The Smiths Strangeways, Here We Come by: Joseph Coscarelli Tue:21-Aug-07 Label: Rough Trade Year: 1987 WB rating 92 out of 100

Remarking on death, Winston Churchill famously stated,"I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter." And with all the musing on death The Smiths' lyricist and lead vocalist Morrissey has done throughout the band's truncated career, one has to imagine that the hands responsible for molding such a messianic, conflicted figure as Steven Patrick Morrissey will indeed have those deft hands full when the two meet again. Additionally, on the subject, it seems as if The Smiths as a creative entity have indeed met their collective Maker, a premature demise with little more to blame than the ego-based clashes of two respective geniuses, Morrissey and Smiths' guitarist Johnny Marr. One month before the release of Strangeways, Here We Come, Marr announced his exit from the group sending their shaky structure crumbling to the ground. Let us then assume prophetic foresight, for only bubbling turmoil and impending doom can be attributed the weight of Strangeways, The Smiths' most morose, fatalistic and cohesive work.  

The pulsing, affected piano that drives 'A Rush and a Push and the Land Is Ours' imagines a Marr-less Smiths as Morrissey effortlessly blends a tale of unrequited love and a critique of imperialism, tackling both with fury over a guitar-less arrangement. An aggressive number all around, it is Morrissey's guttural exclamation before the chorus, like an engine revving, that assures this swan song will not sound listless, the band's fire raging as ever. The energy is only heightened and illuminated as 'I Started Something I Couldn't Finish' begins to kick, Morrissey adopts a similar growl, and lest you forget Marr as the group's linchpin, his unmistakable treble-drenched guitar tone seizes any empty space and celebrates both gloss and growl.  

The album's remaining numbers read as a thesis on bidding adieu, to both life and career, just as often providing the message in an aural rather than literal sense. The low rumble of the bass and subdued croon of 'Death of a Disco Dancer' build as Marr fiddles frantically with high notes, the sounds stacking toward a tragic outro, Morrissey haphazardly slamming on an out of tune piano, the soundtrack to a devastatingly beautiful disintegration. The light 'Girlfriend In A Coma', bouncy single 'Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before' and acoustic jaunt 'Unhappy Birthday' favor sprightly arrangements and springy guitars as Morrissey spits venom, contemplating strangulation, self-loathing or celebrating the death of a nemesis with caustic wit. 'Paint a Vulgar Picture' has a similar bite, in an alarmingly self-aware damnation of the recording industry, Morrissey snarls, "Satiate the need/Slip them into different sleeves/Buy both, and feel deceived." Interminably facetious, Morrissey remains nothing if not embittered, and it stings so good each and every time.  

Yet the album's weight is truly crushing in its musical and lyrical harmony. The raucous miner's strike preluding 'Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me' ceases only to reveal an equally heartbreaking ode to loneliness, launching The Smiths' signature mope to apocalyptic proportions. And finale 'I Won't Share You' is a bared lament of the same misery, its autoharp and bass duet propping up the reminder that "life tends to come and go." As Strangeways so bleakly reminds us, disco dancers, pop stars, enemies and Manchurian rock bands also tend to be fleeting. Fortunately, some legacies will be here to stay.