this is not pitchfork

Some days you just wake up in a mood. You’re all emo even though you have no reason to be. Maybe you had a bad dream, maybe you’re PMS, maybe you just like reverting back to your young adult self when life was full of emotional pitfalls and unhealthy relationships. And you remember when you used to sit in your room and overthink every situation in your life and imagine that you are the saddest person in the entire world, so sad that they should probably hold a benefit for you, something like Hands Across America, where everyone joins together to try to bring you out of your intense funk. But you’re all like, leave me alone, let me wallow in my belief that I am alone with my sadness.

That’s when you take out The Queen is Dead and you listen to the whole album five or six times while nursing a drink in one hand and a joint in the other and by the time you get to the last playing of I Know It’s Over, you realize there is no one in this world sadder or more pathetic (in a completely adorable way) than Morrissey. And you’re ok with that, because someone has to depressing songs, and your poem “My Heart is Blacker Than That Black Outfit You Wore to the Cure Concert And I Hate You” is just a ripoff of Bigmouth Strikes Again, complete with Joan of Arc reference.

Listen, we’ve all been lonely. We’ve all been heartsick. We’ve all felt at one time as if we would live the rest of our lives in a deep, dark place that never sees the light of love. But no matter how many goth poems you’ve written, no matter how many times you sighed and declared your life to be meaningless, no matter how many times unrequited love slapped you in the face, you could never, ever pull off patheticness quite like Morrissey. It’s in every note he sings. It’s in every syllable, every word. The pain that emanates from his tortured soul reaches out like a disembodied pair of arms searching for a hug.

Listening to this album makes me want to track Morrissey down and give him that hug he yearns for and tell him, don’t worry, baby. Here, have some Xanax and a nice shot of tequila and comfort yourself with the fact people still like you. Perhaps not Johnny Marr, but people, nonetheless.

Honestly, I’ve grown tired of a lot of artists from this era. But I never, ever grow tired of The Smiths. In fact, today I ate a lonely, pathetic lunch of 2 dollar chinese food while reading the obituaries and listening to this album. Even when I’m not on the bottom of the world, Morrissey reminds me what it was like to be there. He keeps me humble.

Favorite song: This Charming Man
The History of the Smiths