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<title>Interview Archive - Fan-Mail</title>
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    <font size="4" face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Morrissey interviewed 
    by Andres Lokko<br>
    <em>Slitz</em> - September, 1992</font> 
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        <div align="center"><font size="2" face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Now 
          it's finally here! The long awaited interview with the most worshipped 
          man in the world, if you're to believe his most affectionate admirer, 
          Andres Lokko. A fan-fare, please: Here's Morrissey!</font></div>
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    <td><font size="2" face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The Smiths 
      were the most important pop group of the 80s. In many people&#146;s books, 
      mine included, they were also one of the four most important bands in music 
      history. And they were not that because of Andy Rourke&#146;s bass guitar 
      or Mike Joyce&#146;s drums. Neither was it Johnny Marr&#146;s guitar and 
      melodies that gave the Smiths a place in the history books.<br>
      The Smiths were synonymous with Steven Patrick Morrissey.<br>
      It was exclusively his passion for pop music, literature, film and heroes 
      of bygone times that made the Smiths what they were.<br>
      On the LP <em>The Queen Is Dead</em>, Morrissey sings &quot;<em>don&#146;t 
      plagiarise or take on board [sic] because there&#146;s always someone, somewhere 
      with a big nose who knows</em>.&quot; And the biggest nose of them all belongs 
      to Morrissey. In his lyrics, song titles and perhaps most of all his record 
      sleeves, both with the Smiths and in his own name, he lets his big nose 
      lead every step. And his faithful servants follow every impulse with breathless 
      excitement.<br>
      No other still living artist is worshipped to the same extent as Morrissey. 
      One of the reasons for his originality is that he, during his so far ten 
      year long career, never has had any successors. Despite many desperate attempts. 
      But nobody has come close enough for anybody else to succeed in locating 
      the source.<br>
      The Smiths split up in 1987. The other prime mover in the band, Johnny Marr, 
      chose to move to Los Angeles and has to date appeared in the most peculiar 
      relations. In Bryan Ferry videos, in the Pretenders, in Matt Johnson&#146;s 
      the The, in the now forgotten soul trio Stex and finally as one half of 
      Electronic, together with New Order&#146;s Bernard Sumner. Morrissey himself 
      has released three solo albums, <em>Viva hate</em>, <em>Kill Uncle</em> 
      and recently <em>Your Arsenal</em>. Above that, he&#146;s also, just like 
      the Smiths, chosen to release a couple of singles that haven&#146;t appeared 
      on any of his albums. Unless you count the singles collection <em>Bona Drag</em>. 
      Musically, he&#146;s often been accused of sounding like a second-rate Smiths. 
      And that much is true that he hasn&#146;t found any writing partner who&#146;s 
      succeeded in surpassing Marr&#146;s talent yet. But that is already more 
      than well documented on the Smiths&#146; four albums. And the number of 
      Morrissey fans claiming &quot;November spawned a monster&quot; to be as 
      brilliant as &quot;This Charming man&quot; is huge. They are wrong. But 
      that just goes to show how devoted his audience is. On the last song Morrissey 
      and Marr wrote together, which also became the last that the Smiths recorded, 
      &quot;I&#146;ll [sic] keep mine hidden&quot; Morrissey is whistling through 
      half of the song. And he sounds like George Formby, one of Mozzer&#146;s 
      great prototypes.<br>
      Johnny is said to have liked to consider himself and his singing colleague 
      the Jagger-Richards of the 80's. A thing that Morrissey never could understand 
      or even accept.<br>
      When Marr took swigs of Jack Daniels, Morrissey drank tea.<br>
      Three solo albums later, Morrissey&#146;s rediscovered his teenage heroes 
      New York Dolls and David Bowie. And cultivated his interest in rockabilly 
      and, as always, the dramatic, grand and completely pathetic ballads. Nothing&#146;s 
      changed. But that&#146;s the way he wants it. And perhaps that&#146;s exactly 
      why we want him?</font></td>
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    <td><font size="3"> 
      <p><font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">Paris. Looking 
        out through the window you can see a ladder outside Christian Lacroix&#146;s 
        shop in Rue Du Fauborg. At the top of the ladder stands a little Frenchman 
        with a paint pot in his left hand, a brush in his right hand and a cigarette 
        in the corner of his mouth. At the moment he&#146;s busy filling in the 
        x in the designer&#146;s surname. This is the view from room 315 on <em>Hotel 
        Le Bristol</em>, 112 Rue Du Fauborg, St Honere, Paris.<br>
        In a gilded rococo armchair, right next to the window, sits Steven Patrick 
        Morrissey, entertainer, singer and pop star, giving interviews to the 
        European music press. I&#146;ve tried to arrange an interview with Morrissey 
        several times before. But he&#146;s always declined. Once I had already 
        arrived in London, when the record company phoned my hotel and explained 
        to me and three German journalists that he had changed his mind. Morrissey 
        belongs to a category of people who might&#146;ve been watching an episode 
        of the TV series <em>Dad&#146;s Army</em> the night before, felt sympathy 
        for the lads at the front and therefore cancelled all interviews with 
        the German press. To wake up one morning and believe it&#146;s 1941 is 
        nothing unusual with him.<br>
        But now we&#146;re finally in the same hotel room. With no Germans in 
        sight. Morrissey&#146;s wearing a striped button-down shirt, 501's, black 
        socks and black loafers. He&#146;s not as tall as I expected. A little 
        shorter than myself. He smiles and stretches out his arm.<br>
        <b>&quot;Here you are, this is your chair.&quot;</b><br>
        I explain to him that I&#146;m from Sweden. Neither the Smiths nor Morrissey 
        the solo artist has ever been there.<br>
        <b>&quot;No, but I&#146;ve heard about it. It&#146;s a country. And why 
        have I never been there? Because I&#146;ve, honestly, never been asked. 
        It&#146;s a pity. But it requires a considerable amount of money to be 
        able to play in certain countries. And nobody in Sweden has offered me 
        enough to make both ends meet yet. Unfortunately. But I&#146;m invited 
        to play in the oddest countries. Israel, India, South Africa and Japan. 
        Besides, I really hate to travel. I like to be in strange places. But 
        I hate to get there. To fly is terrifying. You could die. And when I&#146;m 
        finally there, I never find any food that I appreciate, so consequently 
        I don&#146;t eat very much when I&#146;m abroad.&quot;</b><br>
        Mick Ronson, who off and on lives in Sweden, produced <em>Your Arsenal</em>?<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, I&#146;ve always appreciated Ronson. He&#146;s a very refined 
        musician who was immensely huge in England in the early seventies when 
        he played with David Bowie&#146;s Spiders From Mars and who also made 
        two partly brilliant solo records. He was very pleasant to work with. 
        Which you can hear on the record, if I may say so. Mick is actually one 
        of the nicest people I&#146;ve ever met.&quot;</b><br>
        I&#146;ve heard he&#146;s suffering from cancer.<br>
        <b>&quot;Mmmmm, but he refuses to let that affect his working pace. He&#146;s 
        not confined to his bed or disabled in any way. Neither has he showed 
        any signs of bitterness. On the contrary, he&#146;s been, to say the least, 
        entertaining, uplifting company. Even to a person such as I surprise, 
        surprise!&quot;</b><br>
        <em>Your Arsenal</em> is much more rock n&#146; roll than what you&#146;ve 
        done before.<br>
        <b>&quot;Hahaha! You can&#146;t be rock n&#146; roll! It&#146;s such a 
        funny word. Especially when <em>you</em> say it hahaha!&quot;</b><br>
        Thank you.<br>
        <b>&quot;But if you dismount the word to it&#146;s three components, 'rock' 
        'and' 'roll', it comes out as even more absurd. But there is no alternative 
        term so we continue to use it for want of something better. And much of 
        what&#146;s categorised as rock n&#146; roll I have the deepest respect 
        for and consequently don&#146;t laugh when I hear the music in itself. 
        On the contrary. But I could never call myself a rock n&#146; roller. 
        That&#146;s a very old word, most often used by very old men from a decade 
        which was called let me think the seventies. Things change. Before the 
        Sex Pistols you couldn&#146;t use the word pop if you wanted to be taken 
        seriously. And after the Sex Pistols you haven&#146;t been able to use 
        the word rock n&#146; roll. I myself always call all music I appreciate 
        popular music. Which is a very 1950-ish word. I think that the word pop 
        has been accepted because there isn&#146;t very much pop music. In England 
        there exists almost nothing but dance music on the charts. And that&#146;s 
        hardly what we would call pop, is it?&quot;</b><br>
        I got the CD of <em>Your Arsenal</em> yesterday.<br>
        <b>&quot;Did you bring it with you? You are one lucky man. Even I haven&#146;t 
        seen it yet. Could I have a look at it?&quot;</b><br>
        Morrissey studies the cover carefully. When he&#146;s unfolded it I ask 
        who&#146;s adorning the photograph in the booklet.<br>
        <b>&quot;He&#146;s a very famous British criminal from the early sixties 
        called Charles Richardson. Do you know the Kray brothers? Excellent. The 
        Krays were from East London and the Richardsons were a rival gang from 
        South London who never really became as famous. Charles was the oldest 
        brother of the Richardsons.&quot;</b><br>
        Why this fascination with criminals from bygone times?<br>
        <b>&quot;I&#146;ve always been of the opinion that they, and especially 
        the Krays and the Richardsons, were very style conscious and well-mannered. 
        I can&#146;t but admire people who manage to heckle the British establishment 
        and the Royal House by committing different kinds of crimes. And still 
        being considered glamorous role models to the British people and who make 
        them, or more correctly us, laugh at laws and orders.&quot;</b><br>
        Let&#146;s dwell upon the word &quot;style&quot; for a moment. Throughout 
        the years you&#146;ve shown an enormous appreciation for working class 
        sub-cultures, such as skinheads and rockabilly<br>
        <b>&quot;Most youth cultures come from the U.S.A. Except skinheads, which 
        as I understand, is an exclusively British invention. That the rest of 
        the world around us looks upon skinheads as people who tattoo swastikas 
        in their foreheads and throw fruit at innocent football supporters is 
        a shame. Of course I&#146;m aware of the fact that there exists such 'skinheads.' 
        But the original idea of skinheads was just about clothes and music. And 
        in England it still is to a pretty great extent. Style and everything 
        it involves for me have their roots in the British working class. That&#146;s 
        where all culture I appreciate passes on and in some degree is updated. 
        The British working class and its youth cultures are never vulgar or excessive. 
        Whereas the middle class never has created a bit.&quot;</b><br>
        And the upper class?<br>
        <b>&quot;They don&#146;t have to do anything. They spend all their time 
        in bed. But only sleeping, of course.&quot;</b><br>
        But the culture you&#146;re talking about only exists in England?<br>
        <b>&quot;That&#146;s right. And the rest of the world is copying it as 
        best as it can. England may be a very small country. But why is it so 
        important for pop musicians all over the world to be famous in England 
        of all countries? Why? I tell you why, because the English have always 
        been born with a sense for good taste. And in this particular case, we&#146;ve 
        had a lot to offer. Probably more than anyone else.&quot;</b><br>
        Those style manifestations you&#146;re mentioning have been around for 
        a long time. But what about those we have today?<br>
        <b>&quot;They are much harder to find today because it&#146;s about many 
        smaller groups. There is no mass movement connected to everybody. Skinheads, 
        rockabillies, mods and so on are just small sects today.&quot;</b><br>
        But hip hop? Home-Boys, B-Boys?<br>
        <b>&quot;Are there clothes and any kind of style that you&#146;re supposed 
        to connect to hip hop? Hmmmmm I have to ask one of my younger friends 
        about that. That sounds interesting. Even though very awful and tasteless.&quot;</b><br>
        Morrissey smiles all the time. Not friendly. Not unfriendly either. The 
        question is if it even is superior. He just smiles consciously. In some 
        way he just seems to think that everything is humorous. Not my questions. 
        Or his own answers. In Morrissey&#146;s book life in itself is something 
        ironic.<br>
        Why do we love Morrissey?<br>
        To everyone who considers pop music as important as the air we breathe, 
        the answer is so simple, so completely obvious that you barely have the 
        strength perhaps even less the will to even try to explain it to someone 
        uninitiated. Either you love Morrissey and everything he personifies or 
        you&#146;ll never, ever, understand the innermost secrets of pop music.<br>
        There&#146;s a scene in Barry Levinson&#146;s classic film <em>Diner</em> 
        where a young man discovers that his wife&#146;s been poking into his 
        record collection. He understands this when he finds a record by James 
        Brown filed under the letter J. And she&#146;s put it under J in the shelve 
        for &quot;rock.&quot;<br>
        &quot;Don&#146;t you understand that it&#146;s supposed to be in the 'rhythm 
        and blues' section?&quot; he yells, his face bright red with anger.<br>
        His wife shrugs her shoulders. The young man desperately tries to explain. 
        He asks her to question him on Little Richard&#146;s b-sides. He knows 
        them all. His wife shrugs her shoulders. She can&#146;t understand what&#146;s 
        so special about some b-sides.<br>
        &quot;It&#146;s the hit you want to hear,&quot; she says exhaustedly. 
        Who wants to hear some silly b-side?<br>
        The young man gives up, puts on his overcoat and goes down to the &quot;Diner.&quot; 
        His friends sit waiting there. They understand.<br>
        The film takes place in Baltimore 1959. But this particular scene could 
        just as well had been about Boras [Swedish small town. Ulf.] in 1966, 
        Glasgow in 1975, Bremen in 1983 or Paris in 1992. And it describes Morrissey 
        and his fanatic admirers so well. The image of Morrissey as the lonely 
        cynic, who in his little house outside Manchester grows daffodils, drinks 
        tea and reads Oscar Wilde is completely true. And that&#146;s why we love 
        him. Morrissey the Singer may make the worst records imaginable. That 
        doesn&#146;t matter. Because it&#146;s Morrissey the Flower Grower, the 
        Record Collector, the Pop Aesthete and Tea Drinker we want.<br>
        Morrissey loves to talk about his favourite records. And at irregular 
        intervals he chooses to publish lists of books, records, films and people 
        he worship in the British music press. When I meet Mozzer in Paris I&#146;ve 
        brought a three years old list from the <em>New Musical Express</em> with 
        me. A list he called singles to be cremated with. On the top of the list 
        is a single called &quot;The loneliest man in the world.&quot; The artist&#146;s 
        name is Vince Eager.<br>
        <b>&quot;Vince Eager was an English singer have you heard of Vince Taylor?&quot;</b><br>
        No.<br>
        <b>&quot;Billy Fury? Good. Mister Eager was made from the same mould as 
        Billy Fury. He released eight singles on the record company Top Rank. 
        But the other seven are, honestly, completely impossible to listen to. 
        And yes, I know that your next question will be about the title 'The loneliest 
        man in the world' well, that&#146;s pretty Morrisseyesque. Could I have 
        a look at that list?&quot;</b><br>
        The list consists of exclusively obscure sixties singles: The Crystals&#146; 
        &quot;What a nice way to turn 17,&quot; The Toys&#146; &quot;Attack,&quot; 
        Timi Yuro's &quot;Insult to injury,&quot; Paul Jones' &quot;I&#146;ve 
        been a bad, bad boy&quot; and Dionne Warwick&#146;s &quot;Loneliness remembers 
        what happiness forgets.&quot; The last one is a song title that could 
        be one of Morrissey&#146;s own.<br>
        <b>&quot;I love pop singles. And I have ever since I heard Marianne Faithful 
        for the first time. I think I was six years old then. And yes, I&#146;m 
        obsessed with pop music. All my life, all thirty-three years, have I devoted 
        to pop music.&quot;</b><br>
        Which is your absolute favourite song? Do you have one?<br>
        <b>&quot;It&#146;s different songs every day. I always listen to music 
        and to list just one song, among the two hundred foremost that make me 
        cry, would be an impossibility. And the fact that they make me cry doesn&#146;t 
        necessarily have to imply that they have dramatic, tragic lyrics. They 
        just touch me in a way that nothing else in the world could. Could you, 
        offhand, name the two or three best singles ever recorded, yourself?&quot;</b><br>
        Number two is &quot;Past, Present &amp; Future&quot; by the Shangri-Las 
        and number one is always, always &quot;Be My Baby&quot; by the Ronettes, 
        because...<br>
        Morrissey interrupts me in the middle of the sentence.<br>
        <b>&quot;You don&#146;t have to explain why! I understand, Andres, I understand. 
        But so many fantastic records have been made that I know that I have the 
        opportunity to listen, discover and rediscover all this music as long 
        as I live. And I will. No matter if pop music dies tomorrow or if it might 
        already have died.&quot;</b><br>
        Do you still buy a lot of singles?<br>
        <b>&quot;Absolutely. The question is if not seven-inch singles with perfect 
        two-and-a-half-minute pop songs are the best thing life has to offer. 
        By the way, could I keep the list you brought? It&#146;s always so nice 
        to be reminded of my excellent taste.&quot;</b><br>
        Do you think you&#146;re capable of writing such two-and-a-half-minute 
        songs that you love yourself? Aren&#146;t you too aware of what you&#146;re 
        doing to be able to re-create the naivety that existed within pop music 
        before, say, 1965?<br>
        <b>&quot;Hmmm perhaps times have changed, even if I personally find that 
        hard to accept, and it&#146;s not possible to write such simple songs 
        today. But I think I&#146;m as close as you possibly could get in my aspiration 
        to write modern lyrics with the same drama and contents. The ideal with 
        pop music was that these two minutes and twenty-three seconds would contain 
        absolutely everything. Today nobody understands that logic. Everybody 
        seems to have all the time in the world. I try to keep from making long 
        records.&quot;</b><br>
        Which of your own songs are you most happy with?<br>
        <b>&quot;Hard question there are very few that I&#146;m not satisfied 
        with. There are just about seven or eight songs that I can&#146;t stand 
        to listen to. But apart from those, I&#146;m proud of most of them. It&#146;s 
        probably the most melancholic of my ballads that have the honour of sharing 
        a spot closest to my heart. Although, right now, in real life, I would 
        rather prefer to sing more powerful, hard songs</b> (The telephone rings)<b> 
        especially a song on the new LP, 'We&#146;ll let you know' </b>(The telephone 
        rings again. Morrissey portions out the sentences, so they&#146;re heard 
        between the signals) <b>but also 'Last night I dreamt somebody loved me'</b> 
        [sic] (Riiiinnnnggg!)<b> 'Everyday is like Sunday' hahaha!&quot;</b><br>
        Morrissey begins to find the telephone signal really amusing. So he lets 
        it continue: Riiiinnnnggg!<br>
        <b>&quot;...'November spawned a monster'&quot;</b> Riiiinnnnggg!<br>
        <b>&quot;...'Girlfriend in a coma'&quot;</b> Riiiinnnnggg!<br>
        Maybe it&#146;s an important call? I ask.<br>
        <b>&quot;Nothing&#146;s important,&quot; </b>Mozzer says and the phone 
        gives up.<br>
        Recently a biography on the Smiths, <em>Morrissey &amp; Marr - The Severed 
        Alliance</em>, by Johnny Rogan was published, which you reacted strongly 
        against?<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, I did. Mostly because it&#146;s just filled with lies. I 
        was very sad when I realised that many will buy it and make the 'author' 
        enormously rich. It&#146;s got dazzling reviews in the British music press, 
        who should know better. And it&#146;s introduced as the definitive history. 
        And it isn&#146;t! The definitive biography of the Smiths won&#146;t be 
        written before I do it myself. Or choose to tell it to someone. This Rogan-person 
        called me up one night and managed to say just one sentence before I hung 
        up. Still he claimed in the book that he&#146;d have 'deep conversations' 
        with me. For the book he&#146;s only chosen to interview people who couldn&#146;t 
        even imagine themselves saying hello if they met me on the street. People 
        who would vomit if they heard my voice on the radio. He hasn&#146;t managed 
        to speak to any of my close friends or even any of those I&#146;ve worked 
        with after the Smiths. And since I&#146;ve dissociated myself from the 
        book, the press assumes that everything that&#146;s in it must be true. 
        So I only feel sad for all those who pay a lot of money for it. And it 
        seems to be selling very well the whole thing is one of the darkest sides 
        to the music business. And one of the reasons why it can be such an extremely 
        disgusting, horrible industry. And the worst thing is that I&#146;ve become 
        a part of it myself.&quot;</b></font></p>
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      <p><font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">He goes on 
        to talk about Warner Brothers&#146; reissues of the Smiths.<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, well I&#146;ve heard of their plans. But I haven&#146;t 
        had anything to do with it. Nobody asked me to decide upon the contents. 
        But if I&#146;ve understood the thing correctly, there will be two Best 
        Of-records. One in the end of the summer and the other one in November. 
        A lot of people have written to me and begged me 'please don&#146;t release 
        &quot;This Charming Man&quot; again.' Because they want it for themselves. 
        But it&#146;s nothing I can govern.&quot;</b><br>
        Do you receive a lot of fan mail?<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, a great lot. Mostly complaints, actually. And they complain 
        about precisely anything. If someone lost his ticket to a concert he writes 
        to me and complains. Or if some other person can&#146;t manage to find 
        his seat to the same concert, they also write to me and claim it&#146;s 
        my fault. And it actually isn&#146;t but I understand that they write. 
        It&#146;s often parents to fans who write and ask me to stop existing. 
        Someone wrote that she couldn&#146;t manage to walk past her daughter&#146;s 
        room, because she constantly played records by a man who had his legs 
        sawed off.&quot;</b><br>
        Do you reply to the letters?<br>
        <b>&quot;No, never. Because then, they would write again and be upset 
        because I didn&#146;t reply to the next letter. So I can&#146;t reply 
        to letters. I must keep some kind of distance to such things. But the 
        more records I release and the more people that buy them, the more letters 
        I receive. And that&#146;s another reason for not replying to them. Things 
        so easily stop being interesting when they&#146;ve been accepted by the 
        masses. Irrespective of whether it&#146;s about fashion or about music 
        or anything else. When pop artists have reached all over the world, when 
        everybody knows who they are, then it&#146;s over. Because they&#146;ve 
        become public property, they no longer belong to just me and you. It&#146;s 
        always better when there&#146;s a certain mystery making around it.&quot;</b><br>
        &quot;We hate it when our friends become successful&quot;?<br>
        <b>&quot;Exactly.&quot;</b><br>
        Bob Dylan once said that he in fact wanted to become a new Elvis Presley, 
        but since there was a vacant place for a Woody Guthrie, he was content 
        with that.<br>
        <b>&quot;He made the wrong decision hahaha! So you wonder if I&#146;ve 
        had, or have, a similar dilemma? Well I&#146;ve always had models such 
        as Billy Fury, Elvis Presley and other persons whose names I don&#146;t 
        want to mention. We all have role models from whom we pick one or two 
        things. And finally we hopefully reach a level where you perhaps could 
        be called proportionately unique. Maybe there&#146;s even someone somewhere 
        who picks up something from me? What do I know? But if they want to, let 
        them go ahead. I think that&#146;s the way pop music evolves. And if you 
        think more closely about it, you could probably narrow down the amount 
        of really unique pop stars to about ten. I don&#146;t know who those ten 
        are but Elvis Presley is of course one of them.&quot;</b><br>
        I think it goes without saying that there are bands and artists who have 
        the Smiths or you as role models!<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, well I&#146;d like to think so. But they refuse to admit 
        it.&quot;</b><br>
        Of course they do. Suede, for example<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, well I like them. They&#146;ve made a song that I really 
        appreciate. 'My insatiable one', which is a b-side to their first single, 
        'The drowners.' And they&#146;ve really got a wonderful reception from 
        the British music press. Suede is probably the most exiting thing to happen 
        to pop music since a long time. They and a band called Gallon Drunk.&quot;</b><br>
        What do you think you&#146;d done if Marr hadn&#146;t asked you to sing 
        with the Smiths?<br>
        <b>&quot;I would probably have become a music journalist. I actually tried 
        for a while. But failed. Nobody wanted me or what I wrote. And now, looking 
        back, it really feels relieving that I didn&#146;t turn out as a music 
        writer. Things turned out fine anyway. When I think about that question, 
        'what would I be doing if I didn&#146;t blahblahblah' I really despair. 
        Because I really believe that I would&#146;ve committed suicide. Or at 
        least considered doing it daily. Because I can&#146;t imagine myself carrying 
        out an ordinary, 'honest' job. And I know a lot of people who&#146;ve 
        wanted to make a record whole their lives and to reach success, but failed. 
        And they are all deeply unhappy people. So I think I have to consider 
        myself relatively happy.&quot;</b><br>
        Do you have a driver&#146;s license?<br>
        <b>&quot;No, but I have two cars. When I was eighteen I tried to get a 
        driver&#146;s licence, but as with so many other things in life I failed 
        completely. There were some theoretical traffic regulations that I never 
        managed. But four years ago, I bought my first car anyway. A Ford Consul 
        from 1961. And I drove around with that. But I still haven&#146;t obtained 
        that, oh so important, little card. The funny thing about that car is 
        that it belonged to the widow of a man who died just a couple of weeks 
        after purchasing the car. So it had been standing untouched in her garage 
        for twenty-five years. One day I hope I can drive around with it legally, 
        but, believe it or not, right now I have no time for learning traffic 
        prescriptions. The other car, if you&#146;re interested, is by the way 
        a pretty modern Golf GTI.&quot;</b><br>
        So they just stand there in the garage, and sometimes you have a look 
        at them?<br>
        <b>&quot;Weeeell only officially. I actually use them sometimes. As you 
        know I&#146;m such a reckless, wild, careless and completely irresponsible 
        person just like James Dean I think not.&quot;</b><br>
        You recorded a version of the Jam&#146;s 'That&#146;s Entertainment' last 
        year?<br>
        <b>&quot;And it was a completely worthless version. I wanted to make it 
        different from the original, but maybe I shouldn&#146;t have tried that. 
        The original is a classic and Paul Weller is, when he wants to be, a genius. 
        Hopefully we, Paul and I, will record a duet. I don&#146;t know what song 
        it will be yet. But if I&#146;m lucky, he will appear at a huge gala in 
        Finsbury Park where I perform in the beginning of August.&quot;</b><br>
        Weller is one of few artists that are as articulately British as yourself.<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, he is. But I had my doubts when he tried to make dance music, 
        not because it was bad. I just don&#146;t like music that you&#146;re 
        supposed to dance to. But he&#146;s absolutely a part of that small genuinely 
        British family tree that somebody should document: The Small Faces, Kinks, 
        the Who, early David Bowie, the Jam well, that&#146;s all. And me. And 
        perhaps also Madness. And some of the things Ian Dury has done. Those 
        who fit into that category are most often those who never really succeeded 
        in the U.S.A. and therefore cultivate their roots.&quot;</b><br>
        What do you think of Electronic?<br>
        <b>&quot;Nothing. I think nothing of them. That&#146;s my only answer.&quot;</b><br>
        What does an ordinary day in your life look like?<br>
        <b>&quot;Most often very, very exciting, eventful and rewarding. Just 
        kidding. Actually, it usually looks like any day at all the life of anyone 
        at all. I don&#146;t go out and stand in line at the bus stop in the rain 
        in order to get to work, but stay in bed and let my brain work instead 
        of my body. There are many odd elements in the life I lead. You often 
        have to ask yourself things like 'why, why, why?' and 'when, when, when?'. 
        And you examine everything you do in every detail. But I still don&#146;t 
        want to live a so-called normal life. I don&#146;t want to sell oranges 
        or pack great quantities of the already mentioned fruit into boxes. I 
        don&#146;t want to sew little grey buttons on to grey winter coats. So 
        hear I sit...&quot;</b><br>
        Do you read a lot?<br>
        <b>&quot;I&#146;ve decided not to become as thrilled by books as before. 
        I&#146;ve come to the conclusion that there must be other things in life 
        that could make me as carried away like reality. For example.&quot;</b><br>
        But you still live alone?<br>
        Morrissey&#146;s quiet for a while before he answers.<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, alone. Always alone.&quot;</b><br>
        So you really believe that you are, as you sing, &quot;The End Of The 
        Family Line&quot;?<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, absolutely. Which must be a great relief to the rest of 
        the world. I can&#146;t imagine anything as terrible as little Morrisseys 
        running around below the plum tree in my kitchen garden. But they would 
        probably all grow up to become law-abiding MP's and make the world a better 
        place to live in.&quot;</b><br>
        Sue, Morrissey&#146;s record company representative, knocks on the door.<br>
        &quot;Are you finished?&quot; she asks.<br>
        <b>&quot;Yes, I think so,&quot;</b> says Morrissey. <b>&quot;What do you 
        think, Andres?&quot;</b><br>
        &quot;I think I&#146;ve got what I need,&quot; I answer.<br>
        <b>&quot;Excellent,&quot;</b> says Morrissey. <b>&quot;Wait a minute!&quot;</b><br>
        Morrissey walks into his bedroom and pokes into a bag.<br>
        <b>&quot;I thought I&#146;d act manager for Gallon Drunk,&quot;</b> he 
        says and hands me a copy of their debut CD 'You, the night and music.' 
        Just before the door is closed I hear Morrissey ask Sue to bring up another 
        cup of tea.</font></p>
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<center>
  <img src="n13.gif" WIDTH="587" HEIGHT="24"> 
  <p><font size="2"><em>This interview was originally published in the September, 
    1992 issue of the Swedish magazine Slitz and was generously translated and 
    donated by Ulf Osterstrom.<br>
    Reprinted without permission for non-profit use only.</em></font></p>
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