Frankly, Mr. Shankly by The Smiths Lyrics Meaning – Navigating the Maze of Ambition and Integrity
Lyrics
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
I want to leave, you will not miss me
I want to go down in musical history
Frankly, Mr. Shankly, I’m a sickening wreck
I’ve got the 21st Century breathing down my neck
I must move fast, you understand me
I want to go down in celluloid history, Mr. Shankly
Fame, Fame, fatal Fame
It can play hideous tricks on the brain
But still I’d rather be Famous
Than righteous or holy, any day
But sometimes I’d feel more fulfilled
Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
I want to Live and I want to Love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of
Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I’ve held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
Oh I didn’t realise that you wrote poetry
I didn’t realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry, Mr. Shankly
Frankly, Mr. Shankly, since you ask
You are a flatulent pain in the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
Still I must speak frankly, Mr. Shankly
(Oh give us your money!)
In the eclectic roster of The Smiths’ discography, ‘Frankly, Mr. Shankly’ stands out as a wry, biting commentary encapsulated within a jaunty melody. One might mistake it for a song filled with frivolous cross-talk, yet a closer inspection reveals a layered narrative wrestling with the concepts of ambition, artistic integrity, and the search for meaning beyond the doldrums of a day job.
Morrissey’s lyricism often threads the subtle needle between satire and sincerity, and ‘Frankly, Mr. Shankly’ is no exception. It’s a song that at once defies the banality of work life and lampoons the grandiosity of aspiring to fame and artistic immortality.
The Sardonic Anthem of Every Office Worker
The song opens with an unmistakable sense of entrapment within the confines of a soul-sucking job, a plight that resonates universally. Morrissey conjures a vivid image of the dreary nine-to-five that ‘pays the way but corrodes the soul’, a lyric that serves as an anthem for unwilling participants in the corporate rat race.
The mention of Mr. Shankly, potentially a fictional boss figure, is symbolic of every supervisor or embodiment of ‘The Establishment’ that fails to understand the creative frustrations simmering in the hearts of dreamers trapped within its walls.
Wrestling With the Modern World
The blunt admission of being a ‘sickening wreck’ with the ‘21st Century breathing down one’s neck’ sets the stage for the song’s portrayal of the modern artist’s struggle. It echoes the anxiety of remaining relevant in a rapidly changing cultural landscape, particularly for someone anchored to the past, trying to understand their place in the future.
The pursuit of ‘celluloid history’ suggests a yearning not just for recognition, but for a legacy that outlives the temporary flickers of fame—an alluring antidote to transience.
The Dichotomy of Fame: Acidic Wit Unleashed
A biting critique of fame appears in verses that ridicule the notion with acerbic wit. ‘Fame, Fame, fatal Fame’ underlines the double-edged sword of public life. Even as Morrissey acknowledges the perils that fame wreaks on the brain, he confesses a preference for infamy over saintliness—laying bare the human penchant for recognition at any cost.
In these lines, Morrissey propels a dialogue on the cost of fame, surmised as something potent enough to distort one’s sense of reality.
The Hidden Depths of Christmas Cards and the Mentally Ill
Perhaps the song’s most profound introspection arises from the seemingly incongruent desire to make ‘Christmas cards with the mentally ill’. This line offers a stark contrast to the pompous pursuit of fame, suggesting that fulfillment might come from the simplest, most human of connections.
It hints at a deep-seated need to connect with the marginalized, perhaps an activity that renders pure satisfaction, untainted by ego or ambition. To ‘Live and Love’ and embrace vulnerability appears as a naked aspiration and defiance against the hollow thrills of fame.
Memorable Lines That Etch into the Cultural Conscience
The song’s most unforgettable dig comes as a direct confrontation with Mr. Shankly, where Morrissey’s character does not realize the boss ‘writes poetry’—poetry that is abruptly branded as ‘bloody awful’. It’s a surgical strike at the pretensions of a figure of authority, pulling back the curtain to reveal the banalities behind the facade.
Morrissey closes with a departing shot calling Mr. Shankly a ‘flatulent pain in the arse’, maintaining the irreverent tone. While ostensibly rude, it underscores the burning desire to speak one’s truth, no matter how unvarnished, to break free from oppressive structures and express the soul’s deepest yearnings.
