happy thoughts about belle and sebastian’s upcoming nyc show aside, i wonder what would happen if their perfect album covers had a bloody battle to the death with the smiths’ very extraordinary cover art (and posters). who would win? no one can say for sure, although certainly there would be a lot of very well art-directed carnage.
#573: the smiths - bigmouth strikes again (1986)
birds were chirping and the sky over washington was the color of blueberry taffy before tuesday’s long-awaited goldman sachs hearing. it was a pretty, harmless morning. the first floor of the dirksen senate office building was quiet while rows of reporters set up. a handsome couple from the financial times kept an upside-down bottle of hand sanitizer between them. the times’ louise story had a mini-bottle of diet coke by her laptop. “i’m sure some people have excitement, but not me. i do war,” an editor for the army times said in the press office.
cameramen swarmed around the empty table where the goldmen executives would sit, then just stood there. a very pretty bulgarian-born bbc producer ran her hands through her hair. the little-known goldman sachs major-domo john rogers stood quietly by himself. he is said to resemble john le carré’s george smiley, trench coat and all, but looked like another slightly rumpled reporter. a senate staff member stood a few feet away. “frankly, i’m a little afraid of them,” the staffer said. “they’re going to try to school the u.s. senate, and make them look silly.”
if you please, read more of this week’s charming n.y. observer cover story here!
just realized, stupid me, that of course bigmouth strikes again is the smiths song that needed the joan of arc album cover. “as the flames rose, to her roman nose” is the best schnoz-related smiths lyric, better even than “there’s always someone, somewhere, with a big nose, who knows.”
why a close-up from joan of arc was never put on the cover of a smiths album (or single!) is anyone’s guess. this charming man got jean marais and what difference does it make got terrence stamp, so morissey could have at the very least considered renee falconetti for pretty girls make graves and/or cemetery gates.
last night i was in a living room in upstate new york seeing jean cocteau’s wildly, hilariously, mind-bogglingly beautiful orpheus for the first time—a few hours later, across the ocean, in a town in northwest england, morrissey got on stage in front of a sold-out crowd, said “good evening, probably,” started singing this charming man, whose cover is a still from orpheus’ second best moment, winced, sagged to his knees, collapsed, and was sent to the hospital. he stayed overnight.
i hope the charming man collapse was not somehow my fault, and that morrissey’s recuperation is swift and full of jean cocteau movies.
#327: morrissey - sister i’m a poet (1988)
hugs are better than slugs and bugs, which are both better than thugs, and thugs do drugs, and sometimes if you’re in the right mood drugs can be better than hugs, except for when hyper-obsessive smiths fans are hugging semi-shirtless morrisey and getting gently pulled off by a mulleted bodyguard. (somebody should give johnny marr a hug too.)
morrissey on the cover of a smiths single, pretending to be terrence stamp pretending to be freddie clegg on the cover of a smiths single.
#219: the smiths - ask (1986)
this always reminds me of spending warm summer days indoors writing frightening verse to a bucktoothed girl in luxembourg. we weren’t in love, but the bomb kept us together.
this isn’t as nice as the posters for you’re the one for me, fatty or meat is murder, but it’s pretty okay. just joshing, it’s awesome. it’s a picture of truman capote in midair for christ’s fucking sake.
#218: the smiths - this charming man (1983)
morrisey, the only non-fictional character to ever have so much handsomeness and angst, once said, “i found that on those very rare occasions when i did get invited anywhere, i would constantly sit down and say: ‘good heavens, i couldn’t possibly go to this place tonight because i don’t have any clothes… i don’t have any shoes.’ so i’d miss out on all those foul parties. it was really quite a blessing in disguise.”
the only thing better than a smiths album is a smiths album cover, and the only thing better than a smiths album cover is a promotional poster for a smiths album (even if in the course of that album’s promotion morrissey laid down the famous zinger, “one can have great concern for the people of ethiopia but it’s another thing to inflict daily torture on the people of england.”)
#189: the smiths - sheila take a bow (1987)
are the smiths the best band since the beatles? is the one-handed, two-note fist shake morrisey does at the beginning here the best frontman dance move since the duck walk? is johnny marr’s jean jacket woven out of pure columbian heroin?
here’s one thing i know for sure: sheila take a bow is the best song ever written about a sheila, even better than, yes, to sheila, oh sheila, sheila at the farm, sheila baby, sheila said, sheila says, sheila la la, dear sheila, real sheila, sad sheila, crazy sheila, little sheila, petite sheila, psycho sheila, sheila and jake, harvey and sheila, sheila shakes, tequila sheila, or even, sheila tequila.
