Thursday, 1 January 2015
Happy Mozzmas 2014 - part 1. Written by Our Mozzer
Seminal artiste Morrissey, musical director Boz Boorer, former novelist Mikey Bracewell, TV presenter Jonathan Ross, friend/photographer Linder Sterling, former neighbour/literati Alan Bennett and lead guitarist Jesse Tobias sit at a long oak table. The lights are dim and the New York Dolls fill the air with their trademark aural scowl.
At one end sit Morrissey, Alan Bennett and Linder beside a sign which states simply, "Intellectual." At the other end of the table sit Boz Boorer, wearing a conical paper hat, Jonathan Ross and Jesse Tobias next to a similar sign in identical black marker pen: "Practical." Mikey Bracewell sits equidistant between the two groups, sipping his tea, straining to hear the soft conversation from the intellectual end.
"...He's not a c***, he's a b******d," says Morrissey sourly, lifting a G&T to his lips.
"Is there a difference?" Asks Alan Bennett.
"Absolutely," says Morrissey, almost coughing on his alcohol. "If I may show you by example...?"
Linder smiles softly, a piece of parsnip on her fork.
Alan Bennett nods and adjusts his spectacles.
"...Well.. Boz Boorer-"
"-You called, sire?" Boz interrupts in a loud cheery voice.
"-Shut up Boz,"
The table goes quiet. Morrissey goes on:
"...Now Boz Boorer, of course, is a b*******d, being unable to see what a c*** he is... Russell Brand on the other hand..." says the artiste, licking his lips and pointing his finger towards a Russell Brand dartboard over the fireplace... "...Now Russell is a c*** of the highest order, being both criminally responsible for his actions, and a c***. You see the difference is self-awareness. In his defence, Boz Boorer has all the insight of a crystal meth-addicted goldfish after a serious road traffic accident and that is why I consider Boz a b******d rather than a c***, you see."
Alan Bennett looks puzzled.
"Thanks, Mozzer, sire," says Boz obliviously. "You see, I can't stand c***s either, sir, and, well, the thought of being a c*** makes me vomitarian with rage, sir-"
"-Good choice of words, Boz," Morrissey says.
"Is vomitarian a word?" asks Bennett thoughtfully.
"Yes, Mr Bennett. It comes from Mozzer's autobiography," says Boz.
"...Anyway as I was saying, I hate c***s... can't bloody stand them.... hate them.... would cross the road to avoid one.... so I'm happy that Mozzer has explained why I'm a cut above a c***... Merry Mozzmas and Godspeed, sir..."
With this, Boz Boorer lifts his half of lager and the others follow suit with their respective drinks.
"Mewwy Mozzmas!" says Jonathan Ross glibly. "If that isn't a contwadiction in terms!"
Boz Boorer laughs uproariously.
"Hahahahahaah! Did you hear that, sir? I say, sir, did you hear that? Did you hear what Mr Ross just said sir? Hahahahahaha. Did you hear that line, sir? Suit you, sir, I say, suit you, sir..."
The seminal artist sticks his tongue into his cheek and looks away.
"Bwaaahahahahahahahahah, I say! I say! Jesse, me old mucker. Did you hear what Mr Ross just said? Did you? There's no flies on Mr Ross, I say... there's no flies on 'im!"
Boz Boorer begins slapping his thigh, rolling back in his chair, and laughing fulsomely, barely able to hold the glass steady in his hand.
"I say, I say! I say!...." Boz sobs hysterically in an otherwise silent room.
The seminal artiste shakes his head and taps on the table nervously.
Iconic singer Morrissey places his head in his hands and closes his eyes.
"I not get theses joke... they not makest sense in my language," says Jesse.
"I'll explain the joke," says Boz with a stern expression, wiping a bead of sweat from his large forehead with a sausage-finger. "Now...," begins Boz, struggling visibly to find words to explain himself, puffing his cheeks out and rubbing his neck. "You see.. we... we, here I mean.... we... all know... don't we?... what a miserable old b*****d Mozzer is-"
-Morrissey glowers at Boz Boorer and licks his lips.
"... mesmerizing old b*******d-" says Boz, looking at Morrissey for approval.
"-Old? Yours truly? I'm in my very early 50s, Martin, old son. Is Brad Pitt old?"
"Well," says Boz. "What I meant to say is what a miserable and mesmerizing not very old b******d Mozzer is according to the press who harass and prosecute him and hurt him and misunderstand what a kind and compassionate person he is...a man who loves animals and the suffering of the poor... "
"What? Mozzer loves the suffering of the poor?" Asks Wossy glibly."That explains all the fines for his musicians!" Wossy laughs.
Boz Boorer tuts loudly.
"Old Mozzer is a diamond geezer.. that's why the joke was funny, Jesse. do you see now?"
Morrissey juts his jaw out, grins awkwardly, and looks self-depreciating/humble, then glances briefly at Alan Bennett, who remains inscrutable.
Boz raises his brow and waves his hands in front of his face in an act of sheer desperation, apparently aware his description does not even make sense to the British English in the room.
"I no see, no?" Jesse says in the manner of a question.
"It's called Bwitish iwony, Jesse!" says Wossy, glibly.
Wossy squints at Jesse, who remains blank.
Mikey sips his tea. Morrissey stands up.
"Off for a slash. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," says Morrissey.
As the door closes behind him, Alan Bennett picks up the WPINOYB lyric sheet, strategically placed just to the right of all guests. He flicks through it and his thumb stops on a particular lyric. He fiddles with his glasses and looks unsure.
"Brazil and Ukraine, Oh Egypt, Bahrain, so many people in pain..."
Bennett tails off, his nose twitching.
"Does he mean it?"
Linder looks wry.
"I've given up trying to predict what Morrissey means and what he doesn't mean," she says with her soft, fruity Liverpool vowels. "Morrissey means so much more when he tries to mean nothing."
Alan Bennett titters, wiping his nose with a handkerchief.
"Yes," he says. "It's a shame he doesn't try to mean nothing more often."
Mikey lifts the tea to his lips and allows himself a half-smile.
"I wonder what they'we talking about at t'other end of the table, Boz!" cries Wossy as if in panto.
"I'd give a penny for Sir Bennett's thoughts," says Boz Boorer.
"...They're discussing the lyrics of World Peace Is None Of Your Business, Boz," utters Mikey in a soft voice as the modern artist and the playwright nod exquisitely to each other, and exchange elegant unheard witticisms.
"I wrote those words!" cries Boz. "...well, some of them."
Linder and Alan Bennett turn to Boz, intrigued.
"What was that, Boz?" asks Bennett.
"I was just saying, Sir Bennett, sir, that I wrote some of the words to that song. Mozzer told me to."
"oh..." says Bennett curiously. "Which ones?"
"I wrote that bit about Bahrain, sire... tested the rhyme on Lyn and she really went for that one... she did. She told me it was one of the best rhymes she'd heard since she was at her secondary modern."
Bennett thumbs through the lyric sheet.
"But you're not credited, Boz...?"
"...No, Sir Bennett, sir... I did it for the honour of writing a Morrissey lyric. I like to think it stands up with the others on the album."
"One could argue that case quite confidently," Bennett says dryly.
"Whatever possessed Morrissey to put you in charge of the lyrics, Boz?" asks Linder lovingly.
"Good question, ma'am..." says Boz, nodding. "Well... it happened at 2 am in a hotel bar, just over a year ago, now ma'am..."
part 2 - the scene from the hotel bar - to follow.
Posted by TRB at 16:30
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