In the late 1980s, when Johnny Marr was first adjusting to moving on from the Smiths, the music press routinely grumbled about what he was doing with his life. Why was he playing with Chrissie Hynde or Bryan Ferry? Why had he gone to work with Matt Johnson in the The? How dare the “guitarist of his generation” no longer be in the Smiths?
During the 25 years since then, Marr has been doing entirely the opposite of what was expected of him. He has played synthesised dance music with Bernard Sumner in Electronic, set out to combine Can and the Stooges in the Healers, made albums with Wakefield rabble-rousers the Cribs and angular US band Modest Mouse, before finally delivering two solo albums that re-embrace his past while cementing his determination to be accepted on his own terms.
Having proved that there is life after the Smiths, now he can play Smiths songs again – Still Ill and The Headmaster Ritual are the latest additions to the live set – without there being any feeling that he is cashing in or resting on his laurels. The much-loved Panic arrives early as the second number; while the entire crowd sings the “Hang the DJ” chorus, however, the song is quickly left behind for new material.
While you can at least imagine some of the songs on Marr’s first solo album, The Messenger, being sung by Morrissey, the current Playland album owes more to fellow Mancunians the Buzzcocks. The adrenalised new wave provides a more comfortable frame for Marr’s voice – part urgent, part wistful – as he navigates the uncharted passage from “guitarist of his generation” to guitar hero-as-frontman-cum-all‑ round-entertainer.
He holds the instrument in the air, plays the Banana Splits theme, and shows his skills as a raconteur. “Look where I find myself,” he says, knowingly, surveying the hometown crowd who peer back at his eerily youthful face and teenage-looking hair. You might wonder whether he has not just the one, but three more Dorian Gray-type portraits in his attic, of the other, less perfectly preserved ex-members of the Smiths.
At 51, he is only human: his tap of killer tunes might not flow as prolifically as in his youth, but the gorgeous New Town Velocity floats along on one of his most delicately transportive chord sequences, while Easy Money delivers a critique of capitalism via one of his catchiest riffs.
One of the few performers still taking protest into the mainstream pop arena, he explains that Speak Out, Reach Out was inspired by an uncomfortable encounter with two “well-heeled, well-oiled” city types in London’s financial district, who were oblivious to the homeless couple observing their appalling behaviour from a doorway. “I’m not lecturing, just explaining,” he insists, but by now, he is on a roll.
A reminisce about growing up two streets away from the Apollo and seeing all the greats – “Buzzcocks. Joy Division. The Cure. Blondie ... Uriah Heep! OK. You can’t win them all” – here provides a handy cue for a riotous romp through some of songs that got him on to the same stage.
Electronic’s gently funky Getting Away With It purrs under a disco ball, while There Is a Light – perhaps the nation’s favourite Smiths song – find performer and crowd loudly extolling the virtues of death in each other’s company. By the end of the 21-song marathon, Marr has added another entry to his CV: the only man in the country both allowed and able to play How Soon Is Now with the guitar above his head.
• At Academy, Glasgow, on Tuesday. Box office: 0844 4772000. Then touring.
