Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This One Before
I’ve had a complicated relationship with Morrissey concerts for most of my adult life. So I wasn’t exactly sure that I wanted to go see the Morrissey concert in Fort Worth when the dates were first announced.
If you’ve read my recent article about the infamous 1991 UCLA concert, then you already know the backstory. That night at Pauley Pavilion ended in a riot after stage invaders overwhelmed security. Prompting an LAPD response and headlines that extended well beyond the music pages. What should have been one of the great concert memories of my college years instead became the concert that haunted my Morrissey fandom for more than three decades.
The years that followed didn’t do much to improve matters. I bought tickets for Dallas shows in 2013 and 2016 that were ultimately canceled. Then in 2024, after a 33-year wait, I finally saw Morrissey again at the Music Hall at Fair Park. Just when it seemed I might finally receive a full Morrissey concert experience, stage invaders rushed the stage during the encore and abruptly ended the evening.
So when Morrissey walked onto the stage Thursday night for his concert at Ariat Arena in Fort Worth, let’s just say I arrived with a little baggage. This wasn’t just another concert for me. It was a show carrying thirty-five years of history. As a note, Ariat Arena was Dickies Arena until just days before the Morrissey show. It is now my most visited venue and a great place to see the show. Unfortunately, I35-W is a joke and it takes way too much time to get there.
Panic
The show opened with Morrissey speaking Spanish and joking that he didn’t speak English before launching into “Billy Budd.” Tambourine in hand, he immediately seemed relaxed and playful.
Then came the sound problems. For a brief moment Morrissey looked confused. For a brief moment the audience looked confused. And for a brief moment I felt thirty-five years of Morrissey-related anxiety come rushing back.
As “Billy Budd” ended, Morrissey tossed the tambourine toward the back of the stage near the massive video screen. Given the technical issues and my history with Morrissey concerts, I wasn’t sure whether I had just witnessed a moment of frustration or merely a bit of stage theatrics. But I have to say Morrissey has an arm.
Fortunately, the crisis passed quickly. Morrissey shrugged off the technical issues. When he later returned to them with a joke and an apology, you could feel the tension in the arena go away. This Morrissey Fort Worth performance would ultimately become the best Morrissey show I’ve seen.
The First of the Gang to Die
Later in the evening, Morrissey addressed the earlier sound issues. In an exaggerated mock-German accent, he told the crowd that it was “very nice to be here” before launching into “The First of the Gang to Die,” one of my favorite Morrissey songs of the 21st century. The crowd laughed and whatever tension lingered from the opening moments completely disappeared.
I’ve now seen Morrissey three times (well, really less than 2.5 times). This was easily the most relaxed and engaging version of him I’ve encountered. The biggest difference was Morrissey himself. I don’t recall ever seeing him this playful or genuinely happy to be on stage.
Before “The Youngest Was the Most Loved,” he told the audience, “Please, please feel free to interrupt whenever you wish.” Given my history with Morrissey concerts, I found that line particularly either frightening or amusing.
Prior to “A Rush and a Push and the Land Is Ours,” he jokingly spoke about someone in the audience being his daughter before quickly adding that he had left her in Romania. Prior to that he jokingly referred to something like that is what they say. I don’t know why they say that, it’s just silly.
Before “Makeup Is a Lie,” he remarked, “This song is impossible to explain, so I won’t.” And before “Kerching! Kerching!” he announced, “This song doesn’t have a double meaning. It has a single meaning.” Frankly, I wasn’t sure what he was meaning.
Even introducing the band became part comedy routine. “Let me introduce my best friends,” Morrissey said before pausing. “Well… maybe my only friends.” The crowd loved every minute of it.
The Last of the Famous International Playboys
One of the biggest surprises of the evening came with “The Last of the Famous International Playboys,” a song that hadn’t appeared in his live set since 2019. Images of a young Frank Sinatra filled the giant screens behind the stage. Longtime fans clearly understood they were witnessing something special.
The setlist featured five songs from Makeup Is a Lie, released earlier this year. Having attended a listening party for the album at County Line Records several months ago, I was familiar with the material.
While I enjoyed hearing the five songs from Makeup Is a Lie, I would have loved to hear “You’re Right, It’s Time” and “The Night Pop Dropped,” two of my favorite tracks from the album.
That said, Makeup Is a Lie remains Morrissey’s strongest officially released album in quite some time. Recent B-sides such as “Isle of Dogs” and “Without Music the World Ends” are excellent as well and demonstrate that Morrissey remains capable of producing compelling new work decades into his career.
The Smiths were represented by four songs: “A Rush and a Push and the Land Is Ours,” “Shoplifters of the World Unite,” “How Soon Is Now?” and the encore, “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out.”
“A Rush and a Push and the Land Is Ours” was a personal highlight, while “How Soon Is Now?” concluded with a dramatic flourish from the drummer on gong and timpani that added extra weight to an already powerful performance.
Meanwhile, “Everyday Is Like Sunday” featured Morrissey enthusiastically shaking maracas before casually tossing them aside at the song’s conclusion. At that point, I finally realized the tambourine toss earlier in the evening had simply been part of his stage personality rather than a sign of impending catastrophe.
“Irish Blood, English Heart” delivered one of the night’s strongest visual moments as thick smoke engulfed the stage while the band stood silhouetted against deep red lighting.
The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get
One of the more distinctive aspects of the evening was the amount of Spanish spoken throughout the show. Morrissey opened the show in Fort Worth, in Spanish and returned to it several times during the performance. Following “Jack the Ripper,” the band remained onstage while Morrissey briefly exited, and several members addressed the audience in Spanish. Two were from Texas (one originally from Fort Worth), another from Colombia, and even the Italian guitarist offered a few remarks in Spanish before switching back to English. The drummer, meanwhile, contributed what appeared to be the entirety of his Spanish vocabulary before returning to English. Given Morrissey’s long-standing connection with Latino audiences, it wasn’t entirely surprising, but it did add a unique flavor to the evening.
Attendance was another notable aspect of the show. The upper level of Ariat Arena remained closed and there were visible empty seats throughout the building. An usher I spoke with estimated attendance at around 3,000 people. Under different circumstances the sparse crowd might have hurt the atmosphere.
Rather than feeling like a half-empty arena, the evening felt more like a theater show on a larger stage. The intimacy created by the smaller audience allowed for more interaction and made the entire experience feel surprisingly personal.
Whether the attendance reflected venue selection, previous cancellations in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, or something else entirely is difficult to determine. Most stops on this tour appear to be theaters rather than arenas. What mattered was that the people who showed up were completely invested.
You Just Haven’t Earned It Yet, Baby
One of my favorite memories from the evening took place before the show even began.
While standing in the merchandise line, I struck up a conversation with a father and his 12-year-old son, after he remarked on Depeche Mode t shirt. Dad was a big Depeche Mode fan and had seen the for the first time on the Violator tour. The son had independently discovered The Smiths and become a huge fan, which immediately caught my attention.
I bought these tickets because Colton really wanted to see Morrissey and was not supposed to have a musical during this time at his high-school. Of course, they changed the schedule and he was in the final preparations for Chicago.
As parents, we quickly found ourselves talking less about Morrissey or Depeche Mode and more about sharing music with our kids. I told him about taking Colton to see many of the bands that shaped my own youth over the past several years (Echo and the Bunnymen, Adam Ant, OMD, The Human League, Howard Jones, etc.). The conversation eventually drifted to Nine Inch Nails, a show both of our families had attended in Dallas. One that remains among Colton’s favorite concerts.
There was something especially satisfying about that exchange. Here we were, two dads standing in a Morrissey merchandise line, comparing notes on concerts and watching the next generation discover music that had meant so much to us. Yet in this case, The Smiths hadn’t been handed down like a family heirloom. His son had found them entirely on his own. Forty years after The Smiths first emerged, new listeners are still finding those songs and finding themselves in them.
My wife was enjoying the evening as well. Before the night was over she picked up a Meat Is Murder-inspired Makeup Is a Lie shirt for herself, and we grabbed a shirt for Colton too.
Sing Your Life
While in our seats, the guy behind me noticed my Depeche Mode shirt and asked a simple question:
“Depeche Mode or Morrissey?”
I laughed. “I have a love-hate relationship with Morrissey.” It was the most honest answer I could have given. I said “I love The Smiths and much of Morrissey’s solo work, but he sure makes it hard to see him live.” I continued with “Dave and Martin would Never Let Me Down Again.”
The Smiths were one of the defining bands of my teenage years. Morrissey remains one of the greatest lyricists of his generation. Yet my relationship with him as a live performer has often been defined by frustration, missed opportunities, and bizarre circumstances beyond anyone’s control.
This Charming Man
Two years ago at the Music Hall at Fair Park, I thought the story was over.
After thirty-three years, two canceled shows, and the lingering shadow of UCLA, I finally got to hear songs like “How Soon Is Now?” and “Half a Person” performed live. Even when stage invaders cut the encore short, I left feeling at peace with my strange history with Morrissey.
That show healed the divide. This Morrissey Fort Worth concert did something different.
Thirty-five years earlier, Morrissey created enough chaos to land in the Los Angeles Times Metro section instead of the Calendar section. Thursday night in Fort Worth couldn’t have been more different. No one rushed the stage. Morrissey didn’t end the show early. No one went home talking about controversy, security failures, stage invaders, or bad luck.
Instead, Morrissey spent the evening joking, smiling, telling stories, playing tambourine and maracas, and reminding everyone why so many fans have remained loyal despite decades of false starts and frustrations.
Now My Heart is Full
As we walked out of the arena, I found myself thinking about the father and his 12-year-old son from the merchandise line. More than forty years after The Smiths first recorded those songs, a new generation is still discovering them for the first time.
That’s the real story. Not the riot at UCLA, the canceled concerts, or even the thirty-five-year wait. The story is that the music still matters.
For years, Morrissey existed primarily as the voice on the records that shaped my teenage years. He was the lyricist who understood alienation, humor, melancholy, and self-awareness better than almost anyone else. Even as I drifted away from some of his later catalog, those songs never lost their importance.
What I never fully understood was why people spoke so passionately about Morrissey as a live performer.
The Dallas show in 2024 reminded me why I loved the music. The Fort Worth show finally made me understand why people loved Morrissey, the entertainer.
For one evening, the Morrissey who’s recordings meant so much to me through decades of recordings became the same Morrissey standing on the stage: witty, charming, engaged, self-deprecating, and completely captivating.
After thirty-five years of riots, cancellations, stage invasions, disappointments, and false starts, that may have been the most surprising part of all.
