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Rating: Listen to the histrionic beauty of an irreverent nihilist.
Listen to all his albums, even the unremarkable ones. Listen to his irony, "the irresistible expression of ethics". Listen. Listen, listen, listen! (In short, just listen...)
Morrissey is a wonderful diva. You get to see him fidget on stage with his dandy movements, and you forgive all that presumption stemming from his immense ego. Actually, you love him for it ("Piazza Cavour, what's my life for?"). And you sing along with him the historic verses of that loved/hated band, THE SMITHS.
You forgive everything, even his excessive belly, proudly shown during one of his many shirt changes. (You're there singing and smiling.) You especially forgive the stingy choice to include few old songs in the evening's setlist. You forgive. All the more because the place is extraordinary: the Roman theater of Ostia Antica is the ideal setting when he greets his audience, pronouncing, in an improbable Italian, the words "mammaroma". And yes, because the latest album is truly Roman. Written, thought out, and produced in Rome, with the illustrious appearance of maestro Ennio Morricone in the track Dear God Please Help Me.
Then you notice that the atmosphere is delightful for many other reasons. The audience throws Italian flags and flowers onto the stage. Even the guitarists flatteringly wear the Italian national football team jersey. He, with a bunch of flowers in his pocket, dances proudly like a peacock with his showy tail. The complicity is total, some guys attempt a blitz: to get on stage to pay homage to the crooner. A girl succeeds in the endeavor and sticks to the old and sweaty Moz in a smiling embrace. Morrissey thanks those present with stage bows that delight all of us.
We, a diverse audience composed of a thousand generations of occasional decadents, gathered in the semicircular embrace of an eternal theater.
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