CityLife lost its Pearl virginity this past week with the sold-out Morrissey concert, and it’s hard to say what was more impressive: Mozzer himself or the venue.
Let’s start with the Pearl. Las Vegas has no shortage of concert venues proper, but there’s something special about the Pearl that puts it a notch up from the House of Blues and in a whole different league from the Joint. With no seat further than 120 feet from the stage, the Palms’ new, 2000-plus capacity palace is one of the most intimate-feeling theater-style venues this writer has ever visited. Furthermore, the sound, at least for the Morrissey concert, was crystal clear, even from the concession and bar areas just outside the showroom. (This was not lost on concertgoers, whose online forum board posts almost always expressed some sort of astonishment over the venue.)
This worked in both Morrissey’s and his audience’s favor, for the performer’s live show relies heavily on his interaction — vocal and often physical — with the crowd. This means the people in the back could hear every word and see what exactly the crazy fans up front were doing — especially during the closing song, an incendiary version of The Smiths’ "The Queen is Dead," where attendees made (all unsuccessful) last-gasp attempts at jumping the barrier and embracing their open-armed hero onstage.
Typically, the shenanigans of Morrissey’s rabid following tend to distract from the singer’s performance, but not on June 9. Though Morrissey isn’t as nimble as he was 10 years ago, his presence was nothing less than commanding, from his impassioned go at "Irish Blood, English Heart" — with an improvised dig at Republicans and Democrats, as opposed to the song’s usual Tory and Labour jabs — to his peculiar scatting in the middle of "National Front Disco." In between nearly every song, he threw out various witticisms and one-liners; when introducing his band, he acknowledged one particular zinger wasn’t really funny, but that he’d use it the next night anyway. And, whatever you think of a 48-year-old man doffing his shirt (twice), you had to admire Morrissey’s narcissistic chutzpah as he threw his collared duds into the piranha-like pool of fans below the stage.
His band was also in top form, re-imagining old chestnuts like "The Last of the Famous International Playboys" and "How Soon Is Now?," the latter highlighted by Boz Boorer’s clarion-call guitar riffs that didn’t merely mimic those of Johnny Marr, and drummer Matt Walker’s gong-banging. However, the best thing about the show might’ve been the 21-song setlist. Morrissey almost evenly mixing material from the album this tour supports (last year’s superb Ringleaders of the Tormentors), lesser-known/B-side tunes (the robustly performed "Ganglord"), his older solo tracks ("Everyday is Like Sunday") and Smiths songs (of which there were five, all greeted with some of the most rapturous applause of the evening).
It’s rare for artists to be giving some of their best performances well after the 25-year mark, but Morrissey isn’t just taking checks with this tour. At this point, he has surpassed comeback status and given his career’s third act added vitality.
