The Smiths
– The Queen Is Dead
The Queen Is Dead is sarcastic, tragic, jangled within an inch of its life, and somehow still pop music. Morrissey croons like a man scorned by both monarchy and corner shops, while Johnny Marr plays guitar like he’s trying to rewrite history with a Rickenbacker. It’s bitter, beautiful, and deeply English—but in a way that skewers all the tea-and-crumpet clichés with a gladiolus.
Best of…
There’s an odd kind of freedom in how Morrissey mopes. He’s not crying in the rain—he’s critiquing the rain, the clouds, and whoever scheduled the forecast. His wit cuts deeper than his melancholy, turning despair into defiance. Marr, meanwhile, threads melodies through barbed wire. His riffs dance, skip, and shimmer, giving these songs the buoyancy they need to stay aloft.
This record isn’t just The Smiths at their peak—it’s them laughing and bleeding through the static. The politics are snide, the romance is bruised, and every tune could pass for a hymn if hymns had punchlines and heartbreak. It’s an album that sounds like giving up and then dancing about it anyway.
Choice Tracks
There Is a Light That Never Goes Out
A love song so grandly morbid it loops back into sweetness. Only Morrissey could make dying in a car crash sound like an act of devotion—and Marr backs him with glowing melancholia.
Bigmouth Strikes Again
Relentless and biting, this track charges ahead like a snide motorbike. Morrissey’s self-satire never hit harder, while Marr’s guitar slices through the sarcasm with real fury.
The Boy with the Thorn in His Side
All sighs and wounded pride, this is the sound of rejection immortalized. Marr plays like he’s cradling the tune; Morrissey sings like he’s been holding this grudge since birth.
I Know It’s Over
Seven minutes of despair, sung from a bed of existential dread. It’s raw, theatrical, and so steeped in irony and honesty that it can break you—quietly and efficiently.