The second half of Vauxhall And I, it isn’t boy racers. There’s no explicit grandstanding or playing to the gallery; the Karen and Sharon-loving David from Dagenham – his head full of clouds, his mouth stuffed with pie – he’s still a couple of albums away.
Instead, a suite of songs defined by a graceful, understated quality. Introspective, yes – yet the pared-back accompaniment is beautifully balanced. It acts as a platform, so that each track pivots about the respective lyrical nuance – it’s a repositioning of texture cribbed from the formal symphonic composition of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; when transferred to the eleven-track popular music format, it grants the album a distinctive and engaging shape, and perhaps an element of gravitas it may otherwise be lacking.
Reading the lyrics to ‘Why Don’t You Find Out For Yourself’, the first thing that comes to mind is the poetic elegance of the whole; comprised of shards of dramatic tension (The sanest days are mad), addressed in the second person (Why don’t you find out for yourself), and not without a veneer of menace (Some men here, they have a special interest in your career), the momentum is nonetheless propelled by resonance, by an intrigue that leaves the listener (reader?) slightly on the back foot. It’s how it should be with lyrics… there’s something here that makes you yearn to constantly revisit.
Morrissey / Why Don’t You Find Out For Yourself