Johnny Marr: The Smiths were 30 years ago. Move on

Johnny Marr may not be the mouse that finally got to roar, but there's little doubt he has spent more years than necessary being overshadowed by Steven Patrick Morrissey, his one-time partner in The Smiths. Slowly and far more diligently, however, Marr has come to represent the polar opposite of Morrissey – less relentless barbed and tired wit, more common decency. And now, after his erstwhile close friend and songwriting partner spilled the beans in 2013 with Autobiography, Marr has decided it's his turn.

As chalk is different to cheese, Set the Boy Free might be a smirk-free and uncontentious read, but Marr has a different, happier story to tell. That he tells it in a readable and evocative manner is due not only to his character but also his wanting to "move along the narrative in the same way that Joan Didion does. In terms of literary influence, I was thinking more about essayists than anything else."

Marr is fully engaged, a terrific conversationalist and – unusual for someone who has been interviewed so often – quite trusting. The reductive nature of fame means that the focus can sometime only be on a certain period of an artist’s life. That has been a major problem for him, especially with regard to The Smiths.

“I understand it. I think it could have niggled away at me, and if I had been a different kind of person, then it could have driven me crazy, but it’s in my nature to be fairly easygoing about these things. As for people that want to talk only about The Smiths, I’ve always tried to be as gracious as possible, but, seriously, all of that was over 30 years ago. Great as it was, that’s a long time to dwell on things, isn’t it?”

In the early 1960s, Athy, Co Kildare couple John Maher and Frances Doyle moved to Manchester and married. On October 31st, 1963, Johnny Maher was born into a rigidly Catholic household. Sunday Mass was never missed, and in the small front hall was a holy water font.

“I spent a lot of my early years among statues and crosses and prayers,” writes Marr (he changed his name by deed poll in the 1980s so as not to be mistaken for a different Mancunian musician), “and there was a constant backdrop of religion in our house that felt very mysterious and deeply otherworldly.”

Without a hint of sentiment, descriptions of his childhood evoke a robust sense of Irish tradition and culture.

"When I first became known, the uniqueness of all original members of The Smiths was that we were proud second-generation Irish. We were very vocal about that – for example, in the runout groove to the Hatful of Hollow vinyl album, I inscribed the word 'Eire' as a nod to my heritage. Over the years, I've been asked was that a very conscious thing to do, and the answer is yes, it was – more so from me, I think, than anyone else in the band. It wasn't and isn't coming from a sentimental place, but rather because my feeling of Irish heritage is so balanced."

Opportunities abroad
His parents, he admits, still love Ireland deeply, "but they also loved the opportunities their family had been given in Manchester. They were proud, too, of being from Kildare as well as the musical heritage, yet were too cool to be overly nostalgic and sentimental. They were just matter-of-fact about it, and because of that I always had a very realistic feeling about my heritage, which is to say that it has always loomed large in my life – the iconography of shamrock, harps, horseshoes, and the Catholic imagery."

And, of course, the Irish music played at house parties.

“All of my family could play and sing. As I’ve got older, I’ve realised how unique that is. When I started mixing with English kids, I noticed their parents treated music as entertainment, whereas my family treated music as a lifestyle.”

Given free rein as a young teenager, Marr admits that he was a borderline tearaway. Did he grow up too quickly?

“I did, but from a safe distance of the age I am now, I see my time at 14 – me in a red-light district of Manchester with a bunch a reprobate mates, hanging around outside venues waiting to kick in the doors because we didn’t have the money to pay in – as the apprenticeship for a life that I’m very grateful for.

“Because I grew up in the inner city, I wasn’t ever going to be swinging off tree branches or surrounded by streams. Instead, I was watching people in the city, looking at their haircuts, clothes and boots, learning all the pop chart songs off by heart. I got my identity from that.”

Following a couple of try-outs in bands – scheduled in between working in a clothes shop and perfecting his hairstyle – Marr co-formed The Smiths in 1982. Major success, he remembers only too well, “came along like a tornado, and our ascent was very rapid. I had five years of being in one of the biggest guitar bands in the world, and you could say that my experience has stood to me.”

Royalty resentment
If there's one section of the book that Marr's rare sense of animosity filters through, it is when he writes about the 1996 High Court case, where bass player Andy Rourke and drummer Mike Joyce started legal proceedings against him and Morrissey over a percentage share of royalties. The issue – caused in effect by virtually non-existent management of The Smiths' early years – was eventually resolved, but Marr is unapologetic about his rare display of anger.

“I’m glad that when I wrote about the court case, I let my resentment come through. I didn’t want to have a rant, because I don’t feel that way, and it was so long ago. Nor do I feel bitter, but it was ridiculous that I had to run the group in my early 20s, when I should really have been allowed to create music. We had a couple of very good people who tried to manage us, but they were unwelcomed by my partner. That was a huge mistake, and was to do with control and willful bloody-mindedness.”

He and Morrissey are no longer on speaking terms and he has enjoyed an impressive creative life since the demise of The Smiths, having played and collaborated with the likes of The Pretenders, Electronic, Talking Heads, Bryan Ferry, Modest Mouse, The Cribs, Hans Zimmer and many more. Not forgetting his solo career, which continues his love of pop/rock music and his unquenchable thirst for playing guitar – the mention of which brings it all back home for him.

“I can’t ignore the fact that my first memories are of a toy guitar I saw in a shop in Manchester.” There is acceptance and mystification in his voice. “For some reason I can’t explain, I fixated on that guitar.

“Isn’t that brilliantly weird? It doesn’t really matter, though, what make of guitar you have once you sound like yourself. That takes some doing, doesn’t it?

“There are plenty of guitarists out there,” concludes one of the most distinctive, least embittered musicians of the past 40 years, “but not all of them are musicians.”

- Set the Boy Free out now on Century Press. Read our review here