Legalized theft
Leaves me bereft
I get it straight in the neck
(Somehow expecting no less)
A court of justice
With no use for truth
Lawyer...liar
Lawyer...liar
You pleaded and squealed
And you think you've won
But sorrow will come
To you in the end
And as sure as my words are pure
I praise the day that brings you pain
Q.C.'s obsessed with sleaze
Frantic for fame
They're all on the game
They just use a different name
You lied
And you were believed
By a J.P. senile and vile
You pleaded and squealed
And you think you've won
But sorrow will come
To you in the end
And as sure as my words are pure
I praise the day that brings you pain
So don't close your eyes
Don't close your eyes
A man who slits throats
Has time on his hands
And I'm gonna get you
So don't close your eyes
Don't ever close your eyes
You think you've won
Oh no
According to Marr .....
“ Mike Joyce had served a writ against Morrissey and me, claiming that he was a partner in The Smiths and because there was no agreement to say otherwise he was an equal partner. This was based on the Partnership Act of 1890, which says that unless there is a clear agreement all partnerships are equal; he was therefore entitled to an equal share of the band’s recording and live earnings. Andy was part of this action too, but he settled and agreed to take 10 per cent in the future. My position was that
Mike had agreed to 10 per cent of the band’s earnings when the band decided the splits on a very emotional day in Pluto Studios in 1983. Mike argued that he never knew what the splits were, and as it had never been written down and signed, he was entitled to 25 per cent of the profits. It turned out in the evidence at trial that, through our disorganisation, the splits had not been consistent.
It seemed odd to me that you could be in a band with three other people for five years and not know what everyone’s splits were; no one had disputed or rejected the finances at any time during the five years when the band was together.
The Smiths as a band were not equal. People might want to think otherwise, but anyone who was around us in any capacity would tell you that
The Smiths were not a band of equals. Morrissey and I formed it, and apart from the first year when Joe was with us we managed it, and usually managers take 20 per cent of a band’s income before the band members take their share. We had the legal obligations and the responsibilities, and it was our names on the contracts. We hired everyone and fired everyone, and we ran everything with the record company. Morrissey did all the artwork and I produced most of the records.
It would be nice to think that we all did as much as each other, but we didn’t, and in that respect it was more like The Kinks, or Kraftwerk, where the two founder members are in charge.It’s that way in many other bands, and that’s how it was in The Smiths.
If Mike Joyce wasn’t happy with a 10 per cent share, he should have walked. He should have said, ‘I’m not happy about this, get another drummer.’
I was surprised by the legal action, but I wasn’t hurt by it.
The Smiths met up again in the High Court. I bumped into Morrissey outside the building as we went in, and as surreal as the situation was I was pleased to see him. Then I saw Mike and Andy, which was difficult. I didn’t know how to feel. Andy looked shell-shocked and Mike was very friendly. We took our places in an empty courtroom and waited for whatever was going to happen.
The people I was with at the court – my manager, barrister and his assistant – were standing next to me, but I thought they were all useless – not because I didn’t like them but because they were all outsiders. They weren’t there when The Smiths were together. They weren’t there when me and Morrissey spent every day chasing up people to do our first demos. They weren’t there in the dressing rooms backstage.They weren’t there when we worked together on the records, and they weren’t there when the band discussed money.
The Fleet Street reporters scurried in and scribbled in their notebooks before proceedings even began, checking every flickering eye movement and scrutinising body language for anything that could be interpreted as drama.
When Morrissey took the stand, it was uncomfortable from the word go. He argued with the judge, who was surly and pompous, and at one point Morrissey lost his temper and walked off the stand in frustration. Mike’s barrister made sure he planted a few bombs for the court and the media by putting it to Morrissey that he regarded his bandmates as ‘replaceable as parts on a lawnmower’. I watched the reporters as they devoured that phrase and scribbled it down, and a couple of them exited to phone their editor – job done, now everyone had ‘the angle’. The phrase became assimilated into the newspaper reports and then the proceedings as if it had been said by Morrissey
which it hadn’t: Mike’s barrister had planted it. He knew exactly what he was doing and it worked.The judge fell for it, and the press fell for it, then the public fell for it.
I watched the bullshit and it was like being bound and gagged while everyone threw dirt around. For the band to be wrung out like this and put in such a lowly position was degrading, not only because we were arguing over money, but because to me The Smiths were too cool to end up like that. I’d tried to find a way to settle it without having to go to court, but I couldn’t achieve a settlement on my own. With each minute I grew more and more disdainful of the whole thing. I didn’t respect anyone on either side, including my own. I envisaged the barristers and lawyers sitting around together after the day’s hearing, scoring points and exchanging quips about how each other had done. To them it was all in a day’s work, and we were just rock stars with unlimited amounts of money that we’d acquired easily in the fame game.They couldn’t imagine they were desecrating someone’s dream; to them it was ‘just business’. Having to listen to the story of The Smiths told in such twisted terms by cunning cronies with no understanding of what a band is about was galling and grotesque.Every bit of love the band had for what it did and for each other was extinguished and interpreted in the worst possible light until there was nothing left.
All four members of the band were called to the stand. I knew there was no point in trying to be clever, and by then I was under no illusions that Morrissey and I might win. I just answered as directly as I could, without letting Mike’s barrister succeed in winding me up. I’d been forced to go to court, and I decided that whatever happened I was going to speak up for myself and get the satisfaction of putting a few things straight. At least that way I’d have no regrets and I could walk out of there my own man.
When the judge ruled in Mike’s favour, he made a point of sticking it to me and particularly to Morrissey, who he really didn’t like, making remarks about him that were personal and fairly shocking. As well as giving Mike everything he’d asked for, he also ruled that Morrissey and I pay for Mike’s legal costs, which for the previous seven years had already been paid for by legal aid.”
poor little rich Joyce