He's nothing but a blur... Every young man dreams of seeing his name in lights. Seconds after this photo was taken, Morrissey was engaged in mortal combat with the freakishly tall pirate/statue/prisoner thing behind him.

I've seen Morrissey before. On the Your Arsenal tour -- my first and only prior experience of live Moz -- I witnessed a set packed with fine solo stuff, yet stubbornly bereft of his Smiths repertoire, a disappointing characteristic of those early tours. "Moz, we love you, and that includes your Smiths stuff," many of us wanted to shout. The Smiths, whether Morrissey admits it or not, are forever a part of him, and a part of many of us who got through high school or college with battered The Queen Is Dead cassettes glued in our Walkmen. But anyone familiar with the soap opera that is The Smiths knows that this was a period rife with ugly moments for our beloved troubadour. Surely his avoidance of that material had something to do with personal grudges as much as a desire to start fresh?

Still, fans love The Smiths, warts and all, something that Morrissey has come to terms with. Whereas recent tours have included ever-increasing dips into The Smiths' discography, Morrissey acknowledged his fans completely tonight, kicking off the show with what could have been the encore. "How Soon Is Now" was the opener (after -- it should be noted -- an exasperatingly lengthy musical introduction that built suspense and tension to a teetering level). Now, I'm sure I'm not alone in saying that this tune is a personal favorite; as I excitedly craned around to look at the crowd -- an eclectic mix of 20 and 30-somethings -- it was all I could do to notice my fellow devotees singing along, enraptured. It was a moment I won't forget. Morrissey's band, five guys dressed down in white t-shirts, hung anonymously in the background, cranking out their flawless, ballsy version of the Smiths standard, with the only stage prop -- a huge marquee spelling out Morrissey's name -- engulfing the entire rear of the stage. Outlined by synchronized Christmas tree lighting, the backdrop was appropriately over the top -- at once a tongue-in-cheek nod to Vegas-style excess and a knowing, endearing demonstration of ego. Fantastic.

And what of Morrissey himself? Oh, he was in top form and comfortably in his element, for sure. If reports of the crooner's voice problems were true (acute laryngitis led to a cancelation of a couple of west coast dates), they didn't show. As he belted out the notes of "How Soon is Now"'s chorus, the dapperly dressed Moz was animated and upbeat, basking in the crowd's response. He was clearly enjoying himself, sending off an energy that the affectionate audience digested and returned tenfold.

With the lively house whipped into a lusty froth, Morrissey and crew launched into "First Of The Gang", an album single and the first of many dips into You Are The Quarry. The sing-alongs trailed off a bit on newer material (including fine cuts like "I Like You", and "Irish Blood, English Heart"), a telltale sign that not everyone present had fully absorbed the latest release. The material on the new album is strong -- some of the best new material since Vauxhall And I -- and when the show relied heavily on YATQ songs (many co-penned by guitarist Alain Whyte), there were no noticeable low moments. Each minty-fresh track held its own against the oldies and favorites ("Big Mouth Strikes Again", "November Spawned A Monster", "Rubber Ring") that were strategically smattered throughout the set. Aside from the encore (read below), there were some true highlights: the grandiose intro and climax of "Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me", and the chords of "Subway Train" melting into "Every Day Is Like Sunday" to name a couple. It was sonic perfection. It was the show that many there had hoped to see.

Of course, the music is but one element of what makes a Morrissey show such an experience. Fans connect to something beyond his recordings; they want to witness the crooner's sublime wit, the lovely mind that can convey such soul-baring heartache and humor-filled introspection. In the stage banter department, Morrissey did not disappoint. He peppered the set with silly comments ("Hi, I'm Bruce Springroll", he announced -- a reference to the Springsteen-led political concert that was happening in Philly that same night), coy, off-the-cuff questions ("Can someone tell me something that will change my life?") and his now-standard shout-outs to Julia Riley, an omnipresent fan and zine editor who reliably follows Moz to every show.

Also present were the stage invasions, a traditional phenomenon in which fans climb on stage for a hug, a handshake or to pass their hero a love note. Security seemed to have been instructed to treat the stage crashers nicely; after heading off the perpetrators, the bouncers gently directed fans stage left and back into the orchestra pit -- but not before allowing them to get in some bit of contact with the singer. Morrissey reacted to this with nonchalance, but you could tell he loved it. It wasn't until the encore (a raucous rendering of "There Is A Light That Will Never Go Out") that things began to get out of hand -- I counted about ten invaders who kept security swarming throughout the song, an exciting but worrying display of unmitigated ardor.

If you were a fan, this was the best show of your life, a pitch-perfect performance of old and new, a window into Morrissey's complicated soul and a chance to flex your zeal among the like-minded massive. And hopefully this was not your last chance: on stage the following night, Morrissey reportedly alluded to possible retirement. Let's hope this was just another throwaway comment.

Special note: Supporting Morrissey was Damien Dempsey, an Irish singer/songwriter who deserved more attention this night. His strong acoustic set of politically charged songs was missed by the many concertgoers, who hung out in the lobby's much cooler climate. Hopefully Dempsey knew going in that Morrissey's shadow is long and all-eclipsing.

Article by Walt Miller. Photos by Patrick O'Dell (thanks, Patrick!).