The Atlantic (one of America's few sane media outlets these days) has a short piece about 13 songs to help get through the pandemic, and includes this great write-up (by James Parker) of "My Hurling Days Are Done":
Forgive him his trespasses, as he might—actually probably wouldn’t—forgive yours. A yodeler on the Alp of himself, calling in his lost sheep, his black sheep, his whipping boys, in that rich and curling tenor, this, ah, complex individual is still in magnificent voice, and still capable of writing superbly, as demonstrated by this cut from his new album, I Am Not a Dog On a Chain.
I'll stick my neck out and suggest that "A yodeler on the Alp of himself" is my favourite description of Morrissey, ever.
Forgive him his trespasses, as he might—actually probably wouldn’t—forgive yours. A yodeler on the Alp of himself, calling in his lost sheep, his black sheep, his whipping boys, in that rich and curling tenor, this, ah, complex individual is still in magnificent voice, and still capable of writing superbly, as demonstrated by this cut from his new album, I Am Not a Dog On a Chain.
I'll stick my neck out and suggest that "A yodeler on the Alp of himself" is my favourite description of Morrissey, ever.