Pulling a twofer today, not because I like these songs but to make an amusing point about the unsavory-looking character above and his views on plagiarism, among other things. First off, a good way to avoid being labeled a pompous asstwat is not to sing songs about how great Keats and Yeats were, even if you are the dreary type who actually reads such rubbish. That bugs me, because I think literary passions are very private, and to hear Mozface speak his heroes’ names aloud is too creepily intimate, more so than if he were to actually say something dirty. (If Morrissey were 17 years old now he’d probably have a blog and then he’d really embarrass himself and us.) What delights me is the stern admonishment to not plagiarize or take on loan word not your own. That line isn’t funny in and of itself. What makes it riotous is who it’s coming from. If there’s one area in which Morrissey has surpassed Bowie, it’s the artful and utterly shameless sponging up of other people’s work. Some of his most famous lines are borrowed lock stock and barrel from others. Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now – a paraphrase of Sandie Shaw’s Heaven Knows He’s Miserable Now. Half the lines of Hand In Glove fell of the back of the Shelagh Delaney truck. The fabulous quiff – thank you James Dean. More recently, a very subtle and lovely nod to young Marianne Faithfull hidden in I Have Forgiven Jesus. And so forth. Which brings us to the Why aren’t you in court? moment of Certain People I Know. This otherwise slightly flaccid song is buoyed by a riff nearly identical to Marc Bolan’s Ride A White Swan, played in this case by producer Mick Ronson (the Bowie and Bolan fetishes finally come together for Morrissey). Forced to defend himself, and temporarily separated from his usual ready wit, Morrissey said something about “you can hear Marc Bolan playing…on Eddie Cochran records. But I doubt it,” by which I think he meant that Bolan’s own sound had to spring from somewhere and one of the sources was Eddie Cochran (now I can’t relocate that particular interview for a better quote, but you have the gist.) Suitably, the whole thing could be titled “I quote Marc Bolan and I laugh my head off.” To plagiarize so openly must have taken some nerve and it must have taken a lot of nerve to put out a video for it as well. A non-terrible video, gods be praised! It should be noted Morrissey does have unconventional ideas about what makes a videogenic beach to frolic upon. Let this be a warning to anyone out there who thinks Smiths albums contain some kind of holy writ to be unlocked – do not trust this man, he’s being facetious. Oh and I don’t mean to be so hard on Steven. It just seems that he really wants to be laughed at and abused in witty and convoluted ways, preferably with lots of big words and in-jokes.
Cemetry Gates
Words by Morrissey – Music by Johnny MarrA dreaded sunny day
so I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
A dreaded sunny day
so I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
while Wilde is on mine
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
all those people all those lives
where are they now?
with loves, and hates
and passions just like mine
they were born
and then they lived
and then they died
seems so unfair
I want to cry
You say: “ere thrice the sun hath done
its salutation to the dawn”
and you claim these words as your own
but I’ve read-well and I’ve heard them said
a hundred times (maybe less, maybe more)
if you must write prose and poems
the words you use should be your own
don’t plagiarise or take “on loan”
’cause there’s always someone, somewhere
with a big nose, who knows
and who trips you up and laughs
when you fall
who’ll trip you up and laugh
when you fall
You say: “ere long done do does did”
words which could only be your own
and then produce the text
from whence was ripped
(some dizzy whore, eighteen-hundred-and-four)
A dreaded sunny day
so let’s go where we’re happy
and I meet you at the cemetry gates
oh, Keats and Yates are on your side
a dreaded sunny day
so let’s go where we’re wanted
and I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
but you lose
because Wilde is on mine
shuddup…
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