I Don’t Like Them As Much As I’m Supposed To: The Smiths

I Don't Like Them As Much As I'm Supposed To

smiths I Dont Like Them As Much As Im Supposed To: The Smiths It won’t surprise you at all to find someone who doesn’t like The Smiths. In fact, throw a stone into the air and chances are, when it lands, it’ll either hit someone who hates Mozza and Co or someone who would die for him. As a young surly lad growing up in the North of England, I was expected to like The Smiths. I liked guitars. I liked the sound of a record that was ‘off the beaten track’. As far as I was concerned, though, the only people who liked ‘em were Southerners and people who had moved to Manchester from elsewhere in an attempt to feel The Smiths (didn’t have the balls to move to Salford though eh?).
Through the ’80s, The Smiths were imperial, almost walking on water in the eyes of their adoring fans. After the split, they became canonised and no bad words could ever be said against them (unless you include the laughable suggestions that Morrissey was/is a racist). Smiths discos cropped up all over the place and the quiffs got a little bit bigger. The Smiths, one of the most famous bands that had ever shouted from our shores still felt like a secret to those in the know.

Of course, culturally, I can see why The Smiths are so important. The list of bands influenced by the group is staggering. In a world that held Simon LeBon up as a hero and made stars of stadium rockers, The Smiths were a breath of fresh air. Long guitar solos? Kiss it. Misogynistic lyrics? Try a fistful of bedroom poetry bozo! Yep, The Smiths stood back from the sonic garbage that was seemingly constant during the horrendous ’80s, and dug Nick Drake and Dusty Springfield. So?
There’s something about The Smiths that switch me off completely. I don’t dislike ‘em… I really loathe ‘em. The songs, clever though they are, leave me thinking ‘oh shurrup and slam a bedroom door somewhere else’. I like someone who complains… but not soundtracked by jingly jangly guitars thanks all the same. I grew up listening to The New York Dolls and The Stooges (two faves of Mozza, granted) and liked my complaints trashy and angry. Any anger Morrissey had was hidden in amongst sonic whimsy. Dammit man! That last track on the first LP about Myra Hindley could’ve been amazing!
Of course, this is just a taste thing… so I don’t get the tunes, so what? I fear that those that love The Smiths the most are the ones that drive me away. Maybe that’s the point. But anyone who has stood outside Salford Lads Club to have their picture taken needs a good look at themselves… I mean, Jeez, how about dipping in your pockets and keeping the Lads Club alive (it’s losing money hand-over-fist) instead of pretending to be Johnny Marr? Irony and fandom don’t pay no bills. And you get the glee of keeping open an iconic symbol of British music instead of running away back to Shoreditch or Hemel Hempstead or wherever you live.
The fact is, I care far too much about bands I don’t like. Obviously, I care about the bands I do like even more, but there’s probably a few of you thinking… ‘get over it man… calm down… go and listen to ‘Raw Power’ or something… which I probably should.