By this stage we’re venturing deep into the dark, jaded heart of Vauxhall And I. “Dark” and “jaded” in that inverted commas need to be fashioned, in that there’s an element of double-take required, vantage points undermined by a sly ream of flux.
Thus ‘I Am Hated For Loving’: a teasing, delicate rhythm somewhat tonally reminiscent of ‘King Leer’ from Kill Uncle. The cut and jab of lyrical posturings that, should they be accosting you in a darkened room, you’d still instantly know the identify of author (incidentally, what is the correct adjective form of the word Morrissey? ‘Morrissant’? Morrissistic? Somebody once claimed it was ‘Morrithetic’ – the th pronounced extremely softly, as if with a slight lisp – and whilst this reeked of spur-of-moment invention, I do recall nodding my head in sage agreement).
Again, it’s tempting to take the narrative at face value; I’ve heard it argued that this song encapsulates one of his least ambiguous lyrical positions. It’s a display of LGBT solidarity. No, it’s the body language of the soliloquising actor – I am hated for loving… I still don’t belong to anyone; I am mine; Steven Patrick stalking the stage in the crosshairs of the single spotlight, and whilst the rest of the cast skulk unlistening in the wings, the audience gain in insight into motive…
…well, that’s two interpretations – although personally I’m not certain they’re the correct ones. Anonymous call, a poison pen, a brick in the small of the back again; when it comes to a Morrissey couplet, I’m never assuming that he’s the one facing the weapons of stigma when – in the presence of enemies – he could just as easily be wielding them.
Morrissey / I Am Hated For Loving