I wonder to myself
Burn down the disco
Hang the blessed D.J.
Because the music that they constantly play
It says nothing to me about my life
This is what I wrote about the song a couple of years ago:
October 1986. I was on the Greek cyclade Naxos where I met a black English guy who was deejaying in a club in the main town. He was ranging his LPs as the season was over and he was about to go back to rainy England. Before he played a single for me. A song by a band from the whereabouts of Manchester I had never heard of. Called The Smiths, a name I instantly loved for its modest ubiquitousness. The song was called Panic but it took me at least seven or eight years before getting that title. From the beginning on I thought it was called after the chorus at the end, Hang the DJ. A two minutes and something pop song which didn’t impress me much at first but which somehow stayed in memory. Which became a token song for nostalgia. I don’t know how many times I asked deejays for this song. Usually because they only played music which didn’t say anything to me about my life. Sometimes they played it (as they liked the song themselves but didn’t realise why I asked for it), many times they didn’t. This song starts the wonderful compilation of singles, b-sides and 12“ extra songs called The World Won’t Listen (how could I not love that title) which came out in early 1987. Whatever Panic is about (e.g. riots in England and radio deejays who pass stupid songs on the public radio after Chernobyl has happened a couple of hours before), it has a feel of power which in the end becomes so totally overwhelming and irresistible (that kid’s choir is angelic). As if changing the music could change the world. That’s what I always liked most about Morrissey. He always incarnated the romantic side of revolution for me.
(Die Liste aller seit dem 1. Februar ausgewählten 195 Stücke ist hier.)