Reykjavík Grapevine - 25.08.2006, Qupperneq 23

review
For me, You Are the Quarry, by Morrissey,
is one of the best comeback albums ever.
Up there with Bob Dylan’s Blood on the
Tracks. The chance to see him after the
comeback was a dream, though I was nerv-
ous: I’d not yet heard Ringleader of the
Tormentors, his newest release, and I was a
little worried that I might be in store for a
night of something as bad as Dylan’s failed
comeback Street Legal. Truthfully, for
many in attendance, the hope was to see a
Street Legal-level performance, a perfect
f lop. Morrissey just has that personality
– people have been waiting and watching
with baited breath for him to fail.
From the first notes of the show, when,
out of nowhere a rock orchestra started
roaring, drums started pounding and a
beautiful voice filled the air, it was obvious
that this wouldn’t be a failure. When you
start a concert with How Soon Is Now,
you’re guaranteed success – even the lame-
o witch soap opera Charmed got by, for a
little while, by using a cover of it.
For those of you reading and doubting,
thinking anyone can succeed on the power
of the Smiths, you would have had to see
the next number from You Are the Quarry.
As he jumped into You Have Never Been
in Love, I became a groupie, appropriate
on that day especially, Iceland’s Gay Pride
Day. And he was somehow expecting this
reaction, I think. He stood there, throwing
his mic cord around like a lion tamer, his
yellow shirt tied at the bottom so that we
could see his stomach.
He announced that he was going to
play a few of his new songs. Now I became
worried. After a bright day, there’s always
a dark night. So, after genius like You Are
the Quarry there must follow some medio-
cre crap. But his new songs were as good as
his previous albums and even the Smiths
songs. My favourite song that night was
Life is a Pigsty, maybe because the lyrics
rang so true.
Morrissey played four Smiths songs,
which is more than his usual. Still, some
of the old Smiths fans were unhappy. They
bitched enough that I was forced to tell
them this was a Morrissey concert so show
some goddamn respect. I was pissed that
he only played three songs from You Are
the Quarry, but then every song was good
so how could I complain?
Beyond the performance, and the
few moaning Smiths fans, there was one
problem: The sound was rubbish. I wanted
to hear more singing and less feedback, not
an enormous request. It was loud enough,
but I credit Morrissey’s band for that.
After changing shirts three times,
Morrissey sang Panic. I, like many of the
people at the show, jumped out of my chair
and ran towards the stage. Morrissey there
played the role of messiah. A lot of people
were touching Morrissey’s hand. I held
back. After seeing such a show, I had a
moment of intense self-doubt: What have
I done to deserve to even kiss Morrissey’s
feet?
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The suburb of Grafarvogur was quiet the night
Roger Hodgson, former leading man of Supertramp,
performed at Broadway in Reykjavík. All the mid-
dle-aged men and women in southern Iceland had
gathered, after all, to listen to the corniest singer of
all time – I was genuinely surprised my mother wasn’t
there.
Roger Hodgson, the man who penned Breakfast
in America and Logical Song, is the guy who made
corny cool. Before this tour, though, Hodgson hadn’t
performed in 20 years, since he quit Supertramp to
raise a family (which is very corny). In addition to 20
years’ downtime, Hodgson had the added obstacle
that he was presenting his music solo, with just a
piano. For those of you who don’t know Supertramp,
it is an overproduced pop band with a unique, cheesy
yet wonderfully happy sound. So take that sound away
and what is left? I was about to find out.
First, though, I would watch KK. Every time
middle-aged people get together to listen to music in
Iceland, concert promoters call KK and check if he’s
available.
KK walked onstage, played a beautiful song and
then a crowd favourite. Then he enlightened us about
the origins of blues. He told us Icelandic folk musi-
cians had travelled and taught black men the blues.
We Icelanders may have the most blues per capita, but
I doubt we invented it. I hoped he would talk more
about what Icelanders gave black people because then
I could call him KKK. KK started to sing a cappella
without a mic the way we did it back in the day. Com-
pliments to him on a brilliant performance.
I was getting quite annoyed by the giggling of
middle-aged men when Hodgson walked onstage.
He started to play his little piano and I just thought
this could get so lame. But his first song was Take the
Long Way Home and I started smiling and couldn’t
help but sing along. You’d think that 20 years of aging
would have deepened Hodgson’s rather high-pitched
tone a little; it hadn’t. His voice was beautiful as ever.
I got chills and happiness was just f lying all around
like a bumblebee sucking up honey from all the f low-
ers. Oh how sweet it was sitting there just listening to
a terrific songwriter who could sing like a fat lady on
fire.
Hodgson wasn’t solo. His partner in crime was
called Aaron. He played the clarinet and saxophone
beautifully and harmonised well whenever backing
vocals were needed. Hodgson addressed the crowd
and it was clear he was a performer. He knew just
what to say and when to say it. He told us that our
only job as a crowd was to enjoy ourselves, which was
easy. The Grapevine’s cameraman was taking a lot of
pictures, as were the other locals, so Hodgson decided
just to walk offstage and pose. Then I guess he told
them all to sod off because after that they left.
There was never a dull moment. Every song he
played took you on a journey through his most inti-
mate emotional life, but it remained entertaining. He
then started with his new material, an expected low
point. But there was to be no low point, only highs.
He who says “what comes up must come down” has
never gone to a Rodger Hodgson concert.
Strike that. There was the crowd.
Why do drunken middle-aged men and women
have the power to make you want to drink detergent
while hanging in a noose while slitting your wrists
with a razor? People kept yelling requests and even
asking for songs he didn’t even write. You wouldn’t
go to a Pearl Jam concert and ask for a Creed song.
Would you? But even this wasn’t enough to rattle me.
Roger Hodgson, who many people thought was a
has-been, (or, as was often the case that night, a dif-
ferent person entirely), was performing like a genius
or savant if you will. After the show he got a standing
ovation and did three encores.

Are You Ready to Eat Fiber!!!
By Helgi Valur Photo by Skari
review
where
whO
Broadway
Roger Hodgson
and KK
whEN
August 11th
2006

The Ringleader Refuses to Fail
By Helgi Valur Photo by Ingó
where
whO
Laugardalshöll
Morrissey
whEN
August 12th
2006
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