Wire From the Bunker: Van the Man
- 7 hours ago
- 5 min read
Hot on the heels of my first visit to the Emerald Isle and in anticipation of my return to Philly’s finest Irish Pub, Fergie’s (June 24th with The Donuts and September 4th with John Train), I thought I’d write up a Wire on Van Morrison who -- like the recently departed David Allan Coe – is a man of questionable character but whose talent is undeniable. So, please, no hate mail about the Belfast cowboy’s COVID denial, vile libertarian impulses, or the fact that pretty much everyone says he’s a total wanker. This is about his music and that is all. I mean, the wee man used to be a Scientologist; he’s been whacked out for years, right? We’ll set all of that aside for a second if that’s okay with you.
I have to admit that I was a little late to the Van thing. Of course, like everyone else, I had a copy of Moondance and somehow got ahold of Irish Heartbeat (Van’s album with the Chieftains) when it came out in the 80s (probably because I was desperately trying to find anything current that didn’t have gated drums!).
But it wasn’t until I hit a truly rough patch sometime in my mid-twenties that I glommed onto Van and Astral Weeks in particular. In his extraordinary essay on this album, Lester Bangs describes the very difficult circumstances that he found himself in when he first encountered Astral Weeks: “it assumed at the time the quality of a beacon, a light on the far shores of the murk; what’s more, it was proof that there was something left to express artistically besides nihilism and destruction.”
If you’ve ever wondered what the fuss about Lester Bangs is, I direct you to this essay – it is easily the best piece of music criticism -- if you even want to call it that -- that I’ve ever read. Actually, it could be the best thing about art in general that I’ve encountered. Reading Lester is what finally drove me to check out Astral Weeks, a work generally considered Van’s masterpiece. The album was a beacon for me as I laid, seemingly for weeks, on a shabby couch in my West Philly apartment, emotionally paralyzed. Van’s voice, songs, and incredible support from Connie Kay and Richard Davis offered a way forward. I’ve returned to Astral Weeks many times over the years. Whenever I find myself in trouble. The ultimate beacon.
Of course, being the obsessive that I am, Astral Weeks led me down the path of investigating Van’s entire catalogue which up to that point (the early 90s) didn’t really contain a duff entry. That has changed a lot since then, I’m afraid.
Anyway, I thought I’d point you in a few directions which you may not have considered when it comes to Van the Man >>>
Saint Dominic’s Preview: Title song from one of only two Van albums that I’d mention in the same breath as Astral Weeks (the other is Veedon Fleece). I love this version which is led by the wonderful Donal Lunny, founder of Planxty. Shot in Temple Bar – which you should absolutely avoid if you make it to Dublin – in 1995, Van sounds gruffer than he did on the original but still in fine voice. Check out the little JB like yelps he let out and the way he eventually throws in a “get on up” (4:44). SDP takes the classic Morrison approach: highly idiosyncratic and personal -- the chamois window cleaning in the first line is a reference to Van’s last day job – but somehow universal and, at the risk of sounding corny, spiritual. The wondrous and gospel-like melody and, of course, Van’s incomparable vocal chops are dojng a lot of the work here. I love the bit where Van sings about the record company paying for all wine (4:32) and then allowing himself a very rare smile. It’s a long way to Buffalo and it’s a long way to Belfast City, too. Indeed, it is, Ivan!
Raglan Road: Other than perhaps a Pair of Brown Eyes, RR is my favorite Irish ballad of all time. While the Dubliners’ original and Sinead’s version are fantastic, Van takes the cake. Who else other than maybe Levon Helm could play drums and simultaneously sing like this? Answer: no one. Van is a most capable sax, harp, and guitar guy but who knew he could caress the drums like this? Check out how Morrison bears down on Patrick Kavanaugh’s luminous lyric at 2:39. You’d really have to go back to Lester’s essay, referred to above, to find the right language to describe these kind of signature vocal flights for which Van is known. I won’t try. Cool green shirt is all I’ll say.
In the Garden: Possibly Van’s only composition from the 80s which would merit inclusion on Astral Weeks. Head Chieftain Derek Bell’s piano work does the sort of justice to this number that Kay and Davis lent to that earlier masterwork. In the Garden provides the title to the record on which it appears: No Guru, No Method, No Teacher which, to these ears, sounds like a damn fine credo. Of course, Van adds in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit to go along with you and I alone (sic) in nature. I’m not so sure about that but the Belfast Cowboy’s incantation gets me about as close as I’ll probably ever be. This is the church of George Ivan Morrison, folks.
Full Force Gale: Please excuse the cheesy video here but you’ve just got to hear EC’s version of this number from what is maybe Van’s last truly great album, Into the Music. An argument can be made for Common One and Hymns to the Silence but I’d probably land on this wonderful release from 1979. It’s well nigh to impossible to best Van when covering his material but Costello somehow manages it. Very few artists have the sort of vocal personality to even compete with Morrison but fellow Irishman McManus certainly does.
Take Me Back: THIS IS NOT A JOKE. Remember I’m the guy whose favorite Beatle is Yoko. Jennifer Jason Leigh is hardly blessed with bel canto gifts but, man, she inhabits this song from Hymns to the Silence in a way that did me in when I first heard it during Georgia, an otherwise superfluous film. I can’t even remember the plot: it had something to do with a country singer, played by Mare Winningham, dealing with her unhinged sister, Georgia, played by JJL. So much of Van’s thing involves an effort to return to a prelapsarian, child-like state. Well, you know, old Bob said you can always come back but you can’t come back all the way but, still, JJL gives it her absolute best. Take me back, take me back, take me waaaaaaaaaaaaay waaaaaaaaaaaay back. What a performance!
Well, I’m CAUGHT!
