I Was A Teenage Smiths Fan

 

And now a memory: I’m 14 years old and I’m having dinner with the immediate family and relatives. My (least favorite) aunt turns to my mother and asks (in that way that aunts do when they speak of you as if you were not present in the same room), “Why must she always be so glum? And why all the black?” My mom answers, as a matter of factly, “Well, you know, she listens to The Smiths.” True story.

So here’s to The Queen is Dead, which turns 25 this week. Oh that I could thank it for being the closest thing I could ever have to a religious experience, and for lending me an identity when I didn’t have one of my own.

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