Morrissey, Manchester Arena

A little touch of LA in the Mancunian night

A gladioli's throw from the Salford Lads Club, before which he posed for the sleeve of The Queen is Dead, and a breeze-blown petal's drift from Whalley Range, Rusholme and Hulme (the districts he name-dropped so liberally in his songs), Morrissey is back in Manchester, his birthplace and his muse.

A gladioli's throw from the Salford Lads Club, before which he posed for the sleeve of The Queen is Dead, and a breeze-blown petal's drift from Whalley Range, Rusholme and Hulme (the districts he name-dropped so liberally in his songs), Morrissey is back in Manchester, his birthplace and his muse.

The most prominent emblems of this musical metropolis, over the past decade, have been the Gallagher brothers. In front of a packed, emotional MEN Arena, Morrissey reclaims his turf from the Boorish Monobrows. For one uncharacteristically warm Mancunian night, he's left his Los Angeles life behind, and once again, Manchester belongs to him.

There is a hunger at large, borne out by the rise of tonight's support band Franz Ferdinand, for music which nourishes the brain instead of the beer gut. Intellectual rock is back in vogue. This is why tonight's crowd didn't comprise solely of Eighties indie kids, but also young-uns who don't remember solo low lights like "Roy's Keen" and "Dagenham Dave", and have headed straight for The Smiths' immaculate back catalogue.

And this is why "Irish Blood, English Heart", a poor single (from an excellent album) has entered the charts at number three. Nobody is as adored as intensely by those who adore him as Morrissey. It's a two-way deal. The 46-year-old (today is his birthday) gives the devoted what they desire, engaging in Morrisseyesque banter ("you've made a happy man very old"), and leading his band through a set which mixes his current You are the Quarry LP with older solo selections and, to the loudest applause, Smith classics like "Shoplifters of the World Unite" and the finale of "There is a Light that never goes out".

He's brought a little piece of his new playground with him - his name spelled out in lights with block capitals big enough to fit on top of Beverley Hills. He earned a reception which may make him wonder why he ever left. Maybe Morrissey will never make Manchester his home again but on a night like this, when he closes his eyes it could almost be Hollywood.