There are two types of Smiths fan. One type believes that Morrisey drives the band. The other believes Johnny Marr does. (I will only talk about The Smiths in the present tense. Deal.) Granted, those of us in the Johnny Marr camp need a few drinks to argue the case successfully. But we eventually win because of the happy haze of a drunken Rickenbacker guitar.
And we have this video as the closer.
In it Morrisey is the jester. Marr is the sage. Quite Jungian. And one of the reasons why they are legends together but average on their own.
These are age-old archetypes. But times change, and in our time, science always wins over myth. Magic is for madmen and sissies. And the boy will always have a thorn in his side.
That, ultimately is what The Smiths were about, the last gasp of the industrial age before it went all post-this and meta-that and Reagan fired air traffic controllers and Thatcher fired miners and then told the world that society doesn’t exist.
But that’s OK. My generation trades Mick and Keith for Morrisey and Marr all day and makes a killing. ‘Cause if it’s not love …