Kick Out the Jams: Morrissey at the Hard Rock, April 17

It's refreshing to bump into someone at a concert and get a sincere sorry-about-that instead of a glare and muttered curse, and that's at least one cool thing about Morrissey's show this weekend at the Joint: no tough-guy vibe. But judging from the crowd's sing-along, sway-along fervor Saturday night, one suspects these Morrisamic fundamentalists would happily slap-box to the death for their King of Pain.

Perhaps best known as the fey, witty frontman for the '80s mope-pop greats the Smiths, the Moz has flown solo for a decade and a half now--more than enough time to establish an identity far and away from the Smiths. But nostalgia is a tough headmaster to please, and it seems even the notoriously stubborn Morrissey has admitted that while he may be through with the past, it isn't through with him. Thus Saturday's concert had the vibe of a retrospective show, a best-of lounge set. That's not a criticism; while the performance was technically lackluster, the vibe was helped by a sort of nod between the Mozzer and audience that said, Let's make a deal: You indulge me on some new songs, and I'll throw in some Smiths. Agreed.

From there, Morrissey and crew performed a lengthy if unspectacular set that straddled old, new and really old, switching gears from driving pop gems such as "Hairdresser on Fire" to grainy, rainy meditations including "Little Man, What Now?" and, from his upcoming album, "The First of the Gang to Die." The newer material sees Morrissey's famously sharp tongue sporting a blunter edge; perhaps the best explanation for the directness of tunes like "America Is Not the World" and "How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel" is that the smog of Los Angeles, his adopted home of recent years, has started to eat away at his veneer of Brit wit. But it's unlikely even Morrissey is losing sleep over it; Saturday saw him good-naturedly shaking hands, accepting notes, even giving away $20 in an impromptu music trivia quiz. Has the Mozzer opted for mellow over morose? Maybe. He closed the show with that swollen, melodramatic Smiths paean to loneliness, "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out." The crowd sang along with all the reverence of a church choir; but Morrissey didn't take the hymn too seriously--he let the audience fill in several verses on its own.--Andrew Kiraly