Just got back from a Morrissey concert at the Palms Casino. Good lord. I used to play The Smiths in my college radio show at Plattsburgh State. It only took me, what -- 21 years to find the time and money to make this happen?

Ironic that Morrissey, who drapes himself in pompadoured iconography now himself follows involuntarily in the footsteps of Elvis . . . rising to prominence in his youth, only to spend the B-side of his life dodging fat jokes. Although to be fair, Morrisey's homages are to 1950's rebel icon James Dean, who had the good sense to die young and tragically, thus avoiding the ravages of male pattern baldness or involuntary weight gain.

The man can still croon, and his lyrics are as beautifully cynical as ever. All in all, a great concert. And to his credit, when the occasional lunatic fan stormed the stage (and there were many), he would still offer up an arm's length handshake as security dropped them to the floor.



The show opened with Kristeen Young. I had heard of her, but by name only. I was liking her music too, and I think she's someone to keep an eye on.

But man, she's a real curio -- imagine if Kate Bush had an illegitimate daughter, weaned her on Red Bull, and then abandoned her to be raised by Bjork, with only an electronic keyboard to play with. That weird, and that wonderful.

BTW, no O.J. sightings . . . besides, apparently he's no longer welcome at The Palms.