By David Peisner

What has the world come to when pop music's bard of miserablism has hopped the gloomy pond to live a rather pleasant existence in sunny Southern California? Has Morrissey (gulp) grown up?

It certainly appears that way.

Steven Patrick Morrissey first glided into the spotlight in the early '80s as the graceful, wounded, sardonic voice of the Smiths. Pained, pretty songs with descriptive, often hilarious titles like "What Difference Does It Make?" and "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" quickly established the lanky, elegantly coiffed Manchester native as the reluctant antihero of choice for artsy, hypersensitive adolescents everywhere.

Morrissey proved a reluctant icon, but his reputation for willfully difficult behavior and his championing of causes that were either not-yet fashionable (vegetarianism, Margaret Thatcher-bashing) or never would be (celibacy) only seemed to increase his fans' fervor. The Smiths became genuine pop stars in their native Britain, but just as they were beginning to graduate from their "cult favorite" status in America, Johnny Marr, the guitar-playing yang to Morrissey's yin, abruptly quit, ending the band's short four-album run. This began the desperate cries for a reunion from über-devoted fans.

The calls have gone unheeded. Morrissey dove headfirst into a solo career, releasing albums that were warm (1989's Viva Hate), weird (1995's Southpaw Grammar) and wonderful (1992's swaggering, rockabilly-tinged Your Arsenal), though never quite recapturing the cultural zeitgeist he tapped into with the Smiths. His 1997 album Maladjusted was met with a groundswell of public apathy, leading to a seven-year absence from the studio, and a further retreat from the public eye.

Now Morrissey has reemerged with You Are the Quarry, a witty, emotional new album spiked with the sort of barbed lyricism ("The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores"), political bluntness ("America Is Not The World"), self-lacerating despair ("How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?"), unapologetic bravado ("I Have Forgiven Jesus," "I'm Not Sorry") and swooning melodic hooks that are his trademark. At 44, he has somehow avoided that often-inevitable fate for aging pop stars: He's not a has-been. The naked emotions in his lyrics continue to connect, year after year, evidence of a staying power and lasting influence few artists can claim.

His hard-earned reputation as a recluse and a curmudgeon notwithstanding, Morrissey proves charming, funny and forthcoming as he speaks to Playboy.com about, among other things, his affection for Southern California, the twisted legacy of the Smiths and why he refuses to watch the news.