In a 1984 interview, a 25-year-old Morrissey discusses the hysterical fanmail he receives, and how he believes it’s “not really addressed to me”. So they’re writing to someone else?, asks his interlocutor. “Yeah, I do feel that,” he replies. He was right, of course. And any substantial appeal Make-Up Is a Lie holds is just a hangover from the very same love letters: residual affection for the hallucinated stranger who wrote some songs you may have once leaned upon.
The Guardian reviews Morrissey’s new album.
