'Beethoven was Deaf': Morrissey Live

Every so often, an established artist releases a live LP which threatens to eclipse their studio recordings. David Live is by far and away the best document of Bowie's music as he made the luxurious transition from futuristic gothic to plastic soul; Rock 'n' Roll Animal, the first of Lou Reed's solo live records, contains a drama and intensity which was lacking on his best-seller Transformer. Similarly, with 'Beethoven Was Deaf', a recording of Morrissey's Your Arsenal tour, there is a raw power, energy and conviction which wholly enriches the already muscular force of his recent records. 'Beethoven Was Deaf' is Morrissey unleashed: a fast, hard, but ultimately elegiac selection of songs which surely confirms Morrissey's position as one of the great performers of the post-war period.

As a document of the Your Arsenal tour, 'Beethoven Was Deaf' is formal and lucid. Avoiding unnecessary sound-bites of crowd noise, technical hitches and on-stage patter, the record explodes into life with a fast and furious version of You're the One for Me, Fatty (a modern love song if ever there was one) and maintains a hard, robust pace to the conclusion of National Front Disco, which breaks down into three minutes of feedback and uncontrolled white noise. So far, 'Beethoven Was Deaf' has answered point-for-point the glam-heavy production skills of Mick Ronson's wall of sound. With Seasick, Yet Still Docked, which finds Morrissey in a mood of near pastoral melancholy, the delicacy and intensity of the studio sound is maintained. This mood continues, gradually accelerating, until Jack the Ripper, when Morrissey makes a great pop moment by allowing his voice to soar above the sinister melody: 'Crash into my arms, I want to... You don't agree, but you don't refuse - I know you...' This is something which Morrissey achieves with effortless ease - the ironic, mock-heroic plea; he's been quickening pulses with this technique since the days of Wonderful Woman and How Soon is Now?, and it never fails.

The latter half of this recording is an exercise in tightening the performance to breaking point. From the hymn to hope, I Know It's Gonna Happen, Someday to the ominous challenge of We'll Let You Know ('...we may even be, the most depressing people you've ever met...') there's a steady rising of tempo, making the opening chords of Suedehead ring out like a peal of bells. The fast pace returns, ripping through We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful and concluding with the glam-thrash of Glamourous Glue. Rather than presenting a shadow of a concert, 'Beethoven Was Deaf' runs like a new Morrissey record, exploring a selection of songs and bringing them to perfection.

But one is aware, even while offering this sincere, considered opinion, that Morrissey is surrounded by detractors and cynics; praise for his work is written off as fanatical hyperbole, whilst musicians with one tenth of his talent and originality are hailed as new saviours of pop. Why has Morrissey suffered this fate? It is cruel for any artist, in any medium, to suddenly find himself, as it were, sent to Coventry - and for no reason other than his tenacity to his ideas and his aesthetic. Last summer, the British music press embarked on a self-satisfied witch hunt because of the 'controversy' surrounding nationalistic imagery on Your Arsenal: a song about hopelessness and anger, entitled The National Front Disco was assessed with child-like literalness to be a rallying cry for The British Movement. Anyone who has read Bill Buford's Amongst the Thugs, with its description of a real National Front disco, will see more clearly that Morrissey - as he always has done - is mining the confusion of male adolescence and male tribalism for his stories and his images. Gilbert & George, we must remember, have been equally taken to task for the ambiguity of some of their recent work, most notably the New Patriot pictures. Morrissey's arraignment was continued because of his use of the Union Jack on stage; The Jam, The Who and Ian Dury have all used Union Jack imagery: as Morrissey said, in a recent interview with Tony Parsons, 'When I do it, people think I'm Hitler.' It seems absurd that people cannot distinguish between dangerously nationalistic performance and the artist's right to contextualise his material.

Morrissey sings about the impossibility of intimacy, and about the febrile volatility of 'ordinary boys'. This has been his position as a lyricist and as a pop icon since The Smiths recorded This Charming Man. It would be peculiar if everyone subscribed to his point of view, just as it would be peculiar if everyone found themselves reflected in the music of Joni Mitchell or the novels of Amis or Winterson. The important thing, beyond the importance of music or writing which can engage directly with emotion, is to preserve, from the litter that lies about us, the power of those artists who contribute something wholly new. Before Morrissey, Britain didn't have a musical spokesperson for a certain vision of life; his track record over the last ten years has revealed a constant renewal of ideas and performance. If Kill Uncle was reckoned by some to be his weakest record, then Your Arsenal, produced by the late Mick Ronson, was certainly his strongest since The Queen is Dead. With 'Beethoven Was Deaf', Morrissey has tightened his work to a tautness which responds to every emotional inflection. From the hard rocking of You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side to the near unbearable intensity of Jack the Ripper, there is a completeness about this record which makes it a classic of its kind.

There is every possibility that Morrissey will soon leave Britain, and join those English artists whom England has driven abroad. This may sound sentimental, but bear in mind that The Velvet Underground will not play one concert in their native country, simply because they believe they're not wanted. Whatever danger Morrissey has courted, and whatever risks he has run with his music, he has given a drama and a beauty to British pop which is as rare as snow in August.