As an origin story, Andy Burnham: Smiths Fan has a lot going for it. It’s clearly genuine—he can pinpoint exactly when he saw them live (Salford University, Queen Is Dead tour, 1986). A cynical young person in a hurry might fake that now, but not back when he first mentioned it in 2013. When Labour Uncut asked him for his desert island tracks during his 2010 leadership bid, three of the eight songs were sung by Morrissey (two Smiths singles and one from Viva Hate), which puts him firmly in superfan territory.
That’s an easy way to win over Labour members; you get eight chances to cover all the bases, and using three of them on an artist who, by then, had already been flirting with nationalism for 18 years (we’ll come back to this) was risky and bold. You’ll remember that Burnham didn’t win that election. If you were an enemy state building up this kind of background for an asset, you’d have done a really solid job.
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‘Put me on the train for London Town’ … Burnham outside the Salford Lads Club, made famous by the Smiths’ Queen Is Dead album, after launching his mayoral re-election campaign in 2024. Photograph: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images
In the business of presenting a human being through a fog of talking points and vague answers, it matters more that the passion is real than that it hits the right cultural and social notes, but in the late 90s and early 00s, the Smiths hit those too. Keep in mind that they’d already been broken up for a full decade by the time Tony Blair came to power and Burnham first entered parliament, so they already signaled a lost youth, rather than: “I’m a cool guy who still goes clubbing today.”
But the Smiths’ body of work carries a worldview that’s explicitly political: the lyrics describe a nation in permanent decline, its justice a sham, its education a meat factory, its meat factories (obviously) murder, its people filled with nihilism and exquisite despair. People who called the Smiths miserablist were willfully ignoring what they actually sounded like, which was the opposite of despair—a sharp, lively energy that cut through the greyness their words described.
It was funny, ironic, complicated, and even its countercultural stance was knowingly outdated, declinist. There was so much about the queen in there—and who really cared about the royals by the mid-80s? It had a defiant intellectualism and foreshadowed the 90s spirit where everything was open to endless interpretation, and being contradictory was a sign you were alive.
In that sense, Burnham’s fandom captured the long 90s pretty well. You didn’t have to be literally left behind to feel alienated by modernity. You could just vibe with being left behind. When Burnham played Rusholme Ruffians on guitar in Kyiv on Monday, there was something deeply nostalgic about it—not for 1985, when the song came out, but for the turn of this century, when we could all be lonely yet not alone, where death wishes were routinely expressed but also a metaphor for whatever you liked, where fairgrounds were empty but also full. It was the era when history was over, when ideological differences had collapsed; and while that turned out not to be true, it did allow for a spirit of openness and intellectual exploration that was incredibly rich.
It was the kind of attitude that would now be dismissed as “metropolitan elitist,” and Burnham noticed that pretty early, adding a caveat in a 2015 interview during his second leadership bid that he went off the Smiths in his mid-20s when he decided they were “for people who almost want to make themselves slightly superior: ‘I’m into the Smiths and I look down on people who listen to Level 42’.” That, too, was a bit risky, since this was the musical love of his life, and he was suddenly willing to throw them under the bus just to rule out the possibility that Level 42 fans might vote for Liz Kendall. You’ll remember that he didn’t win that leadership election either.No one voted for Kendall either, except maybe Level 42 fans (she got 4.5%).
Two things made it even more complicated. First, there was Morrissey’s own politics. By 1992, he was already toying with a nativist attitude in his lyrics and performances, which we now clearly see as Islamophobia (in 2017, he backed Anne Marie Waters, a name most people have forgotten, but back then she was allied with Tommy Robinson and pushed the Great Replacement theory). Burnham has addressed, though pretty weakly, the fact that he and Morrissey no longer agree, but that probably covers it.
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‘He’ll die a Smiths fan. He may as well enjoy it’ … Burnham going all out. Photograph: WPA/Getty Images
Morrissey’s politics were troubling from the very start of his solo career – the lyrics of “Bengali in Platforms” are honestly hard to stomach – but the Smiths were never just him (as a judge famously ruled in 1996, siding with Mike Joyce over royalty payments and calling Morrissey “devious”). It seems unlikely to me that even Johnny Marr, the late Andy Rourke, and Joyce could have predicted what Morrissey would become when they were creating that music in the 80s, let alone any of the fans.
Second, in 2006, David Cameron just barged in and ruined everything, picking “This Charming Man” on Desert Island Discs and talking about listening to the Smiths at Eton. It pushed the idea – that we can all feel equally alienated – to its breaking point, and with the most insulting song imaginable: “Why pamper life’s complexity / When the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?” can mean so many things, but it just doesn’t work as a singalong for the guy sitting in that seat.
Marr and Morrissey both publicly told him he wasn’t allowed to like the Smiths, which I suppose may have soothed true fans like Burnham, but it did nothing to stop Cameron’s shallow, detached, “I’d like to grab all the wealth but also share in your economic frustration, it looks pointless and kind of fun” politics, and the damage they did to the country.
At Burnham’s age now – 56 – there’s no turning back. He’ll die a Smiths fan. He may as well enjoy it. Judging by his jam session in Kyiv and his July video on social media where he sang “I left the north again / I travelled south again,” quoting “Is It Really So Strange?”, it looks like he is.
Frequently Asked Questions
Here is a list of FAQs based on the article title and topic written in a natural conversational tone
FAQs Andy Burnham The Smiths and the Kyiv Jam
1 Wait what actually happened Did Andy Burnham play guitar in Kyiv
Yes During a recent visit to the Ukrainian capital Kyiv the Mayor of Greater Manchester Andy Burnham picked up a guitar and performed a rendition of Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths alongside a local band Videos of the impromptu jam went viral on social media
2 Why is this such a big deal Its just a politician playing a song
Its a big deal because of the cultural and political layers The Smiths are a quintessentially northern and melancholic band and their frontman Morrissey has made controversial rightwing statements in recent years For a Labour politician from Manchester to play that specific song in a warzone while Britain faces a costofliving crisis creates a perfect storm of irony nostalgia and political commentary
3 Why did he choose Bigmouth Strikes Again Is there a hidden message
The songs title and lyrics are about someone who cant stop saying the wrong thinga bigmouth Commentators speculate Burnham might be making a wry joke about his own outspoken nature or subtly mocking the political chaos in Westminster More likely it was just a crowdpleaser that he knew but the symbolism is hard to ignore
4 The article mentions Britain in freefall What does that have to do with a guitar solo
The article argues that the video is a perfect metaphor for the current mood in the UK You have a regional leader representing northern identity performing an act of cultural solidarity abroad while back home the country is dealing with political instability economic decline and crumbling public services Its a moment of joy and connection that highlights by contrast the grim reality at home
5 Is this a good look for Andy Burnham Isnt it a bit inappropriate
Opinion is divided His supporters see it as a human relatable moment that shows soft power and cultural diplomacy Critics argue its a cynical photoop that trivializes the serious situation in Ukraine and distracts from his own political battles Its a fine
