Writing this post under the driving flourescence of the September Supermoon, her body draped in the mystery of the impending, sanguine Harvest eclipse is sure to add a great deal of solemnity to the atmosphere, but the mood I am in needs no embellishing. I was never really into The Smiths as the handful of other people my age, around the time of my mid-teens, seemed to be. I’d always known about them, their presence somewhat of a floating spectre in my family home by way of my aunt’s musical taste, but it was through my friend, Yaz, that I became familiar with them in a more immediate way. In the manner that she had The Smiths, I had The Cure, both of who we loved dearly and shared in our exchanges of euphoria and melancholia as teenagers do, but, of course, in the intensely personal way that their music adhered itself to us. The Smiths had never really spoken to me in the entireness of their discography, but there were a few songs whose lyrics were always resonant. Now, hearing them as somebody more grown, numerically speaking, they remain exactly as they did, but more profound in their poignance because of the life experiences to which they refer.
I have always found their music incredibly beautiful, the lyrics cold in their realness with an unflinchingly sardonic narrative, and what this duality creates in the songs is bare in its relevance to anyone who empathises with their meaning, or understands it through being in desperate despondency, inner bleakness and inertia. The song ‘I Know It’s Over’ embodied all of these things to me, having found it at a time when I was feeling an increasing sense of detachment and separation in various areas of my life and I used to listen to it, repeatedly, on my own in my room, submerged in the lyrics as they were painfully and uncomically applicable to me. And, this evening, in my marital home, I found myself reacquainted with these sensations as if I was again staring at the yellow walls of my former bedroom, age seventeen, wondering whether there would ever be a point where these feelings, ones that made my life feel colourless and desolate, stripped of its personality, would cease to apply to me and, as I listened to the song, Morrissey’s clear, crystal tone swelling around me, I felt both strangeness and sobriety in knowing that, although my life has moved on more positively since then, the emotions of the girl eight years ago still live within me- a fact I have been severely aware of in all I have encountered so far- connecting me with every part of my life that I have experienced so far and I will go forward with, whether it is for better or for worse. The lyric that I take away from this instance with the song is “It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate, it takes guts to be gentle and kind” and, below, I share the song with you.