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Morrissey still quite unhappy

Nobody does morose like Morrissey. Ask any current musician with a bad haircut and a notebook full of bitter lyrics for an influence, and the answer will almost always be an intense "Morrissey, man," followed by a few moments of silence to reflect on the grandeur that is the legendary English musician.

Indeed, the former leader of 1980's punk icons the Smiths is the pioneer of emo and the grandfather of angst. Morrissey's solo career, which began in 1987 following the Smiths' demise, has been as brilliant as it has been chaotic. Ringleader of the Tormentors, his latest effort since 2004's massively successful You Are the Quarry, is equally disarrayed. Sometimes dazzling, sometimes dull, but always deliciously despondent, the CD revels in its abandon — and misery has never sounded so good.

Well into middle age, Morrissey should probably be past the lamentations that pile up on one another throughout Tormentors. Most of his rock star peers, in fact, have adopted a reflective standpoint at this point in their careers, fondly remembering the days in which world was theirs. Morrissey, however, bypasses all standards and continues to sing as if the world was not only never his, but that it's close to ending. It's this apocalyptic viewpoint that has made Morrissey's career and he has no intention of stopping now that he's grown up.

It is a difficult thing, however, to portray such a viewpoint without sounding monotonous or trite. Morrissey avoids this for the most part, largely because of the tight arrangements of his songs and the clever lyrics that drive them. The majority of the album's tracks feature rhymes so outlandishly depressing that they are actually humorous. "To Me You Are a Work of Art," the closest Morrissey will ever come to a love song, features the lines "To me you are a work of art / and I would give you my heart / that's if I had one." Other lyrical gems include "till the day you croak" rhyming with "it's no joke" and the truly charming testicular reference in "Dear God, Please Help Me" ("There are explosive kegs between my legs.")

The frankness of lyrics such as these is what makes the album the refreshing return to realism that pop music so desperately needs. Instead of singing circles around cryptic themes, Morrissey's style is blunt and to the point. He never apologizes for being the jerky mope that he is, which is appreciated. Track after track, the singer sails over lyrics so cheeky in their honesty that it's hard not to enjoy his misery.

The musicality of Tormentors is equally pleasing. Although sloppy and mechanical at times, the majority of the album's tracks are gracefully put together without the unappealing gloss of too many studio effects. Morrissey's voice is classic — dignified and commanding, he delivers each song with passion and energy. Although somewhat tiring after 13 tracks, the singer's slightly high tenor is as strong as it is revealing.

Tormentors is an album so quintessentially Morrissey, however, not because of its relentless melancholy or Robert Smith-like gloom, but because of the heart beneath all of its sorrow. Morrissey may be singing mournfully for 90 percent of the disc, but beneath all of its layers of anguish, the album is sincere and has compassion. There are even children serving as background singers on "At Last I am Born," a song that showcases the type of woe that Morrissey does best — an all-encompassing sadness that still somehow leaves some room for hope.

Forget Ozzy Osbourne, then — the real Prince of Darkness is the Ringleader of Tormentors. Morrissey's ninth solo album is a bleak but inexplicably appealing collection of pop songs in weepy disguises.

Rating: 4 out of 5