COLUMN: Morrissey

I've been amusing myself this week with "Locke and Key," a good Halloween popcorn show on Netflix. In the series, a widower moves her family into a creepy house where they discover magical keys. One key opens doors to anywhere. You just think of a place, put the key in a lock, open the door, and you're there.

This got me daydreaming: If I had a magic key that could teleport me anywhere, where would I go? Would I explore far-off lands? Pay Katie Holmes a visit? Or would I just use it as a faster way to get to Walgreens? 

I think my first stop might be a concert venue in England, in order to see what might be the best cover band of all time, fronted by the unlikeliest of heroes. None of knew we'd need him in 2021, but he might just be our saving grace. At the very least, he'll never give us up, let us down, or desert us.

When you were a kid, was there a musician you idolized? Someone whose lyrics spoke to you, whose music moved you in a way you barely understood? Maybe you liked the cut of Elvis' hips. Maybe you grew up with a Jimi Hendrix poster on your wall. Maybe you were a Deadhead or a Fanilow. Heck, maybe you're a Belieber or a member of the BTS Army right now.

For me, there was one singer who sat on a pedestal above most others.

If you were a smart, awkward loner growing up in the 1980s, there was one voice you could always turn to. His name was Steven Patrick Morrissey, and he fronted one of the most important bands in the world: The Smiths. If you're unfamiliar, don't worry. Casey Kasem never once uttered their name. The Smiths didn't live on the radio or in dance clubs. Most people had no clue they existed. They even named one of their albums "The World Won't Listen." But to their fans, The Smiths were everything.

If you were an indoor kid who preferred books to sports, suddenly there was a pop idol you could identify with. Your parents might not have understood you, but Morrissey did. With a sardonic wit and a catchy hook, he could sing your life. His lyrics were depressing, charming, achingly funny, and self-deprecating -- often all in the same verse.

Morrissey wasn't afraid to tell you that life sucked, people were stupid, and most things were hopeless -- not exactly your stereotypical pop anthems. But Morrissey fans weren't stereotypes. For a weird and awkward kid like me, he was a hero.

But a few years back, things went sideways. As the years have passed, Morrissey's become less of a truthsayer and more of a... terrible human being. In a misguided attempt to call out animal cruelty, Morrissey thought wise in a recent interview to declare, "You can't help but feel the Chinese are a subspecies." His anti-immigration rhetoric is troubling at best, downright racist at worst. He even voiced his support for Kevin Spacey and Harvey Weinstein, saying, "if you go through history, almost everyone is guilty of sleeping with minors. Why not throw everyone in jail right away?"

His fans are leaving by the droves. Even the Simpsons mocked him in a recent episode when Lisa meets a pretentious British singer named Quilloughby who sings a song called "Everyone is Horrid Except Me (And Possibly You.)" Any fleeting hopes of a Smiths reunion have forever been dashed -- the rest of the band want nothing to do with him.

I've stopped idolizing the guy, but I still love the music of The Smiths and those songs that helped me through adolescence -- songs that may have just been saved... by Rick Astley.

Yep, THAT Rick Astley. The corny radio-pop hero whose inescapable "Never Gonna Give You Up" has been Rick-rolling us on the interwebs for over a decade. As it turns out, Rick's actually a pretty cool guy. He's also one of those indoor kids who spent the 80s idolizing Morrissey. And he's got the pipes to match. 

So when Rick posted a short clip of himself belting out a Morrissey tune with the band Blossoms, Smiths fans around the world lost their collective minds. Now, he and Blossoms are actually playing a few select pop-up gigs as a proper Smiths tribute band. But instead of Morrissey's pomp and pretention, you get Rick Astley in a Hawaiian shirt pogoing around like your drunk uncle at a karaoke bar having a blast. The kind of blast I'd waste a magic key to witness.

I spent years hoping to see Morrissey. Now, I think I'd rather see Rick Astley onstage doing these brilliant songs justice in the least pretentious way possible. Or, as a rock critic at Vulture said last month, "It's settled. He's Morrissey now."

Anyone have a key I could borrow?