MY IMMACULATE HEART WILL BE YOUR REFUGE

Dickie Felton | 13 October 2202

Over land sand sea from Cumbria to Killarney and then slouched on a train for Tralee.

Was it the 4am start that sent my head into a spin? Or the thought of watching him for the first time in almost three years?

The giddy expectation is the same today as it was back in May 1991 when I watched Morrissey for the very first time.

Going to see Morrissey feels a bit like catching-up with a long-lost friend.

Pre-gig I have sensible and senseless questions in my head. How will he look? How will he sound?

And then there’s the serious stuff: What shoes will he be wearing? and, will I ever see him play ‘My Love Life?’

Morrissey’s music has been an integral part of my life across four decades. I have been watching him live for 31 years.

His concerts are a spiritual experience – a positive lift to spirit and soul.

But while it seemed OK to be besotted with this popstar in my teens, is it OK as I approach 50?

Can I still have heroes in my advancing years? Do I still watch him sing in a star-struck state?

There’s self-validation at Killarney rail station when I’m welcomed by a religious shrine to Our Lady of Fatima with her message: “My immaculate heart will be your refuge”.

It makes a welcome change from my local train station which has messages of penalty fares, strikes and cyber-flashing.

On the streets of Killarney I was feeling quite the pilgrim until I meet a couple from California.

They’d barely arrived in the Emerald Isle and were set to travel back home soon after Morrissey had left the building.

They believed a 10000 mile round trip was worth it for 90 minutes with their hero.

I thank my lucky stars that I’ll have five, possibly six Morrissey gigs in a matter of weeks.

Morrissey’s appearance at Killarney INEC is his first in Ireland in almost five years and his first on European soil since Covid slammed down the hammer.

In a rare first, I decide to queue for a few hours to ensure I’m on the front rail for this momentous Morrissey return.

It’s like a scene from ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ as a few dozen fans get tickets checked then make a bolt for the front.

My pace is not what it was, but there’s life in the old dog yet, and a burst of speed gets me a prime spot.

To the left of me is fan about to watch his hero for the 211th time.

To my right is a lad half my age about to watch his first Morrissey concert.

I hold the middle ground working out that this could be my 87th Morrissey gig.

Further along the rail is a teenage girl who will proceed to watch most of the concert through joy-filled tears.

The build-up to his entrance is immense.

No support act, just vintage video clips of bands and icons adored by Morrissey

And then like clockwork he’s here bang on 8.30pm. And we are the luckiest alive to be right here, right now.

He looks and sounds fantastic. The old songs from the early 90s solo career are a treat.

The new songs sound as good as anything he’s ever released. “Bonfire of Teenagers’ – about the Manchester Arena bombing – could be the most moving song he’s ever written.

I melt during The Smiths’ album track ‘Frankly Mr Shankly’.

During ‘Irish Blood English Heart’ I get a handshake from Morrissey and quake in my Converse.

The teenage girl to my right is beside herself and when Morrissey departs the stage some people are in tears.

It really is that astonishing.

In the bar after the gig I bump into a young fan sporting a ‘Meat is Murder’ back patch.

She can’t even have been alive when I first starting watching Morrissey.

And she and her boyfriend are proof of the singer’s influence on younger generations and not just veterans like me.

For night two at Blackpool Opera House a lad is about to part with £250 for a signed Morrissey record.

But at the official merchandise stand he’s doing the math with the help of his partner.

“I’m selling that coat on e-Bay which will offset the cost of the signed Morrissey vinyl,” he says, trying to justify the purchase to his wife and himself.

Inside the historic Opera House the seating plan is all at sea.

Fans have abandoned seats which cost £82.50 to stand at the very front.

It’s the most lax security I’ve ever seen at a Morrissey concert and makes for a frantic atmosphere.

“Just do what you want” says one usher who ushers in a sense of carefree abandon.

Blackpool feels like a reunion – I bump into fans who have followed Morrissey for an eternity and have the tattoos to prove it.

A tap on the shoulder and there’s Vanessa from California, there’s Angie from Eccles, there’s Johanna and family, there’s my next door neighbours, there’s even Dan – who was with me on Morrissey tours as long ago as 1991.

We share the most marvellous night which is extra special for Dan who has waited more than three decades to receive his first handshake with Morrissey.

Bodies tumble as the gig moves into its climax with a mini stage invasion.

It feels like I’m back in the early 90s on the ‘Kill Uncle’ or ‘Your Arsenal’ tours.

I thought that things are meant to calm down when artists head towards collecting-pension age?

Morrissey, 63, moves as if he is 33. His voice sounds as strong as it ever has in his four decade career.

Again, like Killarney, fans hug each other on the departure of Moz.

This Morrissey thing has become such a communal experience.

I stagger out onto Blackpool seafront in a daze and get soaked to the bone…

 

(to be continued…)