Morrissey: "I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris"

The only possible thing that could get anyone down about Morrissey is the music—lyrically and vocally he is who he is, it’s not a matter of consistency so much as a certain inalienable je ne sai quoi which he carries in his entertainer’s core (and also in his hair). However, during his current “renaissance” the music has been devolving to the point that any of his backing tracks could be interchanged with an Offspring song. Everyone was so happy when he sounded vaguely fresh on You Are The Quarry (2004) that they didn’t realize that letting him near Jerry Finn was a point of no return into gloppy Modern Rock which is now reaching the point of devouring Morrissey whole.

Years of Refusal‘s idea of changing up the brainless mall punk bashing is the “Pretty Fly For A White Guy” Spanish guitar in “When Last I Spoke To Carol,” which is still Offspring-esque, so: fuck. At least Quarry tried some decent ballads and fake Marr every now and then, with the mainstream gloss simply frosting the proceedings in a bright plastic hue. First single “I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris” comes near being the only saving grace on the album, its vaguely cheesy, lovelorn lyrics given total believability from Morrissey in typical form, sung over what sounds like actual distinct guitar notes during the verses.

The video for “Paris” sums up the surrounding weirdness nicely, Morrissey and co. performing against a blank screen with dogs a la “The Sweater Song,” the backing band a weird mix of bland young session kids with piercings and an increasing number of fat old men, including a mysterious clarinetist. While the song itself manages to hit the right notes of Smithsian restraint against the booming Keane chorus, the uneasy, undesirable joke of the “cool” dads playing with your live-at-home-brother and nerdy NOFX-loving neighbor that the band gives off rings much more true in context with the rest of the album.

That his unbridled pathos continues to be convincing as he lurches past 50 is remarkable in and of itself. But the fact that even the best song on the album is a little perfunctory and Moz-as-product proves that it might be time to shuffle the deck once again.