Morrissey: Far-right Twitter’s charming man

Again, Morrissey has uttered awful words, and his ex-fans fired back. However, underneath the usual cut-and-thrust are those who support not his music, or his fall, but what he says.



This morning, some news shot through my window, knocking over my Étouffée and skewering me in the crushed, blackened dollhouse where my heart once beat. Morrissey (of The Smiths), has redoubled his modern sound, saying awful terrible things in the media, scattering his fans, rolling their eyes and motivating their thumbs to cobble together social media epithets.



This article, or this thought, is nothing new. Long ago, a journalist decided to throw out his Smiths records as an act of resistance, writing 600 unsatisfying words about why he did it. This isn’t that, but in the repeated headlines, and the repeated outrage, I’ve noticed something. Morrissey has created a new audience. Not a fan of his music, or politics, but those who solely exist to troll him with his own lyrics.



Clearly, these people once saluted the living Morrissey, who now group at his grave to peg eggs at his headstone. We don’t need to throw out his records, because we never bought them in the first place.



There’s another strange aspect of the headline Morrissey, this Frankenstein’s monster of hate, exclusion and et cetera. Considering that Twitter is Twitter, and some are looking for a vehicle to attach their trailer of hate, there are those who respond to the cynically aimed lyrics at Morrissey, firing back through the prism of themselves, missing the context.



More and more are saluting Morrissey, not for his music, or his gaudy fall, but purely for the things that he’s saying. The same headlines two years ago were solely rostered by chided fans. Now, not so much. Perhaps the original fans have grown tired of criticising a man who will not listen, or perhaps the world’s rightward shift has moved Morrissey closer to the realms of the tolerable. There’s a fairly decent chance we’ll finally get that Smiths tour we all covet, but it may take the form of a duet with Milo Yiannopoulos, with them only touching on the far-right side of the piano.



Perhaps Morrissey’s sustained awfulness is having the opposite effect. He’s been a drip for so long, that our universal disappointment has been so scornful, he’s eventually morphed into 2019’s most valuable social curio, the free-speaking victim. If we’re willing to turn Israel Folau into a martyr in a Lamborghini, I wouldn’t be surprised if Morrissey rises in the turgid nonsense of today’s identity politics.

Twitter take a, Twitter take a bow. Boot the grime of this world in the crotch, dear.

As for what the original un-fans should do, those who love the music but not the man, it’s irrelevant, as our time has passed. Greater subspecies of fans have now taken hold. I’m not ready for Morrissey to be popular outside his music, or how far away from it he stands. He needs to forever remain the son and heir of nothing in particular that ruined everything. Nothing else.



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