Gig review: Morrissey

CLEAVING to a recently established tradition, much beloved Mancunian indie icon Morrissey commenced his latest UK tour with a Scottish date, the first of an off the beaten track mini-tour north of the Border. Rather predictably, it once more involved a special and electrifying union between star and audience.

Since his emphatic, triumphant comeback midway through the last decade, Morrissey's long since put to bed the impression of himself as a fey, miserable young man. The older he gets (he's now 52), the more he seems to grow into himself, both as a handsome, debonair older gent and as a performer of quite compelling wit and confidence. In dark jeans, black blazer and open-necked white shirt he could have been an off-duty stockbroker heading into town. In charisma and sheer presence he towered over the room and everyone in it.

The selected highlights of his career both with the Smiths and as a solo artist have maintained a strikingly high quality, and some of his most enduring favourites appeared early in the set. There was Everyday is Like Sunday and a striking, faithful There is a Light That Never Goes Out, which featured the set's single intimation of vulnerability as he wrapped his jacket tight to his body like a blanket for the "I never want to go home / because I haven't got one" line. Then a demure handshake with a member of the crowd and the coat came off for a plough through First of the Gang to Die, Irish Blood English Heart and a triumphant Shoplifters of the World Unite.

In light of the almost constant unfavourable music press attention given to some of the singer's indeterminate political views, the return of his all-purpose mid-90s riposte Speedway was both welcome and stirring, it's chorus reduced to a single guitar wail and the hiss of lightly-tapped drums, all the better to hear the devastating "when you try to break my spirit... there's nothing left to break any more" line.

Then three new songs were given their debut live performances in quick succession: the knowingly sleazy Action is My Middle Name ("you are my possession / you don't realise it yet"); the New York Dolls-like squall of The Kid's a Looker; the withering ennui of People Are the Same Everywhere ("the land of the free / the home of the brave / exists nowhere").

He wasn't done with us yet. There followed a gorgeous I Know It's Over, a rare and unexpected cover in Lou Reed's Satellite of Love, and a surprise of a very darker tone in a raw finale of Meat is Murder accompanied by brutal and disturbing footage of industrial farming.

That he returned for the encore to play only one quick song, the portentous One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell, was no cause to let our awe be faded any.