Cat Jones | Managing editor

Today I was jotting things down in my notebook about the idiosyncrasies of my workplace, as I often do. On this particular occasion, I was elaborating on the fact that every time we play The Smiths, an artsy, disheveled-looking twenty-something will materialize out of nowhere and speak more words in a row than they’ve spoken all day: “Who’s the Morrissey fan?!”

Now, the irony of this situation is that as I was writing that down, a girl of about 23 walked up and abrasively asked if we had any applications “on hand” (of course we do?) and then paused, took two steps back, looked at all of us with a sheepish smile and literally said, “Now who here likes The Smiths?”

If only she had done that twenty minutes prior, when I was on my knees, emphatically singing, “THE QUEEN IS DEAD, BOYS!” to my coworker.

It seems these days that everyone has an opinion about music, and I’m certainly no stranger to that. I mean, I, for one, find it impossible to not comment on the music playing anywhere I go, and my coworkers certainly always get an earful about whatever our current soundtrack is, positive or negative. In doing so, I find that I generally gravitate towards those who either A) have similar tastes, or B) have completely opposite tastes than I do, and give me a run for my money in a good argument. However, the one (and pretty much only) band my coworkers and I can all agree on is The Smiths. In all seriousness, in the past three months, we’ve had our Smiths compilation in our stereo more often than not. I believe at one point it was in for four straight weeks. Maybe more.

But what is it about The Smiths? Don’t get me wrong; I love them and I probably listen to them an amount that is dancing on the border of unhealthy, but we rarely get customers coming in saying, “Hey, who’s the Robert Plant fan?” or, “Now, which one of you listens to Depeche Mode?” or, even better: “No way, you listen to Cake? So do I!”

The Smiths have managed to transcend time and go from ultra-popular 80s band to underground indie-population-approved “hip” band of the 2000s. You’ve gotta hand it to Morrissey, because that doesn’t seem like an easy feat to me. I wonder if he knew that in 2010, people would seriously think that they were the only ones in the world who had ever heard of his music, and upon discovering that other people like them too, they would automatically determine that they need to be friends RIGHT. NOW.

I suppose it’s because they bring out the introverted, insecure kid in all of us in the most ridiculously happy way possible. They’re the lowest common denominator for the masses because every person has that deep within their heart, regardless of how hard they fight to tell you otherwise. What other band could get away with singing, “There were times that I could have murdered her/but, you know, I would hate anything to happen to her” with a poppy beat that puts a giant, stupid grin on your face? Talk about great breakup music! And who doesn’t love to call a buddy on their birthday and sing, “I called to wish you an unhappy birthday, ‘cause you’re evil and you lie!”?

So all you Smiths fans who think you’re indie and hip: You’re not. But I love you anyway, because I suppose in a way their music does tie us together. I look forward to all the times Morrissey gives you the guts to walk up to a stranger and bond over a love of the same art. In their words: “To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.”