Moz in Sandie Shaw book

Hey all! I took out Sandie Shaw's book "The world at my feet" from the library, hoping to see some Moz references, and I found plenty, so I'm gonna post 'em. The veterans have probably all read this before, but for the newish fans like myself......

On Morrissey helping her with her outfit:

'Steven, you don't eat meat', a song I had just then written about Morrissey, has the lines "You dressed me in my gladrags, you in your gladioli". It refers to the first time, in 1984, that he asked me to join him and the Smiths on stage, at the Hammersmith Palais. I hadn't a clue what to wear then, either. Luckily, Morrissey relished the task of dressing me up. Before the performance, I turned up at his flat with a huge pile of clothes and did an hour-long fashion parade in the kitchen while he scoffed tubs of vegetarian goodies from Marks and Sparks. Finally he proclaimed, 'I want you to walk on stage as if you've just walked in off the street,' and dismissed all the outfits with a theatrical wave of his teaspoon. He insisted I wore the jeans I arrived in, and a fresh Smiths T-shirt. He lent me his belt to hold my jeans up and then took great pains over selecting a blue plastic popper-bead necklace from his bag of jewellery. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue............

The first letter she got from Moz 'n' Johnny:

The next opportunity arrived soon after the birth of Amie. A gush of fan letters started arriving at my door. The first, in child-like scrawl, read:

Post House Hotel, London Hampstead, August 8th 1983

Dear Sandie,
We could never begin to emphasize the endless joy we would feel if you would care to listen to our song with a view to possibly covering it.
Obviously the song was written with you in miind. It is an absolute fact that your influence more than any other permeates all our music. Without doubt we are incurable Sandie Shaw fans. Studying all your material, as we do day and night, we felt that your future musical direction must avoid the overt icky momism trap that most of your 60's contemporaries seized.
We have strong ideas about the musical backing which should accompany your version of 'I don't owe you anything'. It should be upbeat and immediate; after all, the audience you left behind was a youthful one - the audience you must seize now must also be youthful. Ken Woodmans' arrangement on such as 'Keep in touch' or 'You've not Changed' could easily be an electric guitar. But let's leave the past behind, good as it was. We feel that your future needs an injection of high spirit and vengeance. Should you dislike 'I don't owe you anything' we can supply others with variation. You must surely realize that your name is sufficiently on the lips of young people to demand interest in new, vital product. We would be honoured to provide material for consideration. The Sandie Shaw legend cannot be over yet - there is more to be done!
Love Forever,
Morrissey (Wordsmith/voice)
Johnny (multi-instrumentalist/composer)
THE SMITHS

It was delivered by Nik one weekend when he joined me as usual at our seaside cottage. It was a welcome break from the industious insanity of his burgeoning new film production company, Place Pictures. He came tumbling in the door, film scripts piled up to his chin, with more wedged under his arm and bulging out of his shoulder bag. He held a package clenched between his teeth which he dropped at my feet. 'I was having a drink with Geoff Travis from rough trade records and he asked me to do him a favour and pass on some fan mail to you.'
I picked up the sodden package from the carpet along with a nappy, assorted toys, and a copy of Woman's Own, and I tidied it away behind a cushion, where it stayed for a week or so. I came across it one rainy day when Amie was taking her nap. Inside was a cassette and the letter.
At the beginning of the year I had decided to say 'yes' to everything that came my way instead of running in the opposite direction. So, one evening a few months later, I joined the Smiths at Matrix, a cheap and cheerful studio, and discovered the intense joy of singing with human beings who loved playing and who repected me, and consequently did not have one eye on the clock and their nose in a dirty magazine.
The drummer and bass player, Mike Joyce and Andy Rourke, are a formidable rhythm team, and the diminutive Johnny Marr, who has a giant talent, plays the guitar with fire and lucidity and total commitment. When we worked together on tracks like 'Jeane' I felt his life open completely to mine. It was inspirational.
Between takes I was bombarded with questions about my records, my work, the sixties, myself......I was taken aback by their detailed knowledge; things I had forgotten about or hadn't considered important they treated as major issues. These young men, the Smiths, were unashamedly fans.
Unusually, the Smiths had a great deal of respect for their fans. Their attitude was like a breath of fresh air. Spending more time with them I realized a lot about the unique relationship between an artist and his/her fans; how we develop as one, how completely interdependent we are, the perfect fusion that can be achieved.
The smiths were masters of this art. They and their fans were mutually created. The Smiths were a band that was truly for the people and of the people. This is why they were totally independent of the record industry merry-go-round. The only way they could be destroyed was from within - just like the youth culture of the sixties! No wonder I felt at home with them.
Together we completed three triumphant tracks - 'Hand in glove', 'I don't owe you anything', and 'Jeane'.
Rough Trade records issued 'Hand in glove' as a single. It went leaping into the charts and - even more exciting - topped the indie singles. On 'Top of the pops' I wore stilettos and the Smiths played barefoot.
Quite by surprise I felt that I was teetering on the brink of a personal and professional breakthrough. Rough Trade and the Smiths spoke of doing an album. I was thrilled to bits.
A few weeks later, I met Morrissey to tell him the news. 'You're pregnant?' he repeated incredulously. 'Aren't you brave!'

On how she finds that all singers have a religious impulse:

'Morrissey thinks God looks like James Dean and his wife looks like Joan Sims'

On first meeting Morrissey:

I had never heard of the Smiths then and at that stage nor had the rest of the world - with the exception of a handful of Mancunians. If the communication had not come through Nik via Geoff it would have been easy to dismiss them as cranks - which I did for a few days.
Then my curiousity got the better of me and I listened to the cassette - a frontroom demo, with Morrissey whining tunefully in his as yet undeveloped style, and Johnny Marr twanging soulfully away in like manner. Although the song did not strike an instant chord, I was intrigued. They displayed such front. I thought the least I could do was write and thank them for their interest.
I called Geoff, who pleaded on their behalf with the dexterity of a legal advocate, 'Morrissey would die to meet you'.
At that point I was unaware of Morrisseys' penchant for melodrama and that Geoff was talking literally. Deeply embarrassed I dismissed his impassioned pleas. I passed sentence, 'No, I'm sorry, Geoff. I don't really think so'.
'You don't have to sing their songs - just meet him,' he badgered. We adjourned so that I could deliberate.
The next day Geoff introduced fresh evidence in the post: reams of indie press coverage, and another notelette from young Steven Morrissey. All this eagerness was very touching. I called Geoff again.
'Yes, I'll meet him, but no promises of involvement. He is on probation' I warned.
'A reprieve!' cried Geoff joyously. 'You'll never regret this.' (I wonder if he ever did)
The following day a hysterical story broke in 'The Sun' saying that the Smiths were releasing songs based on iffy subject matter: 'Reel around the Fountain' was supposed to be about child molesting or something, and another, 'Suffer little children' , to be about the Moors MUrders. I rang Geoff to cancel. 'If this is true,' I said firmly (which was unlikely as it was in the sun, but marginally possible), 'then I can't have a pervert in my home with my kids.'
'It's not true. They've twisted everything, I promise'. Geoff read me the lyrics. They were certainly not the usual moonlight and roses stuff but they were OK, if a little obscure. 'Look, I'll come with him to chaperone,' he offered.
Still not fully convinced of the purpose of the meeting, but trusting Geoff, I uncancelled the appointment.
I was running a bit late on the day. Fearing I might look like the harassed mother that I was, I decided to don full make-up and lie glamourously in the bath afterwards to get that fresh dewy look that Bianca Jagger recommended in the Woman's Own article.
I was putting the final touches to my lipstick when Amie had a tantrum because she wanted some too. I had just managed to calm her down by swapping it for some lip salve when two over-anxious young men arrived on my doorstep. I opened the door, resplendent in full make-up - still wearing my pyjamas.
Geoff shuffled nervously. Morrissey was transfixed. It was excruciating. I asked them in, trying to act as if I normally entertain young men in the afternoon in my nightwear. Morrissey continued to stare helplessly, so Geoff took him by the arm and guided him forward.
Sensing my uneasiness, Amie clung to me like a limpet, so I had to drag her along with me, attached to my pyjama leg. She then hid behind the sofa where I sat, and Geoff and Morrissey sat placed themselves either side of me in a pair of matching Victorian armchairs.
I scrutinized Morrissey. He didn't look like a child molester to me. Amie seemed to feel otherwise, and again I began to question my wisdom in meeting him. All my worst nightmares vied with the sweet angelic vision seated before me. As soon as he managed to mobilize his mouth and speak, all my fears subsided. He was the perfect gentleman - a real little charmer - old-fashioned, even.
Like nervous fledglings his hands fluttered in the air to accompany his words. In his gentle northern accent he proffered bunches of flowery compliments - all presented in a down-to-earth Mancunican manner. This perfect paradox dumbfounded me.
It occurred to me that he would look just as incongruously at home in an episode of 'Coronation strret'. I could picture him in the Rovers Return seated between Minnie Caldwell and Ena Sharples in the snug, supping his lemonade shandy through a straw, and doing nowt else but enjoying a right good chinwag. Later, when Pat Phoenix, who played Elsie Tanner the barmaid, died, Morrissey was distraught with grief and attended her funeral, along with many others.
I just couldn't make him out. I didn't know whether to take him seriously or not. He was teh antithesis of a modern-day would-be pop idol, more Quentin Crisp than Elvis Presley. Whatever he was, I always recognize a twin soul when I meet one, and I knew he had recognized me too.
I showed them to the door and to my amazement heard myself arranging to meet him again. 'I must be certifiable' I thought afterwards. Somehow this charming man, Morrissey, reminded me of my meeting with my first Prince Charming, Adam Faith, in 1963 when I was sweet sixteen.......



There's lots more where that came from, including a tale about the night Sandie, Stephan Street and Morrissey went to disco. Will post it later, if you want.

Hello Sunbag,
Thanks for your posts.
Very interesting.

crsp

Thanks for these! It must have taken quite a long to type these so thanks a lot! I would be interested to read some more...

Oh how lovely that was to read of Morrissey first meeting Sandie Shaw, I can just picture that scene so vividly! It’s funny to read of him acting like a fan, so shy but so charming at the same time. It would be great to read any more excerpts if you can put them up

oh absolutely, post the disco story as soon as you get the chance, it gives me something to look forward to - I bet it's hillarious!


and thanks for what you posted so far, it's very interesting!

Hello again!! I'm glad you liked 'em, I thought everyone would tell me it was old news!! Anyway, here's some more for ye...

On the rosary beads photoshoot:

Now Morrissey, my new-wave Prince Charming, six foot tall in his socks, picked me up for another photo session to promote our budding musical collaboration. His letters had been constant and wonderful; warm, tender, funny, intimate, always supportive, but I still did not know him too well. In the back of the taxi I could feel his eyes on me, examining the minutiae of my appearance. I was a bit fazed.
"I'm such a mess" I excused myself. "I didn't have time to put any make-up on"
"You don't need any make-up, you look great. I love your glasses" he replied adoringly. It was at that moment that I gave in. I decided I would believe that he loved me and enjoy it.
In the same photographic studio, Chrissie Hynde was just finishing up in front of the camera with the Pretenders.
'You can borrow my Polyfilla', she yelled across at me helpfully, as I sat down at the make-up mirror. I don't think Morrissey took to her brand of humour. I felt awkward, and puzzled that two such good influences on my life should not get on.
I squeezed self-conciously into a tight black minidress that the stylist gave me for the photo. I was still about half a stone overweight after having Amie. Morrissey dressed up in an ill-fitting second-hand dinner jacket and bow-tie. We were placed side by side under the lights in front of the camera. I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself, but the photographer wanted me to gaze haughtily into the distance - which I did, while Morrissey knelt at my feet, using his popper beads as a rosary, and studiously worshipped me. I couldn't take it seriously, but everyone else did!
Two years later, on the tour, at the Hacienda Club in Manchester, I continually thought about Morrissey while on stage. I laid into 'Steven (You don't eat meat)', the song I had written with him in mind, and followed it with 'I Don't Owe You Anything', the song he had written with me in mind. Then finally I sang 'Hand in Glove' and 'Jeane', while our mutual Mancunican fans went potty. Why he hadn't shown up to watch I will never know - maybe he wanted to give me my space, but I was hurt and angry. His words rang in my head...........
'Let us dance barefoot in the snow until all of St. Petersburg is aflame with jealousy.........Ever and ever, Morrissey.'

On feeling left out of the Smiths:

The time I was remembering was just before an earnestly requested guest appearance with the Smiths in Manchester a few years before. I wandered aimlessly round the backstage corridors until Morrissey invited me into the bands' dressing room to help him pick a shirt for his performance. The atmosphere was tense with the kind of well-rehearsed, familiar antagonisms presnt in all groups. I felt more and more uncomfortable, like an intruder. So.......left out, yes, that's it - like sitting on the edge of the playground, watching the other kids play their stupid games, feeling....left out. I just went and hid in a cupboard and sobbed my heart out. It completely threw Morrissey who, as usual, had enough problems of his own to contend with. He stood outside trying to convince me that everything was alright and that everyone really wanted me to be there. Unable to calm me down he left me to my own devices. I chanted for a full hour before feeling lifted.

On going to Morrissey flat when himself and Johnny were in trouble.....

I drove over to Morrisseys' Knightbridge flat. He looked dishevelled and worry-laden, his familiar high stiff quiff flopping at half-mast. Although it was almost summer, a fire blazed in the hearth and 'Top of the Pops' blinked silently at us from the TV screen. The Smiths had managed to complete Strangeways, their last album for Rough Trade Records, amidst much personal discord, before swapping from this indie label to the comparitive luxury of EMI. The move brought the disagreements between Johnny and Morrissey to a head. The magnificence of their inspired musical collaboration was now reduced to painful disharmony, accompanied by the wretched orchestration of legal wrangles.
This was a time when Morrissey really needed a close friend. Johnny is fairly easy to get along with, but Morrissey can be exasperating. He seemed never to have learnt the art of friendship, and I felt desperately sad for him, imprisoned in his self-imposed solitude. Of his aquaintances I had met, surprisingly none was intellectual equal or shared his emotional depth, and certainly none had the experience to relate to his current predicament. So he was stuck with paid professionals who were not attuned to his wavelength and cared little anyway. This all struck many familiar notes in my own tone scale.
I was careful not to take sides as I did not want to alienate Johnny. Nor did I offer any business advice as I felt my best qualification was as an unbiased friend offering support. Having vowed not to interfere, I groaned each time a new 'expert' came on the scene, further complicating matters. From where I was standing, all Morrisseys' problems started with himself - his insecurities and they way they made him behave. It was during this dark period for both him and me that we shared some of our closest exchanges. There is such a warm heart beating under that stylishly affected exterior with which he protects himself from the world - honestly!

Will post the disco story after Coronation street!! I hope this tides ye over!

interesting and amazing..sandie shaw is strange

Thanks for posting these!!!!!!


Oh, and:

'Let us dance barefoot in the snow until all of St. Petersburg is aflame with jealousy.........Ever and ever, Morrissey.'

Click to expand...

that's beautiful!!!

Thank you, Sunbags, quite a good read.
And yes, Sandie is a very perculiar woman.

Back after Corrie!! Well, I will post the disco (and gym, by the way) story now, but first, I thought I'd show you this, cos......well it's lovely

On how the title of her album (and song), 'Hello Angel', came about:

A Postcard arrived from Morrissey that started, 'Hello Angel, Do you think I care too much?......' and then went on to express his doubts about these same songs (songs her writers had submitted for her album - Sunbags). The message hit home. But instead of feeling depressed, I was inspired. I had a cassette of a tune Chris Andrews had written for Morrissey to add lyrics to - I played it. Out popped a melody and words from my head. Suddenly I had a song called 'Hello Angel'.

Now for the Wool Hall, disco fiasco:

In October, Morrissey rang to ask me to join him and Stephen Street in the Wool Hall Studio just outside Bath. Stephen was producing and co-writing Morrisseys' first solo effort. I could take him a cassette of recent Chris Andrews tunes to hear. I packed a toothbrush and a biography of Virginia Woolf and drove westward in my brand new mitsubishi, feeling wonderfully independent behind the wheel.
At the Wool Hall, a farmhouse idyll with a recording studio en suite nestling cosily beside the towering remains of an old castle, I was greeted by Morrissey offering hot flapjacks and cups of tea. He fussed around the old pine kitchen like a broody hen. An EMI recording budget provided a working environment that was a far cry from the stark basics of Matrix, the last studio in which we had worked together on the song 'Sheila take a Bow', from what turned out to be the final batch of Smiths' recordings. The cook arrived and asked me to check the evening's menu and to choose my room. 'They've been so excited about your visit they've driven us all to a frenzy,' she confided.
Morrissy showed me around the place, mentioning past visitors, pointing out who had slept in which room. Peter gabriel there, Joni Mitchell here.....he stood in the doorway, eyeing the room fondly. I could almost see her fronds of golden hair curling over the beds' fat pillows. 'Ok, I'll take this one,' I said, wanting to please him.
Dinner was an intimate vegetarian affair. Morrissey, Stephen and I sat around a large pine table supping burgundy. They had my stay all planned out. After the meal they would take me over to the studio and play me some tracks, then if was into it we could drive into town and go to a disco. 'A disco!' I asked Morrissey puzzled. 'That's hardly your style. I didn't know you could dance.'
'Neither did I' He replied mysteriously
'He's been out grooving almost every night' Stephen informed me.
Morrissey continued to knock back the wine in uncharacteristically hedonistic fashion. He giggled and burped a lot. This was all going to be rather pleasant, I thought. Then to my amazement Morrissey leant forward and said, 'Tomorrow we can go for a work-out at the gym - did you bring your swimming cossie?'
'You! In the gym!' I was stunned. I gulped down another glass of wine.
'I've been teaching him how to train his body - it's good for his voice,' Stephen confided, adding, 'I'm a real believer in physical fitness'.
'Mmmmmm....' I thought. I shot a glance down his chair at his tight, neat little attributes and was very impressed. A nice taut bum is an asset to a producer as you spend a lot of time talking to it while he leans over the mixing desk. If he could do the same for Morrissey.........the mind boggled.

Contd -

We braved the cold night air to go to the studio across the courtyard. My chair was positioned with precision in front of the speakers, but I was too nervous to sit down. I prowled around trying not to be affected by the intense atmosphere, trying to make light of things. They played three tracks in quick succession.
Morrissey could not look at me; he could not look at anyone. He stood hunched self-conciously over the controls staring at the volume meters. During the last song, 'Maudlin Street', he turned and caught my eye with such a pained expression. His desire to be special, to be admired, to be brilliant, was so naked, so touching, so vulnerable. At that moment I dearly loved my delightful, delicate, delinquent friend. I cried, he cried. I sensed his fear and I felt so frightened for him.


Disco: There are two 'going-out' events mentioned here, just in case you're confused. The 1st time is not so eventful.

We were joined in the car by the engineer, nicknamed 'Psycho' for reasons best known to himself, who drove us to the club. Morrissey and I spent the night gossiping away in a dark corner. When he wanted a drink, Stephen, who looked after the cash, ordered him one, and when he wanted to go to the loo, Stephen, even though he didn't want to go himself, led him there and back like a doting father.
All I will say about the trip to the gym in the morning is that Morrissey has such good legs he should have been in Wham!.........
The mornings were spent taking leisurely breakfasts, talking artwork or admiring the first photos of Morrissey's budding partnership with Stephen Street. In the afternoons he and I browsed around the bookshelves of Bath, searching for inspiration, and singing Fifties pop duets in the car to take Morrisseys' mind off my novices' driving skills. In the evenings, while they fiddled around in the studio, I sat in front of a crackling open fire and made notes for the first chapters of a book. Later, as a special treat, Morrissey, who understood and had great empathy for my competitive need to win, helped me cheat at trivial pursuit.
At the studio, along with Stephen who also played bass, were Andrew Paresi on drums and Vini Reilly on guitar. With those other musicians there, the chemistry was rather different.
'I can't tell you how much I love all of them,' Morrissey gushed in an unaccustomed expression of deep affection. (He was later to have one of his radical changes of heart and blow them all out). They all seemed deeply in love with him too. It was intriguing to observe each vying with the other for his attention, his laughter, his approval, or his admiration of their musical prowess. They tiptoed around in his presence as if on eggshells, not wanting to offend their maestro.
Andrew was the most profoundly affected, being an intensely emotional young man with enough unresolved hang-ups to fill a man-sized wardrobe - the stuff that Morrissey worshippers are made of. When this was channelled positively into his drumming, the result was a quirky unique style. When it was not, it was excruciating for him and everyone else.
That evening, when we had eventually decided we were all going out clubbing, a socially unconfident, fashion-conscious Morrissey paraded around for me in his room trying on this outfit and that - What should he wear? How did he look? Did I like this jacket? It was an ironic reversal of the dressing-up he gave me for my first appearance with the Smiths in Hammersmith. He had long since lost his naivety and was now acutely aware of the impact of his formidable presence.
We assembled in the dark entrails of a slightly dated Bath nightclub, and huddled behind the warm familiarity of the throbbing speakers. One by one the musicians ventured onto the dancefloor, peeling off the layers of self-conciousness with Wildean gestures. Stephen tangoed me expertly round the room with the practised precision expected of a physical training instructor.
Joined at last by their master, the acolytes encircled Morrissey in a tight protective mandala. Jokingly, the notorious celibate toyed with their flat male breasts in turn as onlooking eyes bulged with fascination. I stood aside, decling the public fondle. It was highly amusing to see him enjoying his charismatic effect on his audience.
The circle of nirvana was suddenly broken by a blonde who appeared from nowhere. We looked on, transfixed with undisguised jealousy as she brazenly ransacked our little clique, stealing Morrissey away for a quick shimmy, blasting him with cigarette smoke all the while. He returned sheepishly to his possessive flock, eyes glazed and reddened - probably from the nicotine.
To everyones' relief this episode was quickly superseded by a guest appearance by Morrissey and me on the dancefloor. Everyone cleared a space as we jived to - of all records for the DJ to have picked - the Smiths 'Sheila take a bow'.
Morrissey spent a lot of time locked away in his room, suffering the familiar last-minute torture of searching for exactly the right word to finish a lyric. I could almost feel the panic rising in his throat as each moment brought him closer to the end of his debut album, to the final word, the last say. Once I held him close for comfort, outside the studio, sinking into the softness of his red cashmere jumper. To my surprise he opened up and exuded back. Forgetting his usual jarring physical awkwardness, he allowed himself to melt into the oneness. Back and forth the sympathetic communion of spirit flowed. I knew he could not allow himself this luxury again. Although it was not quite goodbye, it certainly felt like an adieu to the Morrissey I used to know.
I was beginning to feel restless at the Wool Hall. I found all the jostling for Morrisseys' attention rather unbecoming. I thought I should be taking advantage of my resurgance of mental energy and getting my own album together. One morning I packed and left. When I got home another cassetteful of musical ideas from Chris Andrews awaited. I jumped into my car and played the tape at full volume. By the time I had driven up the Bayswater Road and back I had written my fifth song for the album, 'Take Him' - all about a curious incident in a disco.............


Well, that's everything I'm afraid. I hope you like reading these.
P.S. Does anyone have the lyrics for 'Take Him'?
P.P.S. Was Sandie In love with Morrissey? Was he in love with her?
What do you all think about the strange partnership?

Thank you very much! Fascinating read!

Forgive me my ignorance, but what exactly happened between them? Why does Morrissey say Sandie has a cold heart and no feelings?

Ah well done Sunbag!!! Its good to see that in this day of technology blah etc ad fin, there are still people who will endeavour to go to music/book shops and look at the music biographies for mentiojn of the Mozzer!!!

As a semi-veteran I salute you

(P.S Yes I have read the Mozzer bits in this book!!! Did you see the metions of Adam Fith though?!?)

Thanks for typing that up. It's really interesting.

I'm not sure how much to trust her version of events though. It all seems a bit flowery and extreme to me. I doubt very much Morrissey was a complete nervous wreck all the time as she seems to paint him. You can't virtually manage a band and then begin a solo career immediately afterwards without a bit of steel in your character.

Correction; Adam Fatih (ok Faith then but Fatih sounds better)

And library. Obviously. So you may have read the bits with Adam Faith and wasn't she also married to the greatest fashion designer of all time? Namely Jeff Banks

Danny said:

Thanks for typing that up. It's really interesting.

I'm not sure how much to trust her version of events though. It all seems a bit flowery and extreme to me. I doubt very much Morrissey was a complete nervous wreck all the time as she seems to paint him. You can't virtually manage a band and then begin a solo career immediately afterwards without a bit of steel in your character.

Click to expand...

Hmmm whats the expression; ghost writers/ buddhist ghost writers?

The Song 'Take Him' but takes on a whole knew meaning now we know who it is about. Very interesting

A think that struck me: I had absolutely no idea that Sandie Shaw was that much involved with the Smiths-music!!

Sandie needs a good slap it's S.T.E.V.E.N.