Okay, here’s something beautiful for all of you people looking for beauty.
From Morrissey’s (excellent) autobiography which The Fox gave to me some time ago and I am now finding time to read in the bathtub:
“A window-ledge in a forgotten corner of the Wool Hall Studios showcases a peculiar stringed instrument from 1777, which Johnny instantly grabs – ‘Oh, let’s see how this sounds – and, by second run-through, he can play the oddly stringed lyre that has no sound hole. The strings are possibly horsehair, and there is a barely usable tuning bar, but the sound Johnny finds is mesmerizing, and the song I won’t share you is alive. It is a fascinating moment when Johnny’s inner ear leads the way to somewhere unknown – somewhere mistrusted by all until the final depth of thought strikes. The technical term is bling.”
This, my friends, is the history behind the very best Smiths song. I’ve always loved it for the beautiful sound of the strings. Now I know where it comes from – what a gift. Merry Christmas, from Morrissey to me to you.