Album: Strangeways, Here We Come
Artist: The Smiths
Artist: The Smiths
Born: Stretford, Manchester
Released: September 1987
Genre: Indie Rock
Influenced: PJ Harvey, Low, The Verve, Belle & Sebastian, Bright Eyes, Arcade Fire
Even counting the many wonderful compilation records that the band released on the Rough Trade label, this is still comfortably my favourite Smiths album. Johnny Marr and Morrissey both recognise it to be their crowning glory. It was also the first Smiths album that I ever bought, after picking up a second-hand CD copy at a music fair in Greenwich back in the mid-90s, at a time when many of my favourite groups were citing them as an inspiration. Strangeways, Here We Come is a brilliantly evocative title -- less a reference to the Manchester prison (which Deep Purple and Kate Bush also alluded to in song), and more a pointer to the new directions that the band members were heading in now that the Marr-Morrissey partnership was on the rocks. In the same way, the album marks a move away from the typical Smiths sound, instead favouring the use of new technology (drum machines, synthesizers) and strings. I also like how Morrissey is willing to take himself less seriously in some songs, notably the self-parody of Stop Me..., while also developing as a songwriter as he explores his Irish roots (A Rush & A Push...) and the AIDS crisis (Death Of A Disco Dancer) on others ("If you think peace / is a common goal / that goes to show / how little you know").
Death Of A Disco Dancer is the best illustration of how the band were expanding their sonic palette, with a song that descends into a long guitar-and-piano-driven jam that is bleak but a perfect prelude to the comically upbeat Girlfriend In A Coma. This single was released the same week that the band split up (mid-August 1987, just before the album's came out) and is full of Morrissey's abrasive wit ("Do you really think / she'll pull through?"). The ghostly opening to A Rush & A Push... makes for a dramatic start to the album and Morrissey's growl sounds like a war cry, while the crunchy glam guitar and saxophone on I Started Something make for an entertaining if unsatisfying listen. One of my favourites on the album is Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me, with what sounds like a rioting prison crowd in the background along side a disjointed piano riff; after the song's extended opening comes Morrissey's stunning vocal performance and a real sense of drama. This was exciting new territory for the Smiths and it's a shame they didn't go on to experiment further. Sombre singalong Unhappy Birthday and record industry whinge Paint A Vulgar Picture ("Re-issue! Re-package") are more forgettable moments, but the album closes with the jaunty Death At One's Elbow and moving I Won't Share You (which apparently reduced drummer Mike Joyce to tears). Just as the band sounded like they were moving in an exciting new direction, they went their separate ways.
Even counting the many wonderful compilation records that the band released on the Rough Trade label, this is still comfortably my favourite Smiths album. Johnny Marr and Morrissey both recognise it to be their crowning glory. It was also the first Smiths album that I ever bought, after picking up a second-hand CD copy at a music fair in Greenwich back in the mid-90s, at a time when many of my favourite groups were citing them as an inspiration. Strangeways, Here We Come is a brilliantly evocative title -- less a reference to the Manchester prison (which Deep Purple and Kate Bush also alluded to in song), and more a pointer to the new directions that the band members were heading in now that the Marr-Morrissey partnership was on the rocks. In the same way, the album marks a move away from the typical Smiths sound, instead favouring the use of new technology (drum machines, synthesizers) and strings. I also like how Morrissey is willing to take himself less seriously in some songs, notably the self-parody of Stop Me..., while also developing as a songwriter as he explores his Irish roots (A Rush & A Push...) and the AIDS crisis (Death Of A Disco Dancer) on others ("If you think peace / is a common goal / that goes to show / how little you know").
Death Of A Disco Dancer is the best illustration of how the band were expanding their sonic palette, with a song that descends into a long guitar-and-piano-driven jam that is bleak but a perfect prelude to the comically upbeat Girlfriend In A Coma. This single was released the same week that the band split up (mid-August 1987, just before the album's came out) and is full of Morrissey's abrasive wit ("Do you really think / she'll pull through?"). The ghostly opening to A Rush & A Push... makes for a dramatic start to the album and Morrissey's growl sounds like a war cry, while the crunchy glam guitar and saxophone on I Started Something make for an entertaining if unsatisfying listen. One of my favourites on the album is Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me, with what sounds like a rioting prison crowd in the background along side a disjointed piano riff; after the song's extended opening comes Morrissey's stunning vocal performance and a real sense of drama. This was exciting new territory for the Smiths and it's a shame they didn't go on to experiment further. Sombre singalong Unhappy Birthday and record industry whinge Paint A Vulgar Picture ("Re-issue! Re-package") are more forgettable moments, but the album closes with the jaunty Death At One's Elbow and moving I Won't Share You (which apparently reduced drummer Mike Joyce to tears). Just as the band sounded like they were moving in an exciting new direction, they went their separate ways.
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