Even if you’re not a fan of The Smiths, Modest Mouse, The Cribs, The The, Electronic or any of the other countless bands Marr has splashed his guitar work across for the last 30 years, you have to admire his ability to adapt seamlessly into another artist’s vision without diluting any of his style or originality. Out for the Falls Festivals and a few sideshows to focus on first ‘proper’ solo album, The Messenger, it’s finally time that his vision comes to the fore.
For those amongst us who don’t mind The Smiths but can’t hack the histrionic vocals, tonight’s show was a godsend. Call it heresy, but to me the worst thing about The Smiths has always been Morrissey’s poncey warble. With six Smiths songs performed, it decisively set in stone that the best thing about The Smiths was invariably the bursts of liquid sunshine that dripped off the neck of Marr’s Rickenbacker or in tonight’s case, Fender Jaguar.
As a tee-totalling vegan, he’s living proof you don’t need booze or hamburgers to ooze confidence onstage. He frequently sashays to the edge of stage, holds his guitar up to cast a majestic shadow, waves his hands outwardly to draw attention to certain strums, and peacocks around like a elegant version of a dude from Steel Panther, except that Marr’s earned the right to strut.
He never really does a solo in the classical sense, running up a scale to bend a note here or there. He chimes notes like they’re distant medieval bells and leaves ample space to allow the sound to lovingly caress your inner ear. During Words Start Attack he accidentally unplugged a lead from the effect pedals so had to DI it into his amp, and it lost little in quality. His playing is visually evocative, often invokes wide-eyed dopamine release and is always impeccably tasteful. Put simply, the man is a goddamn God-like genius.
BY NICK HILTON
Loved: The girls were fellas and the guys darlings, ‘cos “I’m from England”.
Hated: The exclusion of European Me from the setlist.
Drank: Jumbo sized Bulmers.
