It wasn’t supposed to work. In 1984, the charts were a glittery mess of synth-pop and big hair, but then four guys from Manchester released an album with a monochromatic cover of a shirtless Joe Dallesandro. The Smiths The Smiths—the self-titled debut—didn't just enter the room; it changed the locks. Honestly, if you listen to it today, it still feels weirdly invasive. Like you’re reading a diary you found under a floorboard.
Most debut albums are a bit of a scramble, but this one was a manifesto. It was the moment Johnny Marr’s jangling Rickenbacker met Morrissey’s lyrical obsession with celibacy, murder, and the mundane misery of British life. It’s heavy. It’s light. It’s confusing.
People talk about "indie" now like it’s a genre you find on a curated Spotify playlist for studying. Back then, it was a literal survival tactic. The Smiths were the blueprint.
The Rough Trade Gamble and the Sound of 1984
You have to understand the context. Rough Trade Records was basically running on hope and post-punk fumes. When the band went into the studio, they initially worked with Troy Tate, the guitarist from The Teardrop Explodes. Those sessions? Scrapped. They sounded too "thin," or maybe just not right for the vision Marr had in his head.
Then came John Porter. He took over the production, and that’s where the "The Smiths The Smiths" we know actually formed. It wasn't a smooth process. Legend has it the band wasn't even that happy with the final mix at the time. Morrissey famously thought it wasn't good enough. He was wrong, of course, but that perfectionism is why the record has that jagged, nervous energy.
The album starts with "Reel Around the Fountain." It’s a slow burn. It’s controversial. It’s deeply melodic. It set the tone: we are going to talk about things that make you uncomfortable, and we are going to do it over the most beautiful guitar lines you’ve ever heard.
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Why the Lyrics Still Make People Twitch
Morrissey gets a lot of flak these days for his public persona, but in 1984, his pen was lethal. On The Smiths, he wasn't writing about "baby I love you." He was writing about child molestation ("The Hand That Rocks the Cradle"), the emptiness of the soul ("Still Ill"), and the literal Moors murders ("Suffer Little Children").
It’s grim stuff.
But here’s the trick: Johnny Marr’s music was the sugar that made the medicine go down. Take a track like "What Difference Does It Make?" The riff is iconic. It’s driving. It’s catchy. You want to dance to it, but then you realize you’re singing about the crushing weight of disappointment.
The Identity Crisis of "Still Ill"
"Under the iron bridge we kissed, and although I ended up with sore lips..."
That line from "Still Ill" is basically the thesis statement for the whole band. It’s the intersection of romance and physical discomfort. It’s a very Manchester sentiment. The song asks if the body rules the mind or the mind rules the body. Heavy for a pop song? Absolutely. But it’s also remarkably funky in a way people forget. Andy Rourke’s bass playing on this record is a masterclass. Rest in peace, Andy. He was the secret weapon who kept Marr’s layers of guitars from floating away into the ether.
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The "Suffer Little Children" Controversy
You can't talk about The Smiths The Smiths without mentioning the backlash. "Suffer Little Children" touched on the Ian Brady and Myra Hindley murders. For a city like Manchester, those wounds were—and are—incredibly deep.
The press went wild. People accused the band of being ghoulish or exploitative. But if you actually listen to the lyrics, it’s a lament. It’s about the ghosts that haunt a city. Morrissey actually ended up befriending Ann West, the mother of victim Lesley Ann Downey, after explaining his intent. It shows that even at the very beginning, the band was interested in the "un-pretty" parts of the human experience.
Is it Actually Their Best Album?
Most critics will point to The Queen Is Dead as the masterpiece. They aren't necessarily wrong. That album is more polished, more "epic."
But there’s something about the debut that feels more honest. It’s claustrophobic. The production is a bit dry, which actually helps. You feel like you're in the room with them. You can hear the pick hitting the strings. You can hear the intake of breath before the vocals.
- The Rawness: It lacks the "big studio" sheen of later 80s records.
- The Hunger: You can hear a band trying to prove they are the only thing that matters.
- The Tracklist: "Hand in Glove" remains one of the greatest opening salvos in music history.
Honestly, "Hand in Glove" was the first thing they ever released, and putting it on the album was a move. It’s a song about being "out of step" with the world. If you were a lonely kid in a grey town in 1984, that song wasn't just music. It was a lifeline.
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The Visual Language
The cover art. Oh, the cover art.
The Smiths didn't put their faces on their covers. They used "cover stars." For the debut, it was Joe Dallesandro in a still from the Warhol-produced film Flesh. It was a statement. It signaled a love for 60s kitchen-sink realism, queer cinema, and a rejection of the "macho" rock star image.
By choosing these images, they curated an entire aesthetic that fans could adopt. It wasn't just about the songs; it was about the books you read, the movies you watched, and the flowers you stuck in your back pocket.
Technical Nuance: The Marr Style
If you're a guitar player, you know the "Marr" sound is a nightmare to replicate. It’s not about power chords. It’s about arpeggios, weird tunings, and layers. On the debut, he was using a lot of 12-string guitar to get that "shimmer."
The song "You've Got Everything Now" is a perfect example. The guitar line is busy, almost frantic, but it never gets in the way of the vocal. It’s a delicate balance that most bands miss. They were four people who fit together like a puzzle, even if they eventually fell apart in one of the most litigious breakups in rock history.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Listener
If you're looking to actually "get" why this record matters, don't just put it on as background noise while you do the dishes. It doesn't work that way.
- Listen to the 2011 Remasters: The original vinyl was notoriously "quiet" because of how much music they crammed onto each side. The Johnny Marr-supervised remasters bring out the low end (Rourke's bass) that was missing for years.
- Read the "Kitchen Sink" Influences: Check out Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey. Half of Morrissey's early lyrics are a love letter to her writing. It adds a whole new layer to the songs.
- Focus on the Bass Lines: Seriously. Stop listening to the lyrics for a second and just follow Andy Rourke. "Barbarism Begins at Home" (technically a later single but often associated with that era) or the work on "Miserable Lie" shows a band that was surprisingly danceable.
- Ignore the Modern Discourse: It’s easy to let Morrissey’s current reputation color the music. Try to hear it as it was in 1984—a radical, sensitive, and slightly terrifying explosion of Manchester angst.
The Smiths didn't last long—only five years—but the debut album remains a perfect capsule of that initial spark. It’s a record that smells like rain on pavement and old library books. It’s uncomfortable, it’s beautiful, and it’s essential.