All this casts fascinating light on the few major pop acts who've never been overwhelmed by the desire to jump back onto the rock'n'roll roundabout. Why are they resisting the enormous big fat cheques (surely) being waved at them almost perpetually by the world's promoters? And who is the least likely to ever budge from their zero-tolerance standpoint?
In Simon Reynolds' splendidly comprehensive discussion of pop culture's obsession with its own backstory Retromania, he states that "every generation as it ages will want to see its musical youth mythologised and memorialised." Looking at the eras currently being eagerly painted with the nostalgia brush, one decides Reynolds can only be right.
whatever their ability everyone raised the bar and challenged themselves. Endured a little something, pushed a little further than they usually would, all for a great cause. Some may also have exorcised the exercise demons (sorry) and may feel inspired to take a new path, taking control of their health and well being.
Reviews of Autobiography confirmed my worst fears: he would spend far too long detailing a complicated court case against his former band-members and not enough time describing how it must have felt to press something so pure as Hatful of Hollow or Meat is Murder to vinyl. But then - what do critics know?
His book is not going to be a classic (see above). Either Morrissey knows that - in which case the 'classic' label is a genuinely hilarious joke - or, horribile dictu, he believes it, in which case the book is likely to have all the humour and finesse of a statue produced by the Kim Jong-Il metallurgy factory for the glorification of the great leader.
The Twittersphere went wild with a torrent of hateful celebrations and equally hateful rebukes. Everyone seems to want to voice a very vocal opinion on how they feel about the death of the Iron Lady. What I find most interesting, and amazing, is that most of these public declarations come from my generation.