It’s all well and good that Cash was admired by Bob Dylan and Tom Petty and Bono and various rock critics and was a peer of Elvis and Jerry Lee and Carl Perkins. However, it’s somewhat mystifying that Hilburn would rely on third party quotes and recognition instead of trying to define the gravitas of Cash in his own voice.
He may well be a great storyteller but he isn’t a great stylist and his metaphors are banal and obvious and therefore he isn’t a great novelist and this is so far from being a great novel as to be, indeed, a very ordinary one.
Moz mixes intense ego with unconsolable self doubt. In his mind, even in his 50s, he seems to see himself as one of the victims of the Manchester Moors murderer Myra Hindley, running in the dark as horrors come out at him from every direction
In his new book, he covers the history of the label, the personalities involved, the business decisions, as well as the social and political climate of the time. Most importantly, Gordon has the critical chops to get to the heart of the matter – all the timeless music that Stax produced
The writing here is Dickensian in its outrage, and while it is, of course, outrage at harm done to him himself and not to society, the ramifications are indeed for British society where the law is at the whim of a senile old bastard. Morrissey knows his “Bleak House” and by the end of the 40 pages, you can join Morrissey in absolute fury at the nonsense justice meted to him.
why would Morrissey choose not to discus his sex life in any detail in an autobiography? I mean, if Moz was in a serious homosexual relation for years on end, what songs did he write about it? Why reveal if only to conceal, if you don’t want to write about yourself, for fucks sake don’t write about yourself, but what price prudish concealment?
There is something small minded in Morrissey’s not being able to be happy. It is something very Nicholas Nickleby, very Little Dorrit, in the young Paul getting beaten by ignorant vicious school masters and something much less so in Moz complaining about Travis not appreciating him enough for saving Rough Trad
Morrissey's "Autobiography" Reviewed In Segments: "I cannot cope with anything but my inability to cope.”
One of his closest friends dies in a car wreck, another from cancer, on visits to his sister in the US nothing stems the depression so great Morrissey is nearly comatose and he can’t even get a part time job at “Targets”.
I loved glam as well, and essentially the same bands as well: T-Rex, Bowie, Roxy, Mott -you know the rolecall. And Moz writes about them with all the positive passion where until then the passion was seriously negative. 80 pages in and I’m loving it.
Whether Morrissey shall turn out to be the hero of his own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, this post must show.