At the weekend I was fortunate enough to see a cracking new band, The Smiths.

Indeed, they actually played a full set of the Meat is Murder album, and as if by coincidence, I was visited by three ducks this morning. But, more of that later.

So the  band, what a performance, what an atmosphere, as a combination of young scenesters – including a gent who looked like he cut his monk-style hair with a knife and fork and wore milk-bottle-bottom glasses akin to those sported by the secret lemonade drinker – and elder statesmen and women, one of whom was in pyjamas.

You had to be there.

Led by their charismatic frontman Morrissey, he with the outrageous quiff and affinity for flowers, who sashayed around the small stage as if his life depended upon it, the band played said album in its entirety before returning for another hour of their more famous tracks. Meat is Murder was especially haunting as the love I feel for steaks was called into question by The Smiths: indeed, the entrecote I’d devoured before hand sat a little uncomfortably as I danced the night away, whilst we were reminded of the confit de canard enjoyed by my better half only this morning when three ducks sat serenely on the wall outside our flat as we left for work, then flew off, briefly reminiscent of Hilda Ogden’s dining room wall, a particularly Morrisseyesque heroine.

The band’s encore was perhaps the highlight of the evening, classics all three, and the rousing finale proved beyond doubt that there is a light that never goes out.

This is a performance from  a couple of years back:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnLhEO9RbgU

Ok, so if not already, now you’ll realise that I haven’t been able to re-align the flux capacitor and go back twenty five years, and all it was was a tribute band here in Liverpool.

Lise had got us the tickets as a consolation for the debacle that was the Arena gig last November.

But, without even closing your eyes, this could have been the real thing. The youtube clip will highlight, to those familiar with Steven Patrick’s musings and movement on stage, that the impersonator of the frontman was an impressive performer.

It wasn’t just The Smiths Indeed though. The crowd, and atmosphere, was exactly how I would have expected some of the original concerts to have felt. Unfortunately, I was too young, and just like Everton’s halcyon days, I was born ten years too late to immerse myself fully into the experience of ‘being there’.

So, gigs like this are the next best thing, apart from DVDs and dodgy phone recordings on youtube, and this one in particular, really got me thinking.

The whole scenario of Friday night could be termed uncanny, postmodern, surreal, and that’s without the meat references or repeated ‘indeed’ jokes I made earlier. The idea of swinging gladioli around whilst watching someone who just so happens to sound and sing and look very like one of your idols is a strange, but hugely enjoyable, one.

It forced me to question not only my carnivorous nature but the idea of lookalikes and identity theft, to such an extent that Friday felt like it could easily have been part of my overall project, what with the suggestions of time travel, reliving events which could never have happened, the creation of an alter ego and the existence of shared experiences for those who have things in common but didn’t know it. Indeed, other artists and fans have had similar thoughts, such as Harry Hill (who also won Stars in their Eyes singing This Charming Man):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k37wZRwtD08

Bernard Manning and a Brookside extra: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=224-7FzXZn0&feature=related

And the wonderful Smiths karaoke project by Phil Collins (not that one): http://www.michica.org/phil%20eng.html

Now, I try to sing like Morrissey on the karaoke, but the fact that my fiancee’s father does a better job of it than me, despite hating the bequiffed one, suggests I couldn’t develop that into an exhibition piece of synchronicitous proportions, but it’s food for thought at least.

But the notion of developing a crossover character, not just a lookalike but a different person who shows similar and opposite characteristics to the original version of themselves, as portrayed in the films Being John Malkovich, Adaptation and Dead Ringers (which by chance is on this week – remember the fortune tellers talking about twins) is currently engrossing my thoughts, whilst my facebook double is gaining friends, despite a few probing questions.

Whilst you’re waiting for the next instalment, go and see The Smiths. Indeed.

This entry was posted on Monday, March 15th, 2010 at 2:54 pm and is filed under kwinkidink. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.