Zülâl Kalkandelen has interviewed Morrissey three times quite recently, and this latest interview has been released today. In it, Morrissey lets the reader know of how he feels in regards to "the performance". It's a good read, not only because of his eloquence, but because he critiques old thoughts on what a "performance" should be.

In regards to that, I came to think of the last time I saw Morrissey live, which was in Stockholm a couple of weeks ago. It feels like yesterday, but at the same time, it could have been years ago. I still remember much from seeing him live for the first time in my life, which was in 1994. 20 years ago, but it feels like yesterday in so many facets.

I think of Morrissey singing "Asleep" in Stockholm. I wept. Tears just streamed out from me. Before the concert I told X that a notion had crept up on me, telling me that this would be the last time I'd ever see Morrissey alive. I don't think it's because he has stated that he has cancer, or anything else; it just felt that way, intensely so.

I imagine that it could be hard for some to understand how much Morrissey means to me. His lyrics, his song, his self; it all crashed into my life circa the mid-nineties, and stayed there as The Firmament, ever since. I would not wish his loss upon anyone.

As he sung "Asleep", I believe every word left him with intent. And as such, I cried, in a way, as I cried when he opened the concert by playing "The Queen Is Dead"; I know that his fervent hatred for the so-called royal family is well-deserved and I feel the same. Death and life are not the same; or, are they? I dunno.

There is no other person who can evoke such feelings in me today. Which is sad, really, as Morrissey is 55 years old; there's possibly a punk band that displays the same raw emotion and is able to strain it through lyrics and music, but I haven't heard them much. A handful in total, perhaps, but none like Morrissey. Our Morrissey. My Morrissey. It's strange to consider a world without him.

Don't feel bad for me/there is a better world

From the aforementioned interview:

In the book “How Music Works”, David Byrne writes, “In musical performances one can sense that the person on stage is having a good time even if they’re singing a song about breaking up or being in a bad way. For an actor this would be anathema, it would destroy the illusion, but singing one can have it both ways.” I have always wondered how you feel while singing “I Know It’s Over” or “Asleep” on stage. What exactly do you feel at such intimate moments?

I don’t ever forget the original process that created the song, so therefore the pain doesn’t take absence simply because this is now 2014 and I have a decent bank account and a few good friends. If a song becomes important to many people, well, this is not coincidental. To sing an emotive song is not a confidence game – you cannot do it unless you feel it. But I disagree with David Byrne on the subject of acting because many great actors can bring off failure magnificently, and we love them for it all the more. We can identify the artists who have created beauty for everyone, and we can also see that they have suffered for it, and that’s why we will always love them. I also disagree with David when he uses the term ‘musical performance’ because if you have a true and physical need to sing a song then you are not performing. Performance is forced and artificial, and you are either a singer, or else you are... simply ... a costume.