Your Arsenal
"Morrissey's best solo work to date"

You're Gonna Need Someone On Your SideGlamorous GlueWe'll Let You KnowThe National Front DiscoCertain People I KnowWe Hate It When Our Friends Become SuccessfulYou're The One For Me, FattySeasick, Yet Still DockedI Know It's Gonna Happen SomedayTomorrow
Released In July 1992

Yea-Sayers:

TO KILL A MOCKING BIRD

SIMON GODDARD DEFENDS MORRISSEY'S HIGHLY CONTROVERSIAL 1992 'GLAM RENAISSANCE', YOUR ARSENAL

He's been called a poet, a genius, the voice of his generation and the greatest living Englishman- He's also been condemned as "devious and truculent" in the eyes of a high court judge, targeted by The Sun, accused of condoning paedophiles and still finds himself haunted by hysterical charges of racism To be Morrissey is to be no stranger to controversy.

First the Thatcherite tabloids (goaded by former Sounds writer Gary Bushell) had hounded The Smiths for allegedly promoting child-abuse on ', Reel Around The Fountain" Then came a similar outcry, provoked by "Suffer Little Children". an account of the Moors murders that was equally misconstrued by the popular press. Meanwhile, naming an album The Queen Is Dead ranked him as pop's public enemy number one. After "Shoplifters Of The World Unite", questions were raised in the House of Commons. " Margaret On The Guillotine" was subversive enough to warrant a police investigation (as mischievously recollected on 1990's "He Knows I'd Love To See Him") When Morrissey later sang "Trouble Loves Me", it was no jest.

Throughout such misdemeanours Morrissey had been largely supported by the British music press, eager to ally themselves with their favourite cover star against the Conservative moral majority. That all changed, irrevocably, on August 8, 1992, when against a stage back-drop depicting two skinhead girls, Morrissey wrapped himself in the Union Jack at that year's Finsbury Park Madstock weekender.

The press reaction was to berate his use of "fascist imagery , interpreting the national flag in the context of the skinhead backdrop as a dangerous flirtation with far-right extremist parties (even though it had been a hardcore skinhead minority, hurling bottles and abuse, that had forced him to abandon his set). The NME's subsequent "This Alarming Man" feature pronounced him guilty as charged. Young Asian bands- Cornershop included - burned his records outside the offices of Morrissey's label, EMI. Only last winter, touring the UK after a two-year hiatus with no record to promote, an NME columnist likened him to a Nazi war criminal, suggesting he be "bricked" off stage. The verdict still stands.

After Finsbury Park, when Britpop reclaimed the Union Jack and effectively legitimized fervent nationalism. Morrissey never received his due pardon. With the whole country rediscovering their appetite for jingolism during the Euro '96 soccer tournament, to be Noel with the flag on your guitar or to be Ginger Spice (a self-confessed Thatcherite) in that dress, was to be a patron saint of "Cool Britannia" It was a tragic Irony.

For Morrissey, the real tragedy of Finsbury Park was that it sabotaged what had until then been his boldest manoeuvre since The Smiths Four years after the initial solo Number

One honeymoon of 1988's Viva Hate, In the wake of ever decreasing singles chart positions and 1991's bitterly disappointing Kill Uncle, Morrissey once the most important man in pop - was fast becoming obsolete. He needed a dramatic comeback and, although it would ultimately lead him to his fate at Finsbury Park, Your Arsenal was it.

The omens for Morrissey's third solo album improved with his first full-scale tour since The Smiths to promote Kill Uncle, paradoxically, his weakest recording ever was the catalyst for stage one In Morrissey's rebirth His new band of unknown Camden Town rockabillies restored his confidence as a performer while guitarists Alain Whyte and Boz Boorer would soon emerge as the longest serving co-writers of his entire career Just as crucial was producer Mick Ronson, once Ziggy Stardust's iconic right-hand guitar hero (who would tragically lose his battle against cancer the following year). Ronson enticed Morrissey to fulfil his most perverse glam fantasies, symbolically shedding the fey indie-skin of bedsit miserablism and with it the ballast of The Smiths. It was as if Morrissey wiped the slate clean, baptising himself anew as a bona fide rock star Hell, a glam rock star.

There was the Bolan-esque "Certain People I Know", a virtual rewrite of " Ride A White Swan" that would even be issued in a promo pastiche of the classic T-Rex Wax Co design sleeve. On the glitter-stomping "Glamorous Glue" and "You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side", it finally registered that Morrissey really had been besotted with The New York Dolls "I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday" even plagiarised Ronson's past; the "Won-der-ful" climax of Bowie's "Rock 'N' Roll Suicide". Stranger still, Bowie himself would cover this same track on 1993's post-Tin Machine comeback Black Tie, White Noise - a bizarre case of Bowie doing Moz doing Bowie His genius for self-deprecating melodrama returned with a vengeance on the serene "Seasick, Yet Still Docked", pulverising the soul with its exorcism of emotionally alienated despair ("All my life, nobody's ever given me anything") Similarly, the punch-line frivolity of the singles "We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful" and "You're The One For Me, Fatty" were the work of an old master rediscovering his irrepressible sense of pop vaudeville with fresh zeal.

Yet at the heart of Your Arsenal boils a more savage documentary, one of turnstile thugs and social misfits finding strength in the politics of hate; an unspoken, ideologically fucked-up England at odds with its past, terrified of its future "We'll Let You Know", an objective psychoanalysis of football hooliganism, remains depressingly relevant given the recent shame of Euro 2000 ("The songs we sang, they're not supposed to mean anything").

More problematic still is "The National Front Disco" - in which Morrissey dares to humanise a member of the far-right. While dangerously empathetic (with no accompanying lyric sheet we weren't to know, as he later insisted that "England for the English" is recited in quotation) the "dream" of white rule the song's protagonist clings to is a hopeless one; for "you want the day to come sooner", read "You just haven't earned it yet, baby." Morrissey knows a loser when he sees one, NF conscripts included.

Your Arsenal stirred up some uncomfortable home truths about our national character, insights only a social commentator as arch as Morrissey would even think about putting into song. But hadn't he always? Morrissey is in his prime when overstepping the mark, missing on taboos, unafraid of the consequences. As an audacious two-finger salute to his native country, Your Arsenal is up there with the best of The Smiths.

Indeed, its release coincide with just that: The Smiths' posthumous Best Of... compilation reaching Number One that summer. With his most accomplished solo work not far behind and the reissued "This Charming Man" back in the Top 10, suddenly Morrissey was the people's friend again.

Until Finsbury Park, that is.

His failure to react to the racism charges by way of an official public apology was taken by many as a confirmation of guilt. Rallying to his defense however, Tony Parsons later commented, "Morrissey could invade Poland and I still wouldn't believe he is a nazi." Absolutely. Would a racist ever make a point of including Bob & Marci's "Young, Gifted and Black" or Afro-American poet Maya Angelou reciting her own fiercely poignant "No, No, No, No" on pre-gig tapes played to packed arenas world-wide? Come on, would a fascist ever lament her majesty's death and Mrs T's head on a chopping block? Morrissey himself would reflect, "I think that if the National Front were to hate anyone it would be me."

Like the man said, if we don't believe him now, will we ever believe him.
- Simon Goddard, Uncut, November 2000


LOVING
Morrissey Saves Himself


There comes a point in many major artists' careers where they have to make an album of some significance or the game is well and truly up. Morrissey is at exactly that point. The solo career had reached a stage where the song titles were more interesting than the songs themselves, and many a revisionist knife was sufficiently sharpened to suggest that The Smiths have had little lasting influence - unless James and Raymonde really count - and that, bar a few cracking singles, they weren't actually that great. Your Arsenal is his musical salvation.

It's his wise choice of sidemen that really scores. Mick Ronson is Morrissey's ideal producer. Aside from his serious health problems placing the singer's hypochondria in its proper context, his glam background matches Morrissey's latent '70s fixation, giving a beefy sound - huge drums, sparingly used power chords - that has previously been missing. Guitarist Boz Boorer, an ex-Polecat, might appear a strange choice, but he's well up to the task - if anyone puts a foot wrong, it won't be him.

Importantly, most of the tunes just beg to be whistled. Ex-Fairground Attraction Mark Nevin co-writes a brace of songs but on the rest it's rockabilly guitarist Alain Whyte (ex-Rug Cutter and Memphis Sinner who's been with Morrissey since 1990) who gives Morrissey some of the purest melodies he's ever sung. As for Morrissey himself, he's stopped droning once and for all and even if he can't quite manage sexy, at least he doesn't sound like he's whinging about having to go to the laundrette.

The introduction to the opening You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side (co-written with Nevin) promises a new improved Morrissey. At once it resembles the grumgling murmur of Richard Thompson's Read it In Books, the rush of The Smiths' The Queen Is Dead and some old swamp-rockabilly tune even the Polecats never heard. Later in the same song, Morrissey tells a joke: "And here I am," he declaims, as if there were any debate as to whom the "someone" you need is. "Well, you don't need to look so pleased," he moans, right out of Frankie Howerd.

There are many deft, loving touches like that. We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful ("And if they're Northern, that makes it even worse") features strained laughter, "ha, ha, ha, ha, ha", after all sorts of "ooh, look at those clothes" type bitchiness. You're The One For Me, Fatty is as funny as it should be, and The National Front Disco shows a bold willingness to re-open old debates - recalling the misguided campaign to portray Morrissey as racist because he didn't much go for reggae, and the Viva Hate track Bengali In Platforms, which was an irresponsible title for a feeble song - and has a glorious chorus to boot, although clearer enunciation would have helped Morrissey's cause no end. I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday even has samples on it, which splendidly offset Morrissey at his most impassioned and dramatic.

Certain People I Know is Bolan's Ride A White Swan re-visited and it's as if Morrissey has finally dared to do what he's always really wanted: to merge his childhood rocking (his New York Dolls fetish is well-known) with his own distinct lyricism. Your Arsenal is his best solo work yet and easily stands comparison with the best of The Smiths. (*****)
- John Aizlewood, Q, September 1992

Introducing his first coherent band since The Smiths and produced by an inspired outside bet, veteran glam rocker Mick Ronson, Morrissey's muscular third solo studio effort helped rehabilitate much of his critical and commercial standing, especially in America. Unfortunately, his growing fascination with romanticised East End thugs and racists in songs such as "We'll Let You Know" and "The National Front Disco" lost him much goodwill, a situation not helped by provocative interviews and the unprecedented lack of a lyric sheet. A qualified triumph. (***)
- Stephen Dalton, Uncut, 1998


GUNNER MAKE HIM A STAR

Didn't realise he wrote such bloody awful poetry did we? When Morrissey was King Of The World - not so long ago - the very notion of downfall, of imperfection, of embarrassment, of vicious, cold-hearted betrayal was unthinkable. The years 1983 to 1987 were industrial light and magic. The Smiths were the first post-punk upshot to lace misery with wit, verve, invention and an almost surgical sense of occasion. The Smiths were the greatest bet of the 1980s; it shouldn't even need stating.

It does need stating. For since their premature demise, Moz has gone about making The Smiths' memory look and feel like shit. He might be a big Morrissey fan (the biggest), but he cares little for The Smiths these days. Do we not have ears? Is that not the sound of one man clapping himself on the dire likes of 'Ouija Board Ouija Board', 'Our Frank' and 'You're The One For Me, Fatty'? Has Morrissey no regard whatsoever for the loyal wretches who fill Angst with their religious fanaticism every week and ensure these bloodless singles the bogus glory of straight-in-at-22-and-out? We have now beaten the living daylights out of our favourite word -'sad- with a stick named over-use. What a shame - for never has a performer-audience relationship so achingly deserved the term. How sad are we? And how sad can we possibly get?
Hold your horses. I love and hate being the one to report this, but Morrissey has just given us a clue that there may be something other than die-hard desperation and decaying nostalgia to hold us all together next year. 'Your Arsenal' is it. The fourth solo album, so misleadingly fanfared into the marketplace with Morrissey's worst two singles EVER (the contrary bastard), is, if not a revelation, certainly less than a war crime. And that's incredible enough. It ought to have been his tombstone, instead it is a milestone. Of sorts.

This tatty old fairy was sat on the top of his own Christmas tree for four years; the tinsel started to fall away, the baubles got stolen, and the branches went bald. How we laughed when Morrissey recruited those YTS rockabillies as his band, started hanging out with Mensi, issued some Carry On Fatwah on the author of a book about his old band, and angled for reflected glory off Mick Ronson. Morrissey might well have withered on the vine this week, forever remembered as the bloke on the calendar in Sean's Show, an end-of-the-pier freak, the Alan Bennett Talking Head that was too distressing to broadcast. But, no.

'You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side', Track One, tempts a reflex cat-swipe with its "You can't do it by yourself any longer" line (The Boy Looked For Johnny, anyone?), but actually plays to Morrissey's pub combo's strengths, being a filthy, reverberating rockabilly thrash. One of two tracks carried over from the Mark Nevin period, this disarming opener hits you where it hurts - in the preconceptions. Morrissey's vocal is even (heresy!) buried in the mix for extra grime points - the first hint that Mick Ronson's brave production may be this arsenal's gunpowder. The stompalong 'Glamorous Glue' evokes 'Spirit In The Sky' and 'Rock'n'Roll Part Two', successfully articulating Morrissey's long-standing fetish for '70s Glam, and, again, knighting Ronson as far more than just a rich man's folly. Add to this the barefaced steal of 'Ride A White Swan''s riff for 'Certain People I Know' and the joyous footnote to Bowie's 'Rock'n'Roll Suicide' in 'I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday' and you're getting a rather more thrilling picture than the pale and unambitious 'Kill Uncle'.

The Smiths Group are even granted a touching revival herein, with arch slowies 'We'll Let You Know', 'I Know It's Gonna Happen...' (Nevin's other contribution; a beauty) and 'Seasick, Yet Still Docked'. These spellbinding off-season coastal townscapes are, literally, just like the ones Marr used to make, the first sighs and swoons, lying "The songs we sing, they're not supposed to mean a thing". All very post-modern and funny, but no satisfactory disclaimer for the song's sign-off line: "We are the last truly British people you will ever know...". This conjures a sick white supremacism that ought not be flirted with. Particularly when followed by the crassly-titled 'National Front Disco', a filler track that's oblivious to the impressionable (and dim) nature of Morrissey's younger fans, eager to hang by his every word. There is no lyric sheet with this record; I have procured a hand-typed copy from an industry spy and I can see that the line "'England for the English'" is presented in quote marks. I am lucky. Watch your arsenal, Moz.

Talking of rank stupidity, Side Two is scuppered by 'those' two singles, back to back, dragging a decent disc into the realms of sloth and impotence. It's hard to relate this ugly lull with the power and glory of 'Seasick...' which follows. Alain Whyte's co-writing credit suddenly seems less like Richard Digance bailing out Tony Hancock. Morrissey's lyric rips at your fat, smug, cholesterol-wrapped heart ("Wish I had the charm to attract the one I love/But, you see, I've got no charm") and the guitars ache and whistle and mock and weep and... stop me if you've heard this one before.
If they'd switched the adore-me Morrissey shot on the outer sleeve with the sepia snap of Charles Richardson on the inner, 'Your Arsenal' could've been a contender for fifth Smiths album. It's only good, but it's not shite, and if you still hate it when Morrissey becomes successful, tune in. The Queen's not dead. (7)
- Andrew Collins, New Musical Express


Morrissey's Kill Uncle album of last year was just over 30 minutes long - and equally short of bold musical ideas. The doubters were left to feed on Mozzer's decline with glee. For all its elegant restraint, the LP failed to disguise Morrissey's position as a distant and irrelevant figure, confirming a trend suggested by the uneven pop of Viva Hate and Bona Drag, and the growing importance of English pop bands like the Happy Mondays and The Stone Roses.

Come '92, however, a shortage of home-grown talent and renewed interest in The Smiths has caused the fickle wind of fame to blow, once again, in Morrissey's favour. First came Johnny Rogan's controversial tome The Severed Alliance; then WEA's compilation of Smiths material. More importantly, though, there is now Your Arsenal.

This is Morrissey's best solo work to date: a prodigal return achieved with all the confident swagger of Stephen [sic] Patrick's favourite new pretenders, Suede. The former Smiths singer has, at last, made a positive, loud and involved record, drawing inspiration from the highlights of his own musical past - in particular acoustic material like 'Back To The Old House' - and an imaginative delve into his record collection.

The opening gambit, 'You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side', features a powerful psychobilly riff, thrust into the spotlight by the firm hand of Mick Ronson, former Bowie cohort and producer of this new opus. A strong opening, consolidated in quick succession by the album's heaviest track, 'Glamorous Glue', a blatant 'Jean Genie' steal (complete with critic-provoking lyric "London is dead"), which is carried off with a panche Morrissey seemed incapable of mustering only a few months ago.

More glam lift comes on the catchy 'Certain People I Know', but this song represents a melodic, guitar-pop style typified by the two singles, 'We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful' and 'You're The One For Me, Fatty', plus the equally-catchy 'The National Front Disco' - all co-written with guitarist Alain Whyte.
A further dimension to the album is represented by a trio of acoustically-based songs: 'We'll let You Know', 'Seasick, Yet Still Docked' and 'I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday'. Radio samples, ticking clocks, gentle squalls of feedback and milaristic rhythms build-up the atmospheres on these tracks - in stark contrast to the sparsely-textured sound of Kill Uncle.

'We'll Let You Know' is cold and stoical, opining: "We're the last truly British people you ever know" [sic] to a jingoistic beat. Although 'Seasick, Yet Still Docked' deals with Morrissey's favourite theme of unrequited lust and love - "Wish I had the charm to attract the one I love/But you see I've got no charm" - and luxuriates in sadness, the album closes in optimistic mood: 'I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday' is a wistful look into the future, and 'Tomorrow' seals the album on a positively triumphant note.

Whether Your Arsenal is Morrissey's final flourish, or the first sign of a powerful new direction, remains to be seen, but it is undoubtedly a pleasing work from a writer who, these days, irritates and inspires in equal measure.(8)
- Steve Malins, Vox


Nay-Sayers:

"You're the One for Me, Fatty" - intriguing, provocative, sardonic, compassionate. "We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful" - incisive, bitter, accurate, wounding. No one can title a song the way Morrissey can. Rightly, he considers the rest of the manual labor (tunes, etc.) beneath him, but on this occasion, he's got a chugging bunch of rockabilly manservants creating the illusion of excitement which he is then able to puncture as soon as he opens his mouth. Oh, the irony.
- Bernstein, Spin



Moz-Speak:

"The 'Rock And Roll Suicide' riff was an absolute accident. David Bowie mentioned to Mick that he thought the end of the song was from 'Rock And Roll Suicide' and it's true, now that I listen I can hear it, but at the time it was completely accidental. It wasn't something that Mick threw on or instigated. It was an accident."
- Morrissey on "I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday", Alternative Press, February 1993


"The reason why 'The National Front Disco' was pounced upon was really because - if I may say so - it was actually a very good song. And if the song had been utter crap, no one would have cared. I was stopped by many many journalists who obviously raised the topic in an accusatory way, and I would say to them, Please, now, list the lines in the song which you feel are racist and dangerous and hateful. And they couldn't. Nobody ever ever could, and that irked me. Even though, simply in the voice on all of those songs, on 'Asian Rut' or 'Bengali In Platforms' or 'The National Front Disco', one can plainly hear that here is no hate at all."
- Morrissey, Select, May 1994


"You're the first person who's said that and it's nice that somebody has."
- Morrissey on a comment that the cover of Your Arsenal is "homo-erotic" , Q, September 1992


"I didn't want to use a lyric sheet. I wanted to make as physical a record as I possibly could instead of contantly being curled up in a little ball at the foot of the bed."
- Morrissey on Your Arsenal, Q, September 1992


"I like to feel, in some small way, that I'm not actually restricted in anything I wish to write about. Of course, within the exciting world of pop music, the reality is that we are restricted. Whether you chose to write about wheel-chair bound people, November Spawned A Monster, or the subject of racism, The National Front Disco, the context of the song is often overlooked. People look at the title and shudder and say, Whatever is in that song shouldn't exist because the subject, to millions of people, is so awful."
- Morrissey on "The National Front Disco", Q, September 1992


"I understand the level of patriotism, the level of frustration and the level of jubilance. I understand the overall character. I understand their aggression and I understand why it must be released. I'm not a football hooligan... You might be surprised by that. But I just understand the character. I just do. I've got a computer at home for such things."
- Morrissey on football hooligans, the subject of "We'll Let You Know", Q, September 1992


"I don't know if you know anything about Marc Bolan, but he took a lot of inspiration from rock'n'roll. If, for example, you listen to early Carl Perkins you'll probably hear Marc Bolan playing 'Ride A White Swan' in the background... although I doubt it.."
- Morrissey tries to explain away charges that "Certain People I Know" plagiarises T.Rex's "Ride A White Swan", Q, September 1992