3/6 Seattle, WA @ Moore Theatre
3/8 Portland, OR @ Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall
3/9 San Francisco, CA @ Regency Ballroom
3/18 Lawrence, KS @ Liberty Hall
3/19 Lincoln, NE @ Rococo Theatre
3/22 Minneapolis, MN @ Orpheum
3/23 Chicago, IL @ Chicago Theater
3/27 Clear Lake, IA @ Surf Ballroom
3/29 Nashville, TN @ Ryman Auditorium
3/30 Atlanta, GA @ Cobb Energy Center
4/2 Asheville, NC @ Orange Peel
4/3 Richmond, VA @ National
4/5 Washington, DC @ National Theatre
4/6 Philadelphia, PA @ Tower Theater
4/8 Flint, MI @ Whiting Auditorium
4/9 Indianapolis, IN @ Murat Theater
4/12 Beaumont, TX @ Jefferson Theater
4/13 Pharr, TX @ Pharr Entertainment Center
4/15 Dallas, TX @ Palladium
4/16 Austin, TX @ Austin Music Hall
4/19 Phoenix, AZ @ Marquee Theater
4/20 Las Vegas, NV @ The Chelsea at The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas
4/23 El Paso, TX @ Tricky Falls
4/26 Denver, CO @ Temple Hoyne Buell Theatre
4/28 Salt Lake City, UT @ Kingsbury Hall
4/30 San Francisco, CA @ The Warfield

"The Last Of The Famous International Playboys" CD single artwork:

"The Last Of The Famous International Playboys" 7" picture disc vinyl single artwork:

"The Last Of The Famous International Playboys" digital single artwork:

27 February 2013

I was disappointed with last night's Jimmy Kimmel Show wherein our smiling host managed to ridicule depression (70% of Americans have experienced depression according to the National Institute of Mental Health). He then found time to ridicule healthy eating (the obesity epidemic in the U.S. costs $147 billion per year in medical expenditure), and he also ridiculed the notion that animals should be entitled to the possession of their own lives. Furthermore, he found time to jokingly promote gun-ownership - hugely amusing for the parents at Sandy Hook, no doubt. He also promoted his special guests Duck Dynasty - who kill beings for fun.
None of the above issues are, of course, as important as Jimmy Kimmel himself, who has finally revealed his show to have an overwhelming loss of meaning. Tune in and relive the intellectual fog of the 1950s.

Morrissey is thankful for being invited to perform on Jimmy Kimmel Live tomorrow, February 26. However, he cannot morally be on a television program where the cast members of Duck Dynasty will also be guests. Morrissey would be honored to play the show, if Duck Dynasty were removed.

Excuse my happiness. Yesterday I decided to take a stroll and I found myself walking alongside Kirk Douglas. It generally takes me 4 seconds to feel disturbingly ridiculous, but yesterday I broke my own record. Overcome by an indescribably modest humility, I suddenly felt like the fat half of a pair of bow-legged twins. I froze, my eyes welled-up, my feet sank into imaginary mud. Only Kirk Douglas could reduce me to such an irrational fear of breathing, but here it was. It was one of those very silly moments where we act on the second instinct whilst ignoring the first instinct, and of course, the second instinct always warns us to "do nothing." Too incurably demented to tap his shoulder and pledge eternal thanks and servitude, I stood and I watched as my hero walked away.
I am not alone in knowing how constantly robbed Kirk Douglas was of that voodoo doll known as the 'Oscar'. Yes, he was given obligatory recognition once the best years of his career had wound down, but his magnetic force and colossal onscreen assurance in Two weeks in another town, Lonely are the brave and The bad and the beautiful still stand as the best screen acting yet produced, in years when the Oscars, as usual, were awarded instead to the blandly servile. If you haven't yet seen the above three films then your life is nothing. In his prime, Kirk Douglas was far too sexually disagreeable, and represented the soul of the world far too accurately. It was a self-realization that cannot be manufactured - or even found for a second time, because its poetry is built on a very particular time and space - one that doesn't return. In fact, Kirk Douglas sometimes didn't act at all - he simply observed and played with those around him (the hardest trick of all.) If male desire is tension, then Kirk Douglas had this more than any other screen star - yes, King Kong included.

Last night I went to bed exhausted. But I couldn't sleep.

It was a joyous head-storm to attend LA Galaxy -v- Club Tijuana last night and to see captain Robbie Keane score in the fourth minute. Why, exactly?
Well, family tree aficionados will be aware that Robbie and I share the same Irish blood; his late grandfather (Thomas Nolan) being my own father's cousin. In filial terms the Irish blood, English heart genetic between Robbie and I is evident - his chin is my chin, my chin is his. Robbie was raised on Captains Road (as was my mother) in Crumlin (Dublin), before he was shipped out to Tallaght. He is a gentleman of the highest caliber (or, if you must, calibre), and to watch him on the pitch - pacing like a lion, as weightless as an astronaut, is pure therapy. Robbie, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

Reports that the Staples Center will not be 100% vegetarian on March 1st are playfully untrue. Contractually, all McDonalds vendors shall be closed down, and the only thing burning shall be my heart.

I am terribly sorry that the next three shows have been moved back. The worst is for the best. I am certainly on the road to recovery, but caution and prevention demand further IV blood work lest I keel over and die before your very eyes. I apologize to an almost annoying degree for any trouble I've caused to anyone by way of travel plans and dog-sitters and ticket-outlay and re-molded hairstyles. I should be as fit as a ferret for San Diego. Please don't be too appalled if you see me out and about this week in the Hollywood area. Perversely, it's all in accordance with doctor's orders: to have myself re-integrated with the call of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd; the flash of light and the full thrust of mosh-pit sound. Illness turns the body into a complete stranger, and I'll be testing the capabilities of my strides at the most unlikely music shows this week. The will to get on with it runs strong. Even death can be used as a springboard. For those scholars who are heatedly curious, my ulcer is now under reins, even if neither asleep nor dead, but the continued cause for concern is a slightly embarrassing absence of blood – most of which the bleeding ulcer relieved me of. Anemia sets its own terms with quite obvious biological conclusions, and I have spent these last weeks under expert medical care in Los Angeles with an almost erotic dependency on various IV drips. Sitting around reading indecent books is no substitute for continuing the tour, but my progress holds great promise and Flint shall not escape quite so lightly. We are all at the mercy of biological chance, and I once again beg for your liberal tolerance. If you bump into me this week at a heavy rock show, please understand that I'm lowering myself into the cut and thrust after weeks on ice - horizontal, with sockets empty of eyes. In the midst of the abyss, I'm saved by the news that tickets for the tour continue to sell very well, and my straightjacket twitches with excited gratitude. But the patient must be patient. Our goal, now, is San Diego, by which time my blood-work shall have finally taken its course and I shall be shot from a cannon and might even be equipped with an extra eye. We just never know, do we? Being on life's danger list, I've found, actually prevents you from thinking about how you are, and there's a bread-like warmth in giving in to whatever was meant for you and whatever wasn't. The only critical mistake might be to confuse your pre-med with creativity - which is certainly worth the confusion if it renders you not fully present in your own life. Finally, I gorge myself on thanks for the many and varied messages of support that I've received over these recent four weeks. They have yanked me out of prolonged mood dips and cured a crisis of spirits. I fully realize that the word 'cancellation' in every known dictionary is followed by my own name, but no morale drops as low as my own at the mere suggestion of re-jigging shows. I sincerely ask for your pardon and your understanding. As for those of you who claim to now be officially sick to death of me - if this is really true, then why exactly are you reading this? As a matter of fact, I am even prepared to humble myself to nothing before those who carp; you see, any hospital-stay leaves us in danger of becoming unnecessarily agreeable. Life will right itself.

Whatever happens, I love you.