Just over two years after his two-night stand at Salle Pleyel, Morrissey returned to the City of Lights, and once again the faithful turned out in force, some traveling from across Europe to be there. As with many of the Mancunian crooner’s recent tours, this one hasn’t escaped its share of turbulence: cancellations, illness, and a general cloud of uncertainty have loomed throughout. At one point, it seemed this Paris date might be scrapped too as Morrissey reportedly came down with sinusitis just days before in Madrid, prompting yet another last-minute cancellation. But in the end, the show went on.
His voice has aged remarkably well. It may no longer be quite as supple, but the wear adds poignancy—especially to the older material. There’s venom when needed, a cutting edge that matches the lyrics perfectly. That signature English detachment is still there, but beneath the stiff upper lip, the bile is palpable. Morrissey doesn’t fake affection, and he doesn’t pander. And yet, he still tears off his shirt at the end of the set—something most 66-year-olds would think twice about. He does it without irony, without apology.
The setlist is excellent. When you open with "You’re the One for Me, Fatty" and "How Soon Is Now?," you'd better have the catalog to back it up—and Morrissey, of course, does. The show draws from Your Arsenal, You Are the Quarry, Ringleader of the Tormentors or Viva Hate, and includes several tracks from his unreleased albums still languishing in label limbo. And yes, there are Smiths songs too. Just enough to satisfy, but never enough to let nostalgia take over.
The band is ace, with special credit to guitarists Jesse Tobias and Carmen Vandenberg (of Bones), who keep the sound grounded in rock 'n' roll and away from the more music-hall tendencies that can occasionally creep in.
Love him or hate him, Morrissey will always remain Morrissey. He does as he pleases. You don’t have to agree with him—but the least you can do is meet him on his own terms.
