Monday, May 12, 2014

Dear Moz

Dear Morrissey,

Hey. It's me. We haven't talked in awhile. Not since that night in 1988 when my parents said I was too young to have a shirtless poster of you on my wall and I said my goodbyes. (Don't worry, Moz, I put you back up a few years later when they'd mellowed.) Anyway, I saw your show on Saturday. I figured out it was my seventh time to see you in concert. It would've been WAY more, Moz, but I grew up in a smallish town in West Texas, totally in the middle of nowhere. There's no way you would've toured there. I didn't even hear your music on the radio, all they played was Garth Brooks and Boys II Men. I had to save up my allowance, wait until we went to a big city and buy your albums at the Record Bar in the mall or whatever. I remember getting Viva Hate and playing it non-stop for months. Those were the days, Morrissey!

Anyway, the point is, I've gone to your shows every time I've been able to. The first time I saw you, I had to fly all the way across the state to Houston to attend your show at AstroWorld. You played a couple of songs but then you got mad and stormed off the stage because someone threw flowers at you. You never came back out. But, I didn't blame you for it because I love you, Morrissey. You're my favorite. Even when you're a total dick. ESPECIALLY when you're a total dick. I'm even reading your freaking autobiography! (I heard it's already a classic, congrats on that.)

But, Saturday, standing in front of the stage (the closest I've ever been to you at a show!), I had one of those a-ha moments people talk about. Every time you're in town, I spend all my money getting tickets. And every time, you show footage of animals being slaughtered during "Meat Is Murder." Every time it makes me cry. It bothers me for days after. This time, I didn't even look. Not really. I looked back at the crowd behind me. I looked at the jacked up beer cup strewn floor of the Sports Arena, I looked up at the ceiling. But I still caught two glimpses of things that will haunt me maybe for the rest of my life: a baby pig with flies all over his face and a sad cow smashed into a crate.

I've always been okay with your activism because I agree with you. I understand sometimes you need to be extreme to get people's attention. But looking around at the crowd, I realized that no one cares except the people who are already avoiding meat. The rest of the people watch the horrible video and are mainly unaffected. They might be slightly annoyed or amused but they don't want to fall down on the ground and die like the vegetarians in the crowd do. They shrug it off, leave the venue and buy a bacon dog from one of the 53 vendors hovering right outside the entrance. You're only hurting your allies, Moz! You are quite literally preaching to the choir except in this case, you're traumatizing the choir.  I haven't eaten meat for almost a decade. Why should I -your loyal lifelong fan- be punished? WHY DID I HAVE TO SEE THAT POOR BABY PIG??!

Look, I love you but fuck you, Morrissey. Saturday night was the first time I've ever left a show early in my twenty years of avid concert going. Not only did you make us watch a PETA commercial, you just played what you wanted to play without any regard for your fans. I dragged my husband along and out of your entire set, he recognized two songs: "Hand In Glove" of course, because it's a Smiths' song and "Every Day Is Like Sunday." Would it have killed you to play a couple of hits instead of all the new album stuff that hasn't even been released yet?

Wait, what was that? OF COURSE I'm going to buy the new album, Moz. Duh, I'm still a fan. I just don't think I'll be going to any more shows. I'm done. Not to pour salt on this wound (because I know you really care what I think), but I'm gonna save that money for when The Cure comes through. Maybe I'll even go multiple nights. They always always kill it and LOOK MOZ NO SAD COWS!

Anyway, sorry to be so mean but I realized that night in the crowd that you don't give a fuck. It's part of your appeal. So I've decided to take a page from your book and not give any fucks either. I gotta do me, Moz, and me doesn't involve paying a shitload of money to feel bad.

Cheers,
Kendra

*photo by me, L.A. Sports Arena, 5/10/14.