The World of Morrissey

I was driving with my family today, listening to a compilation CD, when I heard a Morrissey song--"You're the one for me, Fatty. My daughter loves to sing along with this song, and I won't lie and tell you that I don't sing along because I do. Anyway, hearing the song today got me to thinking about Morrissey's popularity--he's a poet, an icon, a subject for college courses, and even big in Mexico. His music is straight forward verse-chorus-verse. His image is upper-class-happy-days. And he tends to sing flat of a song's key. He's the embodiment of thinking England, well-read, and a vegesexual. He taught me how to say Yeats properly. He's indirectly responsible for the James explosion in southern Utah. And he puts on a concert that is truly an experience. But without all of this knowledge, a significant back knowledge of The Smiths, and Craig Kilborn's constant endorsement, I don't know how I would even break into Morrissey's world. It has it's own landscape full of wet sand, cemetaries, Vicars, panic, and murder. It has it's own vernacular, it's own dress code, it's own meat-watchers point system. And it's as polarizing as female circumcision. If you know about it, you have an opinion about it. For me it's a great travel destination when I'm in a certain mood--it definitely takes me back to visit certain places and people--but I don't plan on buying land there anytime soon, especially since I can crash at the Wellzes.