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208 of 234 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars My review - by Morrissey
Train, heave on to Euston. Awaiting the launch of my Autobiography, Penguin Books have incarcerated me in a tawdry penthouse flat at 6 Grosvenor Square. The harsh London light through the floor-to-ceiling windows peels my eyeballs, my feet wince at the coarse touch of the cashmere and angora carpet, and as I numb the pain with a third Grey Goose, my mind drifts back to...
Published 9 months ago by Rough Diamond

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109 of 126 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars I couldn't put it down. But for all the wrong reasons..
There is a moment in his autobiography where Morrissey complains about the disappointment of his lunches with surviving members of the New York Dolls. They aren't at all interested in him, don't want to talk about the things that fascinate him about the Dolls and are just not the people that existed in his mind; a perfect allegory for this hugely disappointing and...
Published 9 months ago by i wrote this


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208 of 234 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars My review - by Morrissey, 1 Nov 2013
By 
Rough Diamond (London, UK) - See all my reviews
(TOP 1000 REVIEWER)   
This review is from: Autobiography (Paperback)
Train, heave on to Euston. Awaiting the launch of my Autobiography, Penguin Books have incarcerated me in a tawdry penthouse flat at 6 Grosvenor Square. The harsh London light through the floor-to-ceiling windows peels my eyeballs, my feet wince at the coarse touch of the cashmere and angora carpet, and as I numb the pain with a third Grey Goose, my mind drifts back to Nan's tenement at 69 Saddleworth Cuttings, Strangeways. Here, behind the rainy Salford Road, I would watch the damp grey wallpaper peeling slowly off the walls, licking my wounds after yet another day of casual brutality from the callous, sadistic teachers of Rusholme Secondary Modern, where the education was never modern, and my needs and feelings were always secondary.

The doorbell rings. Is it Jobraith? Is it The New York Dolls, on bended knee, begging me to become their lead singer? No, alas, it is the frightful and blancmange-like Debbie, my PA from Penguin, clutching an advance copy of my book. My heart sinks from wounds already inflicted and wounds still to come. Already the Penguin philistines have rejected my glamorous cover art (a black and white Alain Delon posing naked over Oscar Wilde's grave, drinking a glass of milk). Typical. I tear disinterestedly at the brown paper, fearing the worst. The cover is predictably a travesty. Although it mentions my name (in an insultingly small typeface) and features a dismissively small photograph of me, over 50% of the surface area is utterly wasted and makes no reference to me at all. Not one. It is yet another nail hammered through my palm by the uncaring powers that be. I disdainfully hand the feeble effort back to the vile Debbie, who understands nothing, and who still reeks of the sizzling flesh which she has oh-so-obviously been cramming into her flabby chops at - shudder- MacDonalds. The yawning grave opens its maws, awaiting me. Then I snatch the book back, and inspect the flyleaf, magnifying glass in hand. And there it is - THERE IT IS. 'The moral right of the author has been asserted'. Yet will Judge John Weeks deign to listen? Inevitably, Mick Joyce will 'assume' he is due 25% of the revenue, and justice will once again crush my limp white body beneath its cruel, remorseless wheels. And where is Johnny Marr? Nowhere to be seen, as usual, but smirking as he exits yet again through the rear door.

David Bowie says my Autobiography is 'wonderful', and for me this is the apotheosis of a journey that began amidst the slums and loafing oafs of sixties Stretford. Penguin assure me it will be Number 1 on the Amazon bestsellers chart, and yet they have made no effort to promote it, and my name is to all intents invisible in the uncaring and hostile national press. I check my computer, and then I recoil aghast. My Autobiography is Number 2, behind Sir Alex Ferguson's. Oh Manchester, Manchester, so much to answer for! At last my corpse is ready for the abattoir. Heaven knows, I'm miserable now.
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109 of 126 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars I couldn't put it down. But for all the wrong reasons.., 22 Nov 2013
By 
i wrote this "i did" (Bucks) - See all my reviews
(VINE VOICE)    (TOP 1000 REVIEWER)   
This review is from: Autobiography (Paperback)
There is a moment in his autobiography where Morrissey complains about the disappointment of his lunches with surviving members of the New York Dolls. They aren't at all interested in him, don't want to talk about the things that fascinate him about the Dolls and are just not the people that existed in his mind; a perfect allegory for this hugely disappointing and woefully undisciplined book that is still as compelling as lunch with David Johansen probably is.

It turns out that Morrissey doesn't want to talk about what interests me. His relationship with his father, the meaning behind his lyrics, how the songs were composed, walking out on the David Bowie tour, playing with three fifths of the ex Smiths at Wolverhampton whilst 2 were suing him, the Jonny Rogan biography, none of that gets a mention. Because Morrissey wants to slag off Geoff Travis and Judge John Weeks for page after page after page. He even repeats the same insults (seriously, get an editor!).
He also wants to slate most of the people he has worked with, obsess over chart positions and generally blame every record company and manager he has worked with for anything that has gone wrong in his adult life. I can't help thinking that the thing all these people have in common is Morrissey. Reading the excellent Mozipedia reveals several other collaborators unnamed in Autobiography who had to take legal action against him after his mother called them to say that they would not be getting paid... I digress.

This book confirms that Morrissey is just not the person he is in my head. I had guessed as much, but the person that emerges from Autobiography is not one that I warmed to at all. He's funny. He loves pop music and films. He truly cares about animals on a global and personal level and talks extensively about the inhumanity of the human race and feminism. This is the Morrissey I hoped for. But the book displays a woeful lack of self awareness. He seems to completely lack in empathy for individuals however noble his more grand universal sentiments about suffering might be. He uses the N word on a very shaking context along with some pretty sexist language (calling the other 3 Smiths "girls" when describing the court case among other things). he also uses some grim metaphors to describe female genitalia and dismisses people based on their appearance on most pages. It's a vulgar picture which says nothing to me about my life (and if you thought that was bad wait until you read some of his own lyrical insertions). But the clincher for me was his moaning about an accountant who wouldn't help him get a managers 250K back from their grieving family after a deal went wrong following the man's sudden death.

I considered myself a big Morrissey fan, I've lost count of how many books I've read about him so I shouldn't have been too surprised. Especially as this book is very constant with his dire blog postings on Truetoyou.net On reflection I believe I've been making excuses for Morrissey for years, at least since You Are the Quarry. I've tried to like the last 3 overwhelming mediocre albums and clung to the rare moments of inspiration. There are rare moments of inspiration in Autobiography too and I found it an addictive read. But Morrissey has warn out my good will this time and I left the book considering myself a former fan. In that regard it was a powerful experience, but not the one I wanted - like a bad lunch date with the late Arthur Kane? Quite possibly.
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful
2.0 out of 5 stars plain, dull and unworthy, 30 April 2014
By 
mfl (london) - See all my reviews
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This review is from: Autobiography (Paperback)
Been there, done it. There's a million one opinions about Morrissey and just a few more about his autobiog. You'll have to be a fan to pick it up and you'll have to have a fanerve of reader energy steel to enjoy or stick with it.

Why? Because it is possibly the most dull and tiresome drudge through one man's possible recollections and probably mostly literally literary made ups of his bittersweet life.

For fans of music biographies forget it. For serious fans of the Smiths and Morrissey, think twice as you'll gain little. For seriously deranged Morrissey obsessives - well you just dive in and lap it all up...

In real life, it's a plain, dull and unworthy telling of a man's journey through a seminal group and a notable solo career. It bears no relation to either.

It's obsessively introspective, deliberate, listmaniaful, irrelevant and often spiteful. It's as if you looked in the mirror after a very long bad night and thought "YES!" that's the look I want the world to see today, except our friend doesn't quite see his world or drag himself into the bathroom in the same way.

A tale in four parts: flowery worded upbringing trying to be poetic - Smiths come and go in an instant - court case clown's tears - album tours by city by numbers by zzzz...

Simply the worst rock or pop or music or personality or celebrity bio you will read for a long, long time.

There's a few nice anecdotes to enjoy (if you can believe them as true) but otherwise total tosh.
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17 of 20 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars Not quite, 13 Jan 2014
By 
Stuart Wilson - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)   
This review is from: Autobiography (Paperback)
He's the only pop star who my heart still beats a little bit strangely for, so a read of this was inevitable. The wish is that he'd been guided to elaborating the first third, an absorbing impressionistic swipe around his childhood and Manchester full of tantalising anecdotal nuggets, then the Smiths as the great leap free, and that would have done: instead the group is tied up and abandoned in about thirty pages, and then after a little solo life we're into the Court Case, where the writing slumps and it's a bit like peering through the blinds of a Dickensian studio where a gibbering old man fling documents in the air and says, Look, I was right, look, I was right, over and over again. Then it's a final 100 or so pages about audience love on endless tours and that's it. You can see why the court thing obsesses him - having escaped his uniformed comprehensive inferno, suddenly, there he is, back in the schoolmasterish world of British justice, being smacked down by Authority yet again. But it's hard to understand why a wealthy and intelligent man couldn't get decent legal representation and appears to be left floundering with an elusive bunch of half-wits. The big gap is a glimpse of the engine room where the Morrissey/Marr chemistry took fire and blazed down the building: the creative process is hard to describe, but if that's what makes certain lives worth living, then for god's sake, at least have a go. It could really have been worthy of its publishing house; but, as it is, not quite.
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4.0 out of 5 stars Words which should only be your own ..., 21 Aug 2014
This review is from: Autobiography (Paperback)
To come clean at the start I think Morrissey has written some wonderful songs and to follow conventional fan wisdom I think he's a wonderful person - right? No wrong. I see him as a pretty normal bloke at heart and flawed like the rest of us.

Part of the reason for the public and the media love/hate relationship with Morrissey is that he is opinionated, says what he thinks(and very elequently)and has refused to follow the usual habits of pop stardom. This to me is refreshing but for many, lead singers should follow the sex/drugs/hotel trashing norm. With Morrissey you get the feeling that he'd be happy chilling with a Victoria Wood DVD, a nice cup of tea and a packet of Hobnobs (if Hobnobs are veggie), (other oat-based biscuits are available ...).

But let's not fall in the trap of reviewing Morrissey and discuss the book. For me the strongest section is his recollection of growing up in tough circumstances in 1960's Manchester. Yes young people that's how it really was. His love for his family shines throughout these pages. The account of the rise of his first group is remarkable chiefly for showing the naivety of the band members and the way they were subsequently ripped off. At this point starts the long toll of Moz casulaties - close friends who died before their time. "Ooh I wonder if that's why he's so glum". Despite what has been written elsewhere he is quite affectionate about his days with old band members, complimentary about their musicianship and doesn't let subsequent dischord taint his recollections.

A big chunk (perhaps too much?) of the book is allocated to the Khafka-esque legal case, which saw a previous band member successfully sue him for a large sum of money - quite unjustly I feel if this account is to be believed. I got the impression that it was a feeling of betrayal and the injustice of the legal system which hurt him more than loosing the money.

The book them moves on to his success with his own band - which is perhaps the best two fingers to the court case. Unfortunately for Moz much of his success is in culturally 'irrelevant' countries such as Mexico and Scandanvia.

A modern classic? Not sure about that but the best music autobiography I have read in a long while. And written with a genuine talent.

PS Morrissey if you are reading this see how I didn't mention The *****s.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
1.0 out of 5 stars If you are a diehard Morrissey fan - still don't buy this!, 7 July 2014
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This review is from: Autobiography (Kindle Edition)
I bought this 'cos a colleague at work thought I should and heaven knows I'm miserable now. It seems Morrissey isn't that interesting and is a wee bit self obsessed. Whod've thunk it?
Just listen to some of his banging tunes instead.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Viva the boy with the thorn in his side, 30 May 2014
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This review is from: Autobiography (Kindle Edition)
Chronological: no, of course, no
Reliable viewpoint: hell no!
Insightful and instigative: yes and of worth
Acerbic,acute,aware: yes, yes, yes.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
2.0 out of 5 stars Moz's Kampf, 5 May 2014
By 
G. A. Reeves (Bournemouth) - See all my reviews
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This review is from: Autobiography (Paperback)
'I've had my face dragged in/Fifteen miles of sh*t/And I do not/And I do not/And I do not like it.' This surely is one of the worst lyrics ever written by a great lyricist, and unfortunately the bitter spirit of these lines dominates most of the autobiography. One of the best things to say about the book is that it feels as if the purported author actually penned it. Perhaps some bits were generously edited, but it doesn't feel as if it were ghost-written - for example, there are bitesize album reviews as well as bits of amateur literary criticism thrown in with the life story, a hotchpotch approach characteristic of an unprofessional writer. Otherwise, reading Moz's struggle feels like listening to a spoiled child crying at Christmas because other children were given toys as well. Still, Moz the singer will live on for a long time, and this 'interesting document' is thereby guaranteed a long shelf-life.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Morrissey in fine cutting form, 14 April 2014
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This review is from: Autobiography (Kindle Edition)
What the world has been waiting for.
As a morrissey fan this book was just fantastic and i loved every page of it
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars A nave little boy everyone wants to take advantage of, 2 April 2014
By 
P. J. Edwards - See all my reviews
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This review is from: Autobiography (Paperback)
What's depressing about this book is Morrissey is fine with, even proud of, that nave image. When you read his account of Glastonbury in the mud, which he writes as if he's landed in hell, it's hard not to think that other parts of his story may be wildly exaggerated too. Despite constantly feeling hard done by and misrepresented in the press and genuinely baffled why others could be so mean to him when he never meant harm, we then read for instance how he told Time Out: ‘I’m very fond of Eric Cantona as long as he doesn’t say anything’. But that's excusable as he was always putting his foot it in - how could he be expected to know better at his age?
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Autobiography
Autobiography by Morrissey (Paperback - 17 Oct 2013)
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