I wish Your Arsenal were my favorite Morrissey album. I wish it were. Probably because “Bigmouth Strikes Again” and “The Queen Is Dead” are among my favorite songs by The Smiths. Likely due for the fact that the music is actually aggressive to match Morrissey’s venomous words, as well as being able to contrast with their eloquence. Your Arsenal opens with barnstorming electric guitar that makes the controversial decision of overriding Morrissey’s voice in the mix with a blunt, generic riff. But that trashiness is kind of the charm, isn’t it?

Even still, it can’t carry unexceptional songwriting, which is a standard problem in Morrissey’s solo career. Almost all of his solo work is dependent on being built around his vocal melodies, so when those don’t deliver, typically the rest doesn’t, either. Regardless, the backing music at least has its own character, much like the frontman, and this has carried Morrissey’s solo career. No matter what he wants, his backing band and style is always forced to change between albums. Presumably because no one can stand working with the man for long.

Excellent cover photo, by the way. It’s so quintessentially “Morrissey.” The open-shirt swagger and vanity, the perfectly-placed suggestive microphone. Nature’s most ineffective sex bomb.