Autobiography

I love Morrissey...it is written how he speaks . Kind of neat that as you are reading you can hear him speaking. He does drone on a bit here and there and his non meat eating stance gets a bit obnoxious but whatever...it is a well written and interesting book

Though not easily digestible, "Autobiography" offers Morrissey's insights on the career and public image of an outspoken but quiet musical icon. It's funny in parts, infuriating in others. His tales of being put upon strain credulity after a while. But it would be hard to consider yourself a true fan if you don't read it.

I am having a difficult time getting through this. There is more complaining and whining and bellyaching going on here than in my house of three children. In hindsight, it was unlikely that a musical genius would also be a brilliant writer.

I have no doubt that Morrissey' feelings of sadness, isolation and despair are genuine. His bottled-up passions combined with his poetry and songwriting result in some of the most beautiful, fragile and elegant pop songs of all time. But 500 pages of complaining is not charming, it is tedious. The charm of his melancholic personality that creates such gorgeous music does not translate well in the book.

I was impressed with his drive to succeed. He is very competitive. This is not a fragile artist turning out volumes of his art and awaiting acclaim; this is a highly motivated and hard-working man, an artist AND a professional.

Midway through the book, I had to take a trip. Rather than stuff this 500 page hardback book in my briefcase, I brought Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and re-reading it was a pleasure. Wilde's passions of sensuality and hedonism and pleasure combined with his brilliant writing result in a work of art. Switching back to Morrissey's book was almost painful.

So here's to reading Wilde and listening to Morrissey!

Patchy, lacking in clear direction and failing to deliver ruthless self examination. Really needed a strong editorial hand. Section on early life strong however, and some of the lyrical, expressive writing in the first half sublimely stylish.

I've been listening to The Smiths since they started out. I'm no 22 year old "Fan Boy." The Smiths are the best, and most influential band of the 1980's by far. Were they underrated? Definitely.

Should Morrissey shut the hell up about record labels (in the 1980's and 90's) not getting release dates on the most perfect of sunny days, to ensure the songs were released in the #1 spot? Most definitely. Should he stop whining about album cover art, regarding albums released 30 years ago?? Oh, please God yes.

Will Morrissey type 460 pages of complaints, all while interlacing his own song lyrics throughout? Will I suffer through 460 pages of this same book? Unfortunately, yes. Also, this book doesn't flow whatsoever. It's a very hard read, and seems to read as though that's the way Morrissey was thinking. Blocks of thoughts, then onto the next thought very quickly.

I can sum up this book easily.

1. Childhood sucks.
2. Being a teenager sucks.
3. Other artists suck.
4. Record label's suck.
5. Mike Joyce sucks, and will continue to do so.
6. Judge Weeks sucks, and will continue to do so.
7. America sucks.
8. Anyone who tattoos a portrait of Morrissey on his chest? Some kind of loving genius.

If you're a Smiths/Morrissey fan, be warned. I just summarized the entire book, while saving you money and keeping your "illusion" of Morrissey alive.

Sarcastic note: I'm sure this review will be very popular with all the people that think Morrissey just came to be in the last 10 years, or die hard Fan Boys. So be it. I have every Album/CD that The Smiths and Morrissey have released in some form or another, and they will continue to be my all-time favorite band, Mike Joyce included. This book, however, is something from Morrissey that I could have easily gone without.

Morrissey's writing style is as genius as his music. His wit borders on Wilde-esque. I thoroughly enjoyed his humor. Someone definitely needs to tell him that his music is "alternative" which means the masses are not going race out and buy it. I've never heard an artist complain and blame everyone in the music industry for not being #1 in America on every album. I mean if album sales are so important, maybe Morrissey should go front Chumba-Wumba. His account of being fleeced by a former band member is fascinating, and it says a mouthful about the West's growing socialist Robin Hood mentality. After reading this book, I got the sense that Morrissey is more bitchy queen than tortured genius. Either way he is an amazing artist and a great writer. Too bad he's his own worst enemy...

I've been listening to The Smiths since they started out. I'm no 22 year old "Fan Boy." The Smiths are the best, and most influential band of the 1980's by far. Were they underrated? Definitely.

Should Morrissey shut the hell up about record labels (in the 1980's and 90's) not getting release dates on the most perfect of sunny days, to ensure the songs were released in the #1 spot? Most definitely. Should he stop whining about album cover art, regarding albums released 30 years ago?? Oh, please God yes.

Will Morrissey type 460 pages of complaints, all while interlacing his own song lyrics throughout? Will I suffer through 460 pages of this same book? Unfortunately, yes. Also, this book doesn't flow whatsoever. It's a very hard read, and seems to read as though that's the way Morrissey was thinking. Blocks of thoughts, then onto the next thought very quickly.

I can sum up this book easily.

1. Childhood sucks.
2. Being a teenager sucks.
3. Other artists suck.
4. Record label's suck.
5. Mike Joyce sucks, and will continue to do so.
6. Judge Weeks sucks, and will continue to do so.
7. America sucks.
8. Anyone who tattoos a portrait of Morrissey on his chest? Some kind of loving genius.

If you're a Smiths/Morrissey fan, be warned. I just summarized the entire book, while saving you money and keeping your "illusion" of Morrissey alive.

Sarcastic note: I'm sure this review will be very popular with all the people that think Morrissey just came to be in the last 10 years, or die hard Fan Boys. So be it. I have every Album/CD that The Smiths and Morrissey have released in some form or another, and they will continue to be my all-time favorite band, Mike Joyce included. This book, however, is something from Morrissey that I could have easily gone without.

Morrissey's writing style is as genius as his music. His wit borders on Wilde-esque. I thoroughly enjoyed his humor. Someone definitely needs to tell him that his music is "alternative" which means the masses are not going race out and buy it. I've never heard an artist complain and blame everyone in the music industry for not being #1 in America on every album. I mean if album sales are so important, maybe Morrissey should go front Chumba-Wumba. His account of being fleeced by a former band member is fascinating, and it says a mouthful about the West's growing socialist Robin Hood mentality. After reading this book, I got the sense that Morrissey is more bitchy queen than tortured genius. Either way he is an amazing artist and a great writer. Too bad he's his own worst enemy...

The focus of this book is unfortunately the music (where the songs landed not he charts) and lawsuits of Morrissey and The Smiths. I was disappointed at how surface the material was. We all know how opinionated Morrissey is and I didn't even see much of that. I did learn that the lead singer from the New York Dolls was also Buster Poindexter......found that funny.

A mastabatory word orgy that has about 2% of actual interesting knowledge and real life stories. Between rants on the meat industry to pages on adjectives to describe walking down a Manchester street, this book is hard to even try just scan. Some artists should never write their own story.

Morrissey's book sucked. It was poorly written--no chapters just runs on and on. It's like he writes down anything that pops into his mind. Where are his editors or his literary agent to tell him to break the book down into chapters and have an outline before he writes his book.

This is the worst book I've ever read about a person or band. I can only hope that Johnny Marr writes a book about The Smiths.

Don't waste your money buying Morrissey's book; wait for Johnny's book! Johnny, please write one!!!!

I used to love Morrissey before reading this book. His obsession with money is pretty distasteful but the overriding impression is of somebody who vastly overestimates how interesting he is. Cried out for a decent editor but then I guess it would only have been 3.36 minutes long....

I purchased this book with the intention of learning about him as an artist and what went into making his albums, both with the Smiths and as a solo artist. I can't say I learned much about anything other than him being a high-maintenance drama queen. I recently read the book by Peter Hook (New Order) and I found many similarities: nothing is ever their fault, and they are always sad about something. There has been so much documented about how difficult Morrissey can be, yet in this book, he is the innocent one. Far too little about his art (albums and album art) and so much time on that darn court case! Pages and pages wasted on the "corrupt" judge and Mike Joyce when we could have learned about more interesting issues in his life. I didn't finish the book as it wasn't revealing much. Too many things were glossed over, and too much detail went into him explaining why the judgement against him was wrong. No one is perfect (except for him, in this book, of course), but i'm thinking this lack of humility is probably what led the judge to consider him "truculent & devious." Johnny accepted the judgment, paid Joyce, and went on with his life. Figure Morrissey could have done the same. Joyce (and Rourke) were important members of the group and should have been compensated fairly.

An unreadable mess. Books need editors, and this pile of garbage exemplifies the point. Morrissey is quite the wordsmith in small lyrical chunks, but this does not extend to the autobiographical book form. I should have put the damned thing down after I struggled through the first five page single paragraph, but I have a certain nostalgic affinity for the old tosser. I read more, and "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now."

Morrissey's "Autobiography" is not Moz's first book to be published (see The New York Dolls, James Dean Is Not Dead, and Exit Smiling), but it is certainly the best book he has written so far. The book is elegantly written, with a command of the English language that is second to none. As pointed out by another reviewer, Moz's writing style succeeds in making the reader feel as if they were actually *there*. I disagree with what the other reviewer said in regard to Morrissey's lashing out at those who hurt him. I think that these passages are excellent, and very informative. The long section of the book devoted to the "Smiths Trial," for example, is essential to Moz's story. Having read that passage, I now understand why there will never be a Smiths reunion, and it helped me understand "Sorrow Will Come In The End." I also found Morrissey's description of his childhood to be immensely fascinating. The cruelty and abuse that took place at his school are painfully and insightfully articulated by the man who wrote the lyrics to "The Headmaster Ritual." One of my favorite passages is about Moz and a small group of his friends (including Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders) visiting at night the moors where the infamous murders of children by Ian Brady and Myra Hindley took place (listen to "Suffer Little Children"). All in all, I can safely say that this book is a must buy for anyone who is a fan of The Smiths and/or Morrissey. I look forward to subsequent books by Moz. As of the date of this review (8 April, 2015), Morrissey is said to be coming out with a novel in the near future. If you can go by the style and content of Morrissey's writing in "Autobiography," his novel promises to be a must read as well.

Steven Patrick Morrissey has adroitly mastered his presentation on stage and on record or his devoted and fiercely loyal audience. Shifting from song to print, he keeps his suave air and deepens, understandably, his cultural allusions. The results, drawn from both popular and erudite sources, may appeal first to his fan base, but this uneven if spirited contemplation of five decades deserves a wide readership.

"In the midst of it all we are finely tailored flesh--good-looking Irish trawling the slums of Moss Side and Hulme, neither place horrific in the 1960s, but both regions dying a natural death of slow decline." His family, all Dublin immigrants, possesses resilience: "The Irish banter is lyrical against the Manchester blank astonishment." In such measured phrases and careful prose, his childhood unfolds with tyrannical teachers and trudging through warrens of Victorian squalor. As he matures amidst "this race to the grave", the library, a treasured stack of vinyl, and Top of the Pops reveal the influences which broadened his perceptions, and the songs which inspired him, not to play music but to sing. His first 45 is by Marianne Faithfull. He vows to sing or else. "If not, I will have to die."

The mid-70s usher in Patti Smith alongside Lou Reed and Iggy Pop as "a proud sign of bad breeding", and Morrissey lines up alongside Ian Curtis and Paul Morley to see the Sex Pistols debut in Manchester. He tries to tough it out in South London but returns, after a slow musical start, in 1982 to join with guitarist Johnny Marr, bassist Andy Rourke, and drummer Mike Joyce as the Smiths.

He figures if Culture Club can make it, why not him. (Listen to the harmonica-driven hook on one of the Smiths' first songs "Still Ill": it's always reminded me of that other band.) Morrissey marvels at what they created: their "sound rockets with meteoric progression, bomb-burst drumming, explosive chords, combative bass-lines, and over it I am as free as a hawk to paint the canvas as I wish".

He moves to London and finds hangers-on, famous and otherwise, soon flocking to perplex him. It's a familiar narrative, as Johnny Marr and Steve find themselves as partners musically and as legal co-creators, but outfoxed by the Sire Records suits and thwarted by the Rough Trade hippies. Morrissey harbors from his childhood a suspicion of authority, while legal matters loom and long persist as his nemesis. The managers and accountants endure in the music business, while stars soar and sputter. He ruefully concurs how the "pop artist who complains about anything at all is universally damned as petty".

That's why he unravels this meandering, often in turn awkward, loutish, or touching, narrative. Nearly four-hundred-and-sixty pages document his story, and after all, many want to hear it. Joining his voice to the familiar litanies of woe from one rich (despite that slow cash flow) and famous, Morrissey on the road and at his many homes as he roams cannot resist the lure of the stage and the lust for the tune. Tours for "misery Mozzo" in Johnny's phrase (shortened to Moz) cannot dim this.

He cannot square his inner discontent with his mass appeal. He peers at himself as if a specimen. "Although a passably human creature on the outside, the swirling soul within seemed to speak up for the most awkward people on the planet." Heaven knows he's miserable now. This bitterness will only increase as his autobiography progresses and the impact of the Smiths, oddly at times out of proportion with their album sales (strong as they were) and concert draws, reverberates. After the band sputters out five years on, the inevitable solo career ensues. Living in London, Morrissey tries to comfort. He rescues birds from a marauding cat and releases them in the safety of Hyde Park. Later, he saves a pelican at Los Cabos even as he fears it will wind up on a hotel's dinner plate. He writes passionately about hunted creatures and factory-processed animals too many kill for sport or for sustenance. But this tenderness towards the voiceless and helples jostles against his steady pot-shots at human targets. He stays reticent about intimacy and presents us with his intelligent, principled, and combative but shy persona.

"Your Arsenal" signals the 90s and a crack rockabilly band that backs Morrissey smartly. It sparks violent gigs in "the American madness", as well as "a Beatlemania that dares not speak its name". In Washington D.C., "'Don't let your ego hurt people' shouts one security guard as I pass" but in this rushed telling it's unclear if Morrissey means the moshpit or himself as a recipient of this admonition.

The 1996 case brought by Mike Joyce for 25% royalties takes up nearly fifty pages. One must admit that despite its value as a celebrity autobiography lacking an "as told to" byline or ghostwriter, one may well counter that Morrissey's pace grinds to its own fact-checked and debate-diligent crawl with his score-settling screed, even if we sympathize. Still, as with Dickens, wry humor leavens this. "Like a well-fed Roman emperor, Andy Rourke took to the witness stand complaining of financial starvation."

Understandably weary, Morrissey leaves England behind. Next door to Johnny Depp in West Hollywood, Morrissey settles down and meets a "lifelong constant", Tina Dehghani. He contemplates having a child with her (we catch this only as an aside, another instance of intimate reserve) but the shocks of 9/11 and Bush's war on terror discourage him. In a destructive decade, he inveighs against violence but brandishes on "You Are the Quarry" a machine-gun. On the other hand, a few years later on the perhaps or presumably tellingly named "Years of Refusal", he cradles a baby.

It's entertaining to hear more about celebrities, renowned musicians, and still more tours, but such musings weigh down the narrative (as they do many who cultivate such memories to regale us) as the years tally. Death among his friends begins to hover, as middle age reminds Morrissey on stage that he's now "avuncular"; he notes the devotion of his Latino fan base in his adopted California and across the border, but he sidles away from any extended self-analysis for this intriguing phenomenon.

Given that the book opened so strongly, with such control, Morrissey's decision to let the flow slacken as his fame grows and the albums accumulate may reflect the verisimilitude of how he views his later life, one more gig, one journalist after another to spar against, one more star to share his sorrows and joys with. The remainder of this narrative runs together in time and space. While this captures the enviable if enervating routine of a celebrity as he jets around the world, it also reveals the tedium that so many rock stars reliably moan about--to their fans.

As he is driven to a concert, he looks out at his fans in the streets of a small California city. He wonders: "What it must be to be 17 and leading the right life in the right skin." Twenty years famous, Morrissey cannot shake his inhibitions. We close this autobiography knowing less than most of us had surmised about his intimate partnerships, but as with his grandmother and his friendships with an array of celebrated or humbler people, we glimpse his guarded side. The effort he makes will reward us, if we are ready to roll with its harsh or languid flow and rock among its arch, barbed ripostes.

"Finally aware of ourselves as forever being in opposition, the solution to all things is the goodness of privacy in a warm room with books." This elegant reflection demonstrates Morrissey's wisdom, and its grace indicates that, with luck, he may issue a sequel a few decades on for those of us still around.

Finally got around to reading Morrissey’s autobiography. Not surprisingly, it is very well written and literate. In many ways it is not a standard ‘rock star’ autobiography at all. Instead, this is a look at his life through the prism of his varied interests; film, music, TV, etc. You get his opinions on a wide range of issues, all of them, even if you disagree, very entertaining. I think the big takeaway is just how funny Morrissey comes across in this book, and how self-depracating.

It seems as if there was some editorial changes between the US and UK editions. Certainly disappointing, and I’m not sure if it was ever sorted out as to why, but I can only say I still enjoyed the book immensely.

However, if you are looking for a very in-depth and detailed descriptions of the Smiths various albums, tours, etc. you are going to be disappointed. Certainly he discusses the band, but he doesn’t go deep on how the songs were written, what the tours were like, and so on. It could have used a bit more of that, in my opinion.

But overall, a very good book, well written, entertaining and quite interesting. Morrissey is a character, and that certainly comes across in this book!