Viva Hate (1988)

Viva Hate (1988)

Morrissey - Viva Hate

Press speculation about the factors leading to the peculiar end of the Smiths soon gave way to speculation about how Morrissey would fare divorced from his compositional partner. Assembling a cast that included Factory godhead Vini Reilly, postpunk gadfly Andrew Paresi, and Smiths compatriot Stephen Street, Morrissey threw himself into his solo debut, scarcely a breath after Strangeways, Here We Come. Still, the sessions, produced by Street (who also served as co-writer, although Reilly claimed to have written a majority of the tracks), lasted a healthy three months. Opener “Alsatian Cousin” announced the break: a crackling landline of guitar, an exquisite pause before the thud. It’s cutting and catty, a full-length accusation (“On a groundsheet/ Under canvas/ With your tent flap/ Open wide”) with doomy bass and plenty of room for the guitars to prowl. The short character sketch “Little Man, What Now?” forms a cleverly laid bridge to “Everyday Is Like Sunday,” a wintry processional with Mozz’s most deliberate vocal to date. It’s an enduring example of the loving regard he could bestow on the most wretched memories. English seaside towns were skewered before and after — Metronomy spent an entire LP applying the blade -= but on “Sunday,” there’s a joy that comes from seeing your misery through.

Despite the title (the record was originally pressed as Education in Reverse), you can see where the punches have been pulled. Everyone expected allusions to the Smiths. But Morrissey zagged with “Angel, Angel, Down We Go Together,” written (presumably) about Marr’s propensity for outside projects. Accompanied by strings alone, he ends the track with four readings of the line “I love you more than life”. A song titled “Break Up the Family” begged to be seen through the lens of dissolution. Again, though: declarations of love and a push towards hope, with complacent drum programming throughout. Ostensibly a savaging in the mold of “The Queen Is Dead,” “Margaret on the Guillotine” has more in common with “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others”. It’s a dumb joke; this time, though, it lacks the temerity to be absurd. “Margaret… guillotine,” he sighs, trusting that Street’s sluggish strum and Reilly’s nylon filigrees will sell the punchline. They didn’t — and neither did the campy sound effect at the close — but he got a police investigation for his trouble, which surely pleased him no end.

Viva Hate also contains two knockout combinations of melody and muscular guitar. “I Don’t Mind If You Forget Me” offers a dynamite backbeat, hacked-out guitar counterpoint, and some truly gonzo strangled fingertapping. “Rejection is one thing,” he sighs, “but rejection from a fool is cruel”: as ever, he oversees his own funeral. The evergreen “Suedehead” is perhaps Viva Hate’s closest approximation of the classic Smiths sound. Morrissey milks his questions for maximum poignancy, draping the punctuation over the full-bodied arrangement. Each iteration of the chord changes gains power. He ends the song chirping “it was a good lay” over and over, a surprising bit of bluntness matched by a low-frequency sting Street keeps punching through the mix. Wisely chosen as the lead single, it ascended to the number five position.

Viva Hate was a best-case scenario for fans. It presented Morrissey in a full variety of poses — from balladeer to injured party to rabblerouser — and musical contexts. It was accessible but not excessively worried over. It made room for anthems and digressions (the seven-minute Van the Man-style “Late Night, Maudlin Street,” for many a highlight, to these ears a jumble of underwritten bridges). Street’s presence was reassuring, as well. He’d soon be sent packing as a response to a royalties suit, but he was an excellent link between eras. Having proved his merit as a solo concern, Morrissey retrenched as a singles artist. 1990’s Bona Drag collection ended that period, and the Waitsian Kill Uncle marked his return to larger statements.