"Sweetness, sweetness; I was only joking when I said I'd like to smash every tooth in your head. Oh, sweetness, sweetness; I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed," so sings Morrissey. Like Sting, he made a name for himself as the vocalist/lyricist in an excellent band (featuring Marquis de Marr, the inscrutable), pumped his head full of pompous snot and tortured the world with his egregious solo work afterwards. But for a brief period of time, Morrissey was splendid. On their third album, The Queen Is Dead, the Smiths unleashed their most complex and textured work yet. First off, Mr. Marr is all over the bloody place, winding and weaving his taut guitar sequences like he didn't know the 80s were supposed to be such dreck. If you don't believe me, listen to "Bigmouth Strikes Again."
Yeah, you know it. This one gets a SUPER FUCKING TASTY from me. "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others," The Boy With A Thorn In His Side" and "Frankly, Mr. Shankly" are superb as well. "Cemetry Gates" -- listen to it, now. You can definitely hear where stellar Brit bands such as the Verve and Radiohead, among others, were influenced. I have very little to say otherwise of this album other than shame on you if you don't have it, and "Never Had No One Ever" is blah. So do yourself a favor and pick up this politically charged, beautifully written, brilliantly played masterwork from the most horrid decade of music known to man. A-
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