Uploaded January 2026 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago
The story of The Smiths fan who supposedly took hostage a radio station in Denver in 1988. The movie Shoplifters of the World was inspired by the event.
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#themiths #morrissey
Some bands have fans. Other bands have followers. And then… there are The Smiths.
In the 1980s, this four-piece from Manchester weren’t just a band; they were a lifeline for the lonely, the misunderstood, and the terminally overdramatic. Their music felt less like songs and more like an emotional support system on vinyl. For a certain kind of teenager, Morrissey and Marr didn’t just soundtrack your life—they explained it.
Out of that devotion grew one of rock’s wildest urban legends: a distraught fan, a loaded gun, and a radio station held hostage for hours so the world would finally hear the gospel of The Smiths. The story was so cinematic that it eventually inspired a film. It’s been repeated in interviews, biographies, and fan forums as if it were gospel. There’s only one problem. Like most legends, it isn’t quite true.
The real story begins in 1988, at Denver Top 40 station Y‑108, home of relentlessly upbeat hits like “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and “Nothin’ But a Good Time.” If you were a depressed teenager looking for meaning, this wasn’t just bad music; it was an insult.
Enter James Kiss, an 18-year-old suburban kid who felt like he had nowhere to belong. He was isolated, in chronic pain from serious hip problems, unable to work, and convinced he didn’t fit in the world. The one place he did feel understood was in the music of The Smiths. He wore Morrissey on a button over his heart.
Over six months, that devotion twisted into a plan. James began staking out Y‑108. He visited the station more than two dozen times, learned the layout, and chatted casually with the receptionist like any other listener. Then he bought a .22 caliber rifle. His idea was simple and terrifying: storm the station, hold four employees at gunpoint, and force them to play his Smiths tapes on air. If they didn’t take him seriously, he was prepared to fire a warning shot into the ceiling.
On a fall evening in 1988, he finally acted. He pulled into the station parking lot, rifle and cassette tapes in hand, ready to launch his personal rock-and-roll revolution.
And then the entire legend falls apart.
Instead of bursting into the studio and seizing control of the airwaves, James saw production director Greg Fadick in the lot, walked up to him… and handed him the rifle. Butt first. Politely. He told Fadick to “tell those people to call the police,” then went back to sit quietly in his car and wait.
That’s it. No stormed studio. No trembling DJ forced to play four hours of The Smiths. No city held hostage by melancholic jangle pop. When police arrived, James immediately confessed he had planned to hijack the station but lost his nerve.
He was arrested on serious charges, but prosecutors ultimately dropped the case because he never went through with the plan. Instead of becoming a tragic headline, the incident became a turning point. James went to university, found community, and eventually built a life helping kids who feel as trapped and cornered as he once did.
The myth is about a gun-toting superfan who conquered the airwaves. The truth is about a lonely teenager who couldn’t follow through—and that quieter version might be the most Smiths story of all.
These videos are for entertainment purposes only. READ OUR DISCLAIMER rockandrolltruestories.com/youtube-disclaimer
The story of The Smiths fan who supposedly took hostage a radio station in Denver in 1988. The movie Shoplifters of the World was inspired by the event.
My second YouTube Channel
youtube.com/@RockNRollTrueStories2
Have a video request or a topic you'd like to see us cover? Fill out our google form!
bit.ly/3stnXlN
-----CONNECT ON SOCIAL-----
TIKOK:tiktok.com/@rocknrolltruestory
Instagram: instagram.com/rnrtruestories
Facebook: facebook.com/RNRTrueStories
Twitter: twitter.com/rocktruestories
Blog: rockandrolltruestories.com
#themiths #morrissey
Some bands have fans. Other bands have followers. And then… there are The Smiths.
In the 1980s, this four-piece from Manchester weren’t just a band; they were a lifeline for the lonely, the misunderstood, and the terminally overdramatic. Their music felt less like songs and more like an emotional support system on vinyl. For a certain kind of teenager, Morrissey and Marr didn’t just soundtrack your life—they explained it.
Out of that devotion grew one of rock’s wildest urban legends: a distraught fan, a loaded gun, and a radio station held hostage for hours so the world would finally hear the gospel of The Smiths. The story was so cinematic that it eventually inspired a film. It’s been repeated in interviews, biographies, and fan forums as if it were gospel. There’s only one problem. Like most legends, it isn’t quite true.
The real story begins in 1988, at Denver Top 40 station Y‑108, home of relentlessly upbeat hits like “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and “Nothin’ But a Good Time.” If you were a depressed teenager looking for meaning, this wasn’t just bad music; it was an insult.
Enter James Kiss, an 18-year-old suburban kid who felt like he had nowhere to belong. He was isolated, in chronic pain from serious hip problems, unable to work, and convinced he didn’t fit in the world. The one place he did feel understood was in the music of The Smiths. He wore Morrissey on a button over his heart.
Over six months, that devotion twisted into a plan. James began staking out Y‑108. He visited the station more than two dozen times, learned the layout, and chatted casually with the receptionist like any other listener. Then he bought a .22 caliber rifle. His idea was simple and terrifying: storm the station, hold four employees at gunpoint, and force them to play his Smiths tapes on air. If they didn’t take him seriously, he was prepared to fire a warning shot into the ceiling.
On a fall evening in 1988, he finally acted. He pulled into the station parking lot, rifle and cassette tapes in hand, ready to launch his personal rock-and-roll revolution.
And then the entire legend falls apart.
Instead of bursting into the studio and seizing control of the airwaves, James saw production director Greg Fadick in the lot, walked up to him… and handed him the rifle. Butt first. Politely. He told Fadick to “tell those people to call the police,” then went back to sit quietly in his car and wait.
That’s it. No stormed studio. No trembling DJ forced to play four hours of The Smiths. No city held hostage by melancholic jangle pop. When police arrived, James immediately confessed he had planned to hijack the station but lost his nerve.
He was arrested on serious charges, but prosecutors ultimately dropped the case because he never went through with the plan. Instead of becoming a tragic headline, the incident became a turning point. James went to university, found community, and eventually built a life helping kids who feel as trapped and cornered as he once did.
The myth is about a gun-toting superfan who conquered the airwaves. The truth is about a lonely teenager who couldn’t follow through—and that quieter version might be the most Smiths story of all.
These videos are for entertainment purposes only. READ OUR DISCLAIMER rockandrolltruestories.com/youtube-disclaimer
