Pissing off Scenesters Since 1995
This post originally appeared on Chris Gethard’s blog, please feel free to visit his site. He’s the funniest comedian around and a good friend of the Bungalo.
“I Walked A Pace Behind Him At The Soundcheck, He Was Just The Same As I Am!” is paraphrase of a lyric in one of my favorite songs by the Smiths. Now, I assume if you are on this blog, you know I’m a fan of Morrissey, if only because of the name of the blog. I won’t get too melodramatic about it, but Morrissey is literally the artist that I hold closest to my heart. Not only is his music amazing in my eyes, but the principles he puts out in that music have influenced me greatly as both a person and a performer. Morrissey’s music has at some of the worst times in my life been the last crutch that I have been able to lean on. I even stole the guy’s haircut, for Christ’s sake.
Anyway, last night Moz played the Jimmy Fallon show. I have some friends who work there so I called in (begged?) a favor and got tickets to the show. I was hoping to hang out backstage to meet Moz, but wound up sitting in the seats. At a certain point, I was like, “Oh well, guess today ain’t the day I meet the man.”
Then at the end of the show, my friend grabbed and was like “You can leave through the V-VIP exit in the hallway,” and me and my buddy Nick Mougis ran out there.
Nick and I are both huge Morrissey fans. I’ve been friends with Nick for like nine years now, but our bond became something really special when we drove from LA to NYC together in 2004. We were talking about it yesterday and we listened to Morrissey’s solo album “You Are the Quarry” at least fifteen times in its entirety during the trip. Now we have this sort of unspoken unbreakable spirit that comes from such an experience.
Anyway, I’m standing there getting all nervous, wondering if Morrissey left before I got a chance to meet him. But then I see his guitarist, Boz Boorer, walk down the hallway. Then his other band members joined Boz and this growing entourage and I realized that even though he wasn’t in view yet, “Holy shit, Morrissey is right there.”
After a few moments, he comes around the corner. For some odd reason, I had chosen to lean against one wall by myself while literally everyone else was against the wall across from me. So this means that Moz’s whole posse gets on the other side of him to block him from dozens of people – and he’s literally going to pass four inches from me. Like, he is about to bump into me in the crowded hallway.
As he passes, I quietly lean over and say “Morrissey?”
He stops and turns.
“I’m a huge fan,” I continue. “Would you mind signing my arm?”
I hand him the opened Sharpie I had ready just for this opportunity.
“Of course,” he says, all gentle and quiet and shy, in other words, Morrissey-ish.
He starts to draw his name on my arm, really concentrating and taking his time.
“Your songs have had a really profound effect on me,” I tell him. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Hard to believe,” he says. I grin. (Later, Fran points out to me – Did he mean hard to believe that they’ve had an effect on me? Or hard to believe that I can’t thank him enough? Oh, Morrissey, you fucking wordsmith. I’m amazed you are that good in person.)
“Believe it or not, it’s true,” I say, smiling at him. He smiles back and hands me my pen.
I stand there shaking, and Nick and his buddy Chris who works on the show are across the hall, grinning at me. Nick’s taking pictures on his iphone.
“I have to get that tattooed on my body, right?” I say.
Then Chris says the best thing ever to me.
“Well, your only other option is to not get it tattooed on your body, and you’re not doing that.”
And that is how last night I came to get Morrissey’s child-like signature permanently drawn on to my right shoulder.
