An entertaining evening was spent last night watching Russell Brand doing his stand-up show "Doing Life". I went to see him just over a year ago, and had
a strange teen-obsession moment where I became utterly convinced that it was my destiny to meet him. Fortunately, this moment soon passed. Still, he's continued to take up more than a fair proportion of my thoughts and reveries since. I love listening to his
Radio 2 show. I read
his football column in the Guardian every week. And I'm expecting to get bought about 20 copies of his "Booky-wook" for Christmas. When he interviewed Morrissey on his show earlier this year it was a wonderful moment for me - the coming together of two of my most cherished heroes. Brand because he's, in my opinion, a creative soul bordering on genius and Morrissey because, well, the same thing really. Listening to them chatting and hitting it off in a very palpable way was like a sort of affirmation of my own good taste and appreciation of all things witty, challenging and un-mediocre. It's great when you get an ego boost like that just from listening to the radio!
Before we get back to the show last night, I should share with you my own deep misery over the last week or so caused by the NME's interview with Morrissey which proclaimed him a racist based on some comments he was reported to have made about immigration in the UK. When you saw the main quote used to support this argument, it was hard not to feel a shiver of revulsion:
" ... [W]ith the issue of immigration, it's very difficult because although I don't have anything against people from other countries, the higher the influx into England the more the British identity disappears. If you travel to Germany, it's still absolutely Germany. If you travel to Sweden, it still has a Swedish identity. But travel to England and you have no idea where you are... If you walk through Knightsbridge you'll hear every accent apart from an English accent."
Being a massive coward about this sort of thing, and not very good at recognising imperfection in my heroes, I deliberately didn't read the interview. I couldn't bear it. I'd just purchased myself a ticket to one of his shows in January at the Roundhouse. One of my very first blog entries was about the amazing show I saw him play in Blackburn a couple of years ago. It was my christmas present to myself. And then, but a few days later, the silly old sod goes and starts being all racist. Why do heroes go and do that?
A week or so after the publication of this interview, and I felt that I had to do a bit more investigation for myself. I'd been hoping that someone whose opinion I could trust would just do all the research and pondering the topic for me and just tell me what to think. But it wasn't to be. So I read the article, then read Morrissey's defence, the details of the libel case that he's launched against the NME, the words of the journalist who conducted the interview who demanded that his name be removed from the edited feature because he said it bore no relationship to the conversation he actually had with Moz, and, finally,
the words of other Morrissey fans beneath his Guardian blog entry categorically stating that he abhores racism. A couple of them stood out for me:
"As a Morrissey fan of colour, it has been very difficult for me to square some of his lyrics (National Front Disco & Bengali in Platforms) which can certainly be interpreted as racist, with all that is truly touching and inspiring in his work. I have been at Morrissey concerts and received dirty looks from skinheads, but I have also seen people of colour at every Morrissey show I've attended. I suppose we all see what we choose to see in our icons. I chose to not see him as racist, even though there was more evidence to the contrary (pre-You Are the Quarry). It almost makes me weep now to read Morrissey's unambiguous words that he finds racism abhorent. I have waited many years for this. Thank you."
"One, it should always have been obvious that he is not racist-- yes, it always *has* been that clear-- and two, Morrissey still does not understand how and why his language is offensive to some people. I believe the latter was the cause of Conor McNicholas's and Tim Jonze's editorial disapprobation: in their view Morrissey's language wasn't racist, merely problematic in that it unwittingly echoes the language of genuinely racist people. Too bad that McNicholas wasn't a better editor, and Jonze a better writer, because that criticism-- which does contain a kernel of validity, albeit a small one-- will now be lost in the whiplash news cycle."
"Truth is the distance between Mozz's nostalgia for a whiter England of the past is just a thin line away from racism. Just because the major political parties pander to that nostalgia doesn't make it any less toxic. Frankly, NME, Tim Jonze, and Mozz all come out of this looking a bit daft on the issue and incapable of navigating its waters with anything close to insight. And by the way Mozz, I'd give this post more credibility without the attack on Tim Jonze's age or credentials. You're a great songwriter. Stick to that and maybe think about keeping your low brow opinions on political issues to yourself."
I think that between them, these comments kind of sum up my feelings on the whole matter. Essentially, he has feet of clay. He's not a racist, but he is a bit of a twat in the way he hankers for a Britain that never existed anywhere except in his and, perhaps Alan Bennet's, head. But that will be overlooked by anyone who loves his music because it has been so central to our lives.
So, back to Russell last night. He played 10 or 15 of Morrissey's greatest tracks (all his solo material, not from the Smiths' opus, presumably to make a very specific point) and then strolled on stage to rapturous applause. And from that point on he romped about the stage and audience using us all like his own massive sex toy. Much of the show was knicker-wettingly funny. But it was much more aggressive, and more in-your-face sexual than the show last year. Last time, he managed to spin an intense web of word-play, interconnected ideas and imagination that it left you breathless and agog. Last night, it was more visceral, less subtle and, in my opinion less satisfying as a result. And in the central section of the show was a monologue about paedophiles and taboos which, might have worked rather well in his Booky-wook - or
the extract that I read of it in The Guardian did, anyway - but on stage just came across as puerile, ill-conceived and at root Just Not Funny. It was a shame because he'd set the piece up with a fantastic analysis of our fear of language - pointing out how we'll be shocked by bad language but walk past people living on the street or "eating out of bin" and dismiss it out of hand: "well, yeah, but he's always there eating out of that bin". It was a powerful point. He had the audience in the palm of his hand. But you are never going to get a laugh out of a line like: "I reckon most paedophiles are alright really". Child abuse - it just ain't funny, no matter which way you look at it. And that's not a fear of language, it's a horror at the capacity for one human to harm another.
So, hey ho. Another hero shows his imperfection. It doesn't mean I'll never go and see Russell Brand live again. I would go and see him again tonight if I could. But I'll stop assuming that everything he says is going to be a gem of genius and insight. And that's probably a good thing ultimately. Maybe that was his intention all along?
I'm running out of time and space (shit! call Where's Einstein when you need him?!) So re: hair, I'll just say this - I really really really want to have a fringe cut next time I cut my hair. I know this is just because of FASHION. Will I regret it, gentle reader? Tell me what to think!
