homogeneous array. When he bothers to remind us, he's still a genious making records like no one else.
* Moz has named Geoffrey Wright's 1992 skinhead flick "Romper Stomper" as his favourite film ever. Concerning a gang of Melbourne neo-fascists and their attacks on Vietnamese immigrants, it was described by critic Geoff Andrew as "at best well meant but misguided, at worst flashy and garbled". Moz has also adopted the name of the chief skin, Stoney Hando, for his self penned press release.
* Either for its slanderous potential or just plain strangeness, the track "Sorrow Will Come In The End" was removed from the album. The song is comprised of spoken word threats over brooding orchestrations, and appears to be addressed to former Smiths drummer Mike Joycem who recently stung Morrissey and Marr for a real live million pounds' worth of back pay in the High Court.
* In a list of prominent inspirations, Moz lists poet A E Houseman (writer of melancholic "A Shropshire Lad" in 1896), nutzo avant-garde art-pervs Gilbert & George, and German opera-singing gender-confusionist Klaus Nomi.
* Morrissey adds that he "prefers the company of animals to humans" and that he also has "no interest whatsoever in modern life".
Uncut is a movie/music monthly mag published in the UK and here is what they have to say about Mal :
*Picture of Moz (Vauxhall era) with a caption that says (wait for it...) : Morrissey - such a wasted talent* (bastards...)
When I was first introduced to the grimy world of record fairs at the start of the 80's, the places were almost entirely populated by ageing Teddy Boys. The hair was still black and Brylcreemed, but the passing years had rarely been kind and, like a squadron of Frank Worthingtons, they were all valiantly trying to maintain a quiff with no visible means of support.
Not wishing to mock anyone with a receding hairline, but my first look at the cover of Morrissey's "Alma Matters" sleeve took me right back to Wallington town hall circa 1982. Those Teds were the first people I'd come across who'd created a world of their own that shut out modernity : with the wife and kids trudling aroound at Tesco's, they could escape adulthood completely, thumbinh through a box of old London 45s. Morrissey, as far as I know, doesn't even have the wife and kids to shunt off. World Of Morrissey. Permanent adolescence. "Who asked you anyway? It's my life to wreck my own way."
No one has seriously expected a groundbreaking LP from Morrissey for some time, but there's no doubt that the glammed-up Your Arsenal, the Smithsonianish Vauxhall & I, and the dark but patchy Southpaw Grammar, all featured some strong songwriting. The boundaries on Maladjusted were thus mapped out long ago. The opening title track recalls Southpaw's opener, "The Teachers Are Afraid of The Pupils", apocalyptic bombast with over-amped guitars and grim talk of Stevenage overspills and stifled Friday nights. Likewise, "Ambitious Outsiders" is lyrically a close relative of Your Arsenal's more threatening moments but the unpleasant subject matter here is veiled to the point of total obscurity - it could be about terrorists, paedophiles, Kula Shaker [????? - oh, must be about that Nazi-symbol comment uttered by one twitty Crispo Mills - m]. Whatever, the string arrangement is unnecessarily oppressive and the overall feel is dirge-like. "Show me a barrel and watch me scrape it"
Maladjusted is at its best when gently self-mocking. If "Alma Matters" is a paean in defence of the introverted World of Morrissey (and his remaining followers who are doubtless just as hooked on Alma Cogan as La Moz), then "Trouble LOves Me", "Satan Rejected My Soul" and "Papa Jack" are happy taking pot-shots at this set-up before anyone else can. Again, this is nothing new - the title of Your Arsenal was self-explanatory - but "Papa Jack" is altogether more poignant. It concerns a fallen pop star, desperate to "turn back the clock and reach out to the kids". Autobiographical? Possibly. Either way, the tune's gorgeous, with a mid-70's arrangement pitched somewhere in between Mick Ronson and (ahem) "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road".
"Roy's Keen" is a corker, a jaunty ode to a bit of rough. "We've never seen a keener window ker-leener," indeed. Wispy harmonies and all, this has to be a single. Along with the melancholic "He Cried", it shows that Morrissey's way with a vocal melody is just as it ever was. So how come, as an LP, Maladjusted still feels unsatisfactory? "I don't dwell on what I'm missing, there's no space or time in my life."
Fine. Morrissey's world has space for The Angelic Upstarts, Oscar Wilde, Alma Cogan, The Marvelettes, and Naseem Hamed. No room for reggae? That never did Brian Wilson any harm. The mystery is that, with such diverse, eclectic influences, Maladjusted - like its half dozen predecessors - sounds so one dimensional, guitar heavy in such a predictable way. As ever, there are gentle hints at a possible new direction, but those have been dashed before. Ultimately, there are few moments of beauty : no "Seasick yet Still Docked", no "Hang On To Your Friends".
There's nothing wrong with making consistently good records, but Christ, Morrissey is such a wasted talent. He needs a new challenge - maybe as a collumnist or a TV pundit. at the very least he needs a new songwriting foil. Wrapped up tight in the old-Ted, old-time World of Morrissey, he probably doesn't care. But that's our loss as well as his.
BOB STANLEYHeaven knows Morrissey is still miserable. True to form on his sixth solo album, "Maladjusted,"
the Mozz pens lyrics that range from laughably
snide ("I don't get along with myself/And I'm not
too keen on anyone else") to laughably
insufferable ("I praise the day that brings you
pain"). But despite his predictability,
"Maladjusted" is Morrissey's strongest musical
effort since his 1988 solo debut, Viva Hate.
"Alma Matters" is the most perfect bittersweet pop confection that
Morrissey has done since his days with the Smiths. Other highlights on
"Maladjusted" are the lush piano ballad "Trouble Loves Me," the
foot-stomping rock of "He Cried" and the galloping closer, "Satan
Rejected My Soul," each held together by -- you guessed it -- themes of
reflection, longing and despair. Happiness, it was really nothing.
(RS767)
MATT HENDRICKSON
Morrissey
Maladjusted
Mercury
I guess a question has to be asked upon listening to Maladjusted: Did anyone
every really want Morrissey to catch up with the nineties? Listening to Morrissey's
sophomore solo effort Kill Uncle, the answer is an undisputed Yes!. When speaking
of his last release, 1995's Southpaw Grammar, I think the answer is an undisputed,
NO!. Where does that leave our somber hero? Maladjusted .....
Bits of Southpaw sneak in on Maladjusted. To me, Southpaw Grammar
seemed like a test to see how much drama Moz could put on to one album. Maladjusted
has those moments on songs like Ambitious Outsiders and Papa Jack.
The fourth song, Trouble Loves Me, finds Morrissey, once again, feeling his
1950's oats. It's a typical 4/4 time signature / 3 chord song that erupts into an
anthem that could possibly have been written by the band Queen.
The beautiful thing about The Smiths and early Morrissey is that you knew how to
take it. It was sad, depressing, poppy and funny (at times). Morrissey seems to have
lost his direction. On one side he's a brooding master of despair, on the other he's
the loser making good, and, again, on another he's some insecure half-wit whining
for the sake of whining.
I think Morrissey is still a genius and I think this album will probably do him a
bit of good with new comers, but long time fans will feel disappointed because the
whole reason we like Morrissey is now only a mystery.
-Rev. Tyler Jacobson
With the exception of Viva Hate and, perhaps, Your Arsenal, all of Morrissey's solo records are uneven affairs: backing bands and songwriting collaborations that fade into anonymity, a few songs with the appropriate frisson of glammy guitar, and sundry attempts at stylistic expansion that scream 'filler' and fail more often than they succeed. Maladjusted doesn't vary these proportions greatly: the closing 'Satan Rejected My Soul' (so take it, it's free) is a winner, while 'Alma Matters' and 'Ammunition' are patented mid-tempo pop. 'Ammunition' is also interesting for its suprisingly upbeat sentiment, 'I have no time or space in my life anymore for revenge,' which begs the question of why anyone would pay attention to a well-adjusted Morrissey. Beyond these highlights, we get string-arranged maunders ('Ambitious Outsiders') and character sketches a la Ray Davies or Tommy-era Pete Townshend. Strangest of all is 'Sorrow Will Come in the End,' a screed against the British justice system recited against a sinister Scott Walker-ish waltz, complete with whipcracks.
Maladjusted isn't poor enough to disappoint the King of All Trainspotter's
fans, but neither is it consistent enough to convince those who haven't
acquired the taste already.
datalog: release date: aug 12
file under: Uneven Anglo-pop, a bit more cheerful than usual
r.i.y.l: the kinks, radiohead, the bluetones"
ON THE RECORD / Morrissey, the Gloomy `Teen'BY JAMIE KITMAN. Jamie Kitman is a free-lance writer.
MORRISSEY `Maladjusted' Mercury Records) `MALADJUSTED" marks the return to the studio of the United Kingdom's oldest teenager, the 38-year-old man who calls himself Morrissey. And, rest assured, like most self-respecting, deeply depressed adolescents, actual or imagined, he's still feeling maladjusted. Alienated, self-pitying, caustic and occasionally very witty, Morrissey reprises his time-tested formula for success with the anglophilic teenaged classes - real teens and those, like the Mozzer himself, who only play one on TV. With frequent musical nods to his successful 1994 album, the much more satisfying "Vauxhall and I," (No. 1 in the United Kingdom and No. 19 here,) "Maladjusted's" 11 songs retrace the misanthropic themes and precious "it's all too painful for me" poses. It was this image that more than a decade ago elevated the former Smiths' frontman to the role of spiritual leader for a youthful cult of self-regarding, self-loathing suburban misfits, with major outposts of popularity / sadness in London, Los Angeles and Long Island. For first-timers, a few snippets from "Maladjusted" will summon the Morrissey worldview. In "Wide to Receive," a signature depressive melodic ballad, the Mozzer explains, "I don't get along with myself, and I'm not too keen on anyone else." And, of course, "I never felt quite so alone as I do right now." Add something nihilistic from "Alma Matters," ("It's my life to ruin my own way,") and, from "Trouble Loves Me," a touch of dramatically camp overstatement ("Oh, please, fulfill me, otherwise kill me"), and you've got the picture. In other words, if you've ever liked Morrissey before, there's something here to interest you. Veteran producer Steve Lillywhite is seated again behind the wheels of steel. The band members (Martin Boorer, Alain Whyte, Jonny Bridgwood, Spencer James Cobrin) are all back. Even ardent students of his life's work will concede that Morrissey has done his best - and worst - work in a narrow bandwidth, musically and emotionally. Next time, new songwriting partners might make for a fresher sound. Morrissey may also want to check his own head. With "Maladjusted," his subcompact vocal range seems to have shrunk further. There are, in fact, only two questions left to be asked about Morrissey. First: Have his old fans - and they were legion (he sold out the Hollywood Bowl and Madison Square Garden as recently as 1992) - managed to carry teen misery into adult life in quantities sufficient to enjoy another helping of the same? Second: Will a new generation of sad teens find credible the world-weary plaints of a grown man, even one for whom adolescence is a terminal condition? "Well, I was fifteen, where could I go?" Morrissey sings in the title track. The guy is almost 40 now. But the question remains the same. Where can he go? Let's hope it's not in the direction of "Sorrow Will Come in the End," a sour and self-aggrandizing commentary on a court proceeding that is widely rumored to concern the suit waged against the singer by Mike Joyce, the Smiths' drummer who claimed he was cheated out of {POUND ST}1 million in royalties by Morrissey - and won. "A court of justice with no use for Truth," Morrissey sings, " . . . lawyer . . . liar you've pleaded and squealed and you think you've won, but Sorrow will come to you in the end . . . I praise the day that brings you pain . . . " As mean-spirited as ever, but finally, at least, an adult concern.
Copyright 1997, Newsday Inc.
ON THE RECORD / Morrissey, the Gloomy `Teen'., pp D35.
Morrissey may be terminally maladjusted (or have you believe so), but his latest effort is more varied than 1995's ''Southpaw Grammar'' and possibly more acerbic than 1992's ''Your Arsenal.''
The title track is composed of opposites colliding, with Mozzer
crooning ''I want to start from before the beginning'' against an
abrasive, clattering background, as if he's about to reveal something
more than his witty verses. The acoustic ballad ''Papa Jack'' casts
our
hero as the elder statesman who misses the attention that he once took
for granted. ''Sorrow Will Come in the End'' is a string-drenched
spoken-word screed against lawyers and liars _ the same things in the
world of Morrissey. ''Satan Rejected My Soul'' has ''self-pitying
single'' stamped all over it.
King of Mope Morrissey returns on a new label, but nothing has really
changed; he's still down in the dumps and feels the need to tell us
all
about it in his rather colorless drawl. Boring. Unlike his last
regular
CD (1994's ''Vauxhall and I''), his music fails him, lacking spark and
with heavy-handed arrangements and low-fi sound. ''Maladjusted'' this
time refers to more than just his sad personal life.
In America, dissatisfaction is considered a pathology. In Japan, England, and
other countries whose cultures accept dissatisfaction as a part of life,
Maladjusted, British pop star Morrissey's ninth solo album, has received
glowing reviews [really? --pk]. Here, however, most musical journalists
dismiss pop stars critical of the staus quo. Hence the cold shoulder given to
Michael Jackson's [uh oh] recent Blood on the Dance Floor, which includes
lyrics that directly confront his demonization by the American press, and the
simplistic "more morose Morrissey" insults flung at Maladjusted.
Since forming the Smiths in 1982, Morrissey has steadfastly refused to sing
typical pop fodder. Instead, he tries to get at real truths about politics
(Margaret on the Guillotine), earning a living (Heaven Knows I'm Miserable
Now), loneliness (Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me), and other topics
using language heavily inspired by poets and playwrights like Oscar Wilde and
the British kitchen sink dramas of the late '50s and early '60s. Morrissey
frequently approaches lyrics as a film director, moving from close-up to
long-shot, from himself to the world [nice analogy]. As a result, his songs
are extremely complicated and easily misunderstood.
The theme of this album, perhaps Morrissey's most autobiographical, seems to
be aging. The singer is rapidly approaching 40, and many of the songs here
reflect the contradictions that become apparent when you assess your life.
Maladjusted begins wih the line 'I want to start from before the beginning,'
and the title track attempts to explain why Morrissey is who he is. He attacks
the social constructs that repulse him -- masculinity [i don't think he's
'repulsed' by that], bureaucracy, romance -- and tries to reasssure himself
[sic -- it's Alain] by singing in falsetto at the song's conclusion, 'There's
nothing wrong with you,' over and over. Trouble Loves Me describes the
love/hate relationship Morrissey has with the dark cloud perpetually hanging
over his head while throwing darts at the person who refuses to give him
shelter. In Alma Matters, the album's first single, he tells off critics and
accepts responsibility for self-destructive behavior, yet still hopes that his
actions matter to someone else.
His sense of humor rears its head in Roy's Keen, a tale of thwarted sexual
desire full of double-entendres and clever rhymes. And the album concludes
with Morrissey joking about self-loathing in Satan Rejected My Soul (the song
ends with him pleading for anyone to 'take it, please'). You're left with the
impression of a man growing older, aware of being trapped in a paradox:
wanting to change but not being able to, waiting for someone to come to his
rescue while knowing that solitude is the human condition. [would help his
case if he cited papa jack...]
Maladjusted is not perfect. The musicianship of his backing band is
pedestrian. Only one song, Satan Rejected My Soul, includes a memorable guitar
melody. And the misfit track Sorrow Will Come in the End, a bitter diatribe
directed at the judge who decided against Morrissey in a lawsuit involving
former Smiths drummer Mike Joyce, should have been relegated to a single B
side.
But considering the album's language and ideas, as well as Morrissey's
affected vocals, Maladjusted is the most compelling pop album released so far
this year. In a country where liking yourself is the most highly valued
personal achievement and where intelligence is suspect, Morrissey obviously
has limited mass appeal. Nonetheless, he deserves to go down in music history
as one of pop's few true artists.
REVIEW : Morrissey, 'Maladjusted'
The man is 'Maladjusted' and make no mistake. That comes as no surprise. One
suspects on listening to this album that the last album, 'Southpaw Grammar'
was sort of a experiment gone horribly wrong, and that 'Maladjusted' is a
sort of snivelling apology. Certainly the souffl� airy-fairiness and the
leaps of into long orchestral manoeuvres that plagued the last album has
disappeared. 'Maladjusted', the title track is in essence a trip down
Maudlin Street in the daylight with the London A-Z, and while not first
class is well worth the price of admission. 'Alta Matters', the first
single, is an infectious jaunt over familiar territory and rewards those who
want to croon about ruining their own lives. 'Ambitious Outsiders'
continues a rather overworked series of anthems in homage of the
underclasses that after five albums is getting a bit monotonous. 'Trouble
Loves Me' is pretty much a standard self-piteous Morrissey dirge but the
tenderness of 'so console me, otherwise hold me' juxtaposed with 'go to
waste, in the wrong arms' give this track a broody unevenness. 'Papa Jack'
is an astute reflection on the continued diminution of Britain on the
world's stage. It suggests England is like a mother who spurned her children
in her youth and feeling decrepit in latter years wants to forget the past.
Oh God, don't we all. 'Ammunition' is a perhaps a sign that one can live
with the bleakness of youth and the urge for retribution is fading and the
vengeful days are over. It also uses the word 'salient' in the lyrics which
must be a bit of a novelty. 'Wide to Receive' is sort of a w.w.w love song
for people on their own. In quite a different league is the Dagenham Dave
soundalike 'Roy's Keen'. It proves you can write a flaky song about a
window cleaner but that you should under no circumstances include the word
chamois in it. Standard fare is served up in 'He Cried' and with lines like
'People where I come from, they survive without feelings or blood' this is
little less than a mildly enjoyable album filler. An eerily intoned riposte
against the legal fraternity follows, beginning in bucolic mood and floating
through to something more homicidal that proves 'Sorrow Will Come in the
End'. The last track, despite its odd title, 'Satan Rejected my Soul' is a
catchy ironically penned gem that provides a fillip on which finish. Let us
hope this gets relaesed as a single. Overall, this album won't lose old
diehards who mechanically buy everything plomked on the shelf but it lacks a
certain cleverness to tempt anything more than a brief dalliance.
Morrissey released his 7th solo album, Malajusted, and nothing has really
changed. Morrissey is still Morrissey and his songs still speak the lonely,
brokenhearted and disenfranchised. As original as this record is you can
still hear visitations to many great and not so great bands from the past.
The best song on the album, "Trouble Loves Me," is so Beatlesque,
it may have been written by Lennon and McCartney. During "Papa Jack,"
you will swear you hear the drum solo and chord change from "I Can
See For Miles" by The Who but that doesn't last long as the song changes
and fades out with what appears to be some sort of tribute to Spinal Tap.
The second single to be released, "Roy's Keen," closes in the
spirit of the Partrige Family. That might sound sad, but remeber, they had
their own television show, Morrissey doesn't. This is definitely a good
collection of songs that range from serious to silly, while sometimes the
songs tend to be both at the same time. Highlights of the album are "Maladjusted,"
"Trouble Loves Me," "Papa Jack" and the closing song,
"Satan Rejected My Soul." The latter of the songs is one of those
songs that falls in the category of serious humour as Mozzer quips "Satan
rejected my soul/As low as he goes/He never quite goes this low." If
you are someone who has uttered the words "I can't stand Morrissey!"
then this record will do nothing to change your mind. If you are someone
who likes alternative music that doesn't have to be in-your-face rock and
roll with lots of guitars, then check this one out. Maladjusted is a very
good record. It may not be Morrissey's best work, but its certainly one
of the better records released in 1997. by_jim.mcdonald
I don't know what's sadder; to see a once-great artist cruising along on auto-pilot,
or to see him try really hard and fail. Morrissey hasn't made a good album since Your Arsenal
five years ago, and his last couple have been truly uninspiring. Maladjusted sees Moz on a new
label and the sharpness of his wit is back. The boy is doing his best and, to be fair, it is
better but the results still don't totally pass muster.
No matter how wonderful Morrissey's lyrics are, he has only been great when the music
has kept pace with those words. That Johnny Marr was a perfect collaborator goes without saying,
but Stephen Street also had his moments. The crew that Morrissey aligned himself with over the
past few years just can't come up with enough good melodies or riffs. When one does appear, as
on "Satan Rejected My Soul," the results are as breathtaking as ever--a knife-edged riff
twisting the words into Morrissey's own gut. To get to that sparkling closing track, though,
you have to sit through 40 minutes of earnest sludge, with a few good jokes.
The best one--"Roy's Keen"--will, alas, remain unnoticed by those unfamiliar with Manchester
United's newly appointed captain.
With the Smiths breakup now a decade past, it's fair to anoint them as one of the
half-dozen greatest bands in the history of rock and say thank you. But Maladjusted isn't just
pale compared to The Queen Is Dead; it's pale compared to Viva Hate. And for a man who's giving
his all, that's a pity.
Stephen Morrissey was the misanthropic lyricist, vocalist and frontman. Johnny Marr was
the guitarist supreme and musical genius. At least that was one common perception of the late,
great Smiths, which ruled the British rock world for a chunk of the '80s. When a partnership
like this splits, it's usually the guy with the guitar and the stronger musical background who
ends up flourishing. But while Marr has seemingly played the role of caddie to a number of
established artists like Billy Bragg and Bernard Sumner (with whom he is supposedly a partner
in the group Electronic), Morrissey has continued to produce music that is surprisingly
satisfying and Smith-like.
With Maladjusted, the prince of paranoia and petulance
again rifles out lyrics like "It's my life to wreck my own way" and delectable song titles
such as "Satan Rejected My Soul." More impressive is his ongoing ability to fashion a strong
melody and/or challenging arrangement around his sometimes morbid thoughts.
The title track is a tortured but very listenable piece of tribal goth-rock; an airy
ambience and an upbeat tunefulness surround "Alma Matter's"; and "Roy's Keen" gains momentum
as a jangly rocker. Most interesting of all is "Sorrow Will Come in the End," a doom and gloom
revenge song that contains some waltz-like strings.
Clearly, Morrissey lends credence to the belief that happiness is the enemy of the
artist. Long may he suffer.
Morrissey: Maladjusted
Maladjusted, Morrissey's ninth effort since the demise of his star-making band, doesn't deliver those morsels, and it's time to wonder if they haven't just dried up completely. Of the eleven tracks here, only a handful make any impact. The Beatlesque "Trouble Loves Me" hints at Morrissey's acoustic pop savvy; "Papa Jack" comes off like a Moody Blues outtake with stinging Mick Ronson guitar licks; and "Satan Rejected My Soul" rollicks with a memorable guitar reprise. Elsewhere, though, the material lags considerably, with Morrissey too often producing forgettable, and even embarrassing results. "Roy's Keen," for example, is his overly simplistic ode to a window cleaner ("We've never seen a keener window cleaner"), while "Ambitious Outsiders" is a befuddled, melodramatic polemic dominated by cello and kettle drum. In other cases, Morrissey suffers from a paucity of fully realized ideas: both "Alma Matters" and the album opener, "Maladjusted," chime, but they never move from their starting points, and the revenge epic "Sorrow Will Come in the End" winds up sounding childish and transparent.
One can only hope that, for his sake, Morrissey finds another buddy who'll jump in the pool with him, one who can keep him from drowning, and perhaps even one who can help him write some worthwhile songs. --Bob Gulla
Sara Sherr
RATINGS:
4 stars: Excellent; 3 stars: Good; 2 stars: Fair; 1 star: Poor
(c) 1997, The Philadelphia Inquirer.
MORRISSEY ''Maladjusted'' (Mercury)
Howard Cohen
(c) 1997, The Miami Herald.
DARK STAR
by Jeffery Kennedy
San francisco Bay Area Reporter
New Zealand University
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Section 3 Review
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Rocket Magazine Review
Morrissey, "Maladjusted"
(Mercury CD)
by Robert Allen (First appeared in The Rocket magazine, 9/10/97)
(c) 1997 Robert Allen
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BAM Magazine Review
Morrissey, "Maladjusted"
(Mercury)
++++
by Jon Matsumoto (First appeared in BAM magazine, 9/26/97)
(c) 1997 Jon Matsumoto
MR. Showbiz Review
Mercury
Rock/Pop
Rating: 45
Poor Morrissey. He's like a novice swimmer left alone in a buddy-system pool. How can he swim without Johnny Marr? How will he stay afloat in the music business? "Just keep singing," he says to himself. "Just keep putting out records, for someone is bound to hear; someone will understand my pleas and pull me out of this pool before I drown, won't they?" At this point, a lifeguard rescue seems unlikely. The only people who care that Morrissey is drowning are a shrinking demographic of sensitive, disaffected, sexually undecided middle-class popsters who caught a glimpse of Morrissey in his glory days with the Smiths and liked it enough to hang on, hoping for a few remaining morsels of genius.
File Among: Drowning erstwhile pop stars
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