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"It doesn't have to be. It just is..."
The 31st August 2005 marks a special day in Northern Ireland music - George Ivan Morrison turns 60.
The Belfast music journalist Stuart Bailie once recommended that Irish teenagers should be given a copy of Astral Weeks to sit alongside Seamus Heaney's Death Of A Naturalist as the most important work by a local writer. I think he's got a point.
From his teenage years in Belfast showbands like The Monarchs through worldwide recognition in the '60s with Them, Van has approached life on exactly his terms. At Orangefield school he was known as a precociously talented though hardly popular young man with a massive collection of Blues and R'n'B records (source - my dad, who went to school with the baldy genius and turns 60 himself next month) and an ego in inverse proportion to his height.
Them had a few mid-60s hits such as Gloria, Baby Please Don't Go and Here Comes The Night and decamped to America where they allegedly taught Jim Morrison (no relation) how to drink, leaving the biggest bar bill ever seen at LA's The Whisky (-A-Go-Go). Van got fed up, left Them and returned to Belfast in 1966 before being persuaded by Bert Berns (his old producer) to record the solo stuff which had been taking most of his writing time during Them's last tour.
Those sessions brought one of his best loved songs, Brown Eyed Girl (and the harrowing, less well-known TB Sheets). They also brought depression and more heavy drinking. Morrison had a Mojo in overdrive but nobody around him could keep pace - he hated the way the recordings turned out, and hated even more the fact that they were released without his creative approval.
Berns died in 1967 and Van gigged his way around Boston, slowly overcoming his drink problem and honing the material which was to become 1968's solo debut (and one of the most remarkable records of the decade) Astral Weeks. Soulful, Jazzy and not at all like his previous band's sound, Astral Weeks confronted Hippy chic with tales of Belfast's Cyprus Avenue, guaranteed to make a lump appear in a Belfastian's throat if away from home for too long.
Through the 1970's Morrison continued to grow musically, seminal works such as Moondance, His Band & Street Choir, St Dominic's Preview, Tupelo Honey and Veedon Fleece (released in 1974 after Van's divorce from the fantastically named musician Janet Planet) were released in a few short years. He performed onstage with The Band at their farewell concert, documented in Martin Scorsese's The Last Waltz and, in 1979 released Into The Music, his final 'Great' album until the mid-80's.
Many singer-songwriters have a spiritual side to their work and Morrison was no different, though in the early 80's this seemed to dominate his records. Gems like Rave On, John Donne are to be found here but a lot of the songs were self-indulgent. Self-indulgent, that is, until 1986 and No Guru, No Method, No Teacher.
Having hit 40 with a reputation veering between 'difficult' and 'obnoxious', Morrison finally seemed to break free from the constraints of his Belief system.
"No Guru, no method, no teacher. Just you and I and Nature. In the garden, wet with rain" he sang. And he meant it, for a while. Fantastic record...
He carried on into the 90's with some of his most remarkable work - the Yeatsian poetry set-to-music of Coney Island and On Hyndford Street. The inspirational was, however, increasingly joined by the sort of drab Bluesy R'n'B that settles for his current output. It doesn't matter though. Look at what he's given us.
Van's back in Ireland now. Older, wiser, fatter, balder but still as belligerent as ever. Fame doesn't sit easily with him though and his reputation for not suffering fools and sycophants is almost as well known as his music. I've only seen him twice in concert: Once, in Belfast's King's Hall with my dad in the early 90's and once at an open air festival a few years later. The first occasion was, I can only describe as, spiritual - the second was awful (if you've seen This Is Spinal Tap think Jazz Odyssey). That's the man though. Van The Man.
Happy Birthday. And thank you.
The 31st August 2005 marks a special day in Northern Ireland music - George Ivan Morrison turns 60.
The Belfast music journalist Stuart Bailie once recommended that Irish teenagers should be given a copy of Astral Weeks to sit alongside Seamus Heaney's Death Of A Naturalist as the most important work by a local writer. I think he's got a point.
From his teenage years in Belfast showbands like The Monarchs through worldwide recognition in the '60s with Them, Van has approached life on exactly his terms. At Orangefield school he was known as a precociously talented though hardly popular young man with a massive collection of Blues and R'n'B records (source - my dad, who went to school with the baldy genius and turns 60 himself next month) and an ego in inverse proportion to his height.
Them had a few mid-60s hits such as Gloria, Baby Please Don't Go and Here Comes The Night and decamped to America where they allegedly taught Jim Morrison (no relation) how to drink, leaving the biggest bar bill ever seen at LA's The Whisky (-A-Go-Go). Van got fed up, left Them and returned to Belfast in 1966 before being persuaded by Bert Berns (his old producer) to record the solo stuff which had been taking most of his writing time during Them's last tour.
Those sessions brought one of his best loved songs, Brown Eyed Girl (and the harrowing, less well-known TB Sheets). They also brought depression and more heavy drinking. Morrison had a Mojo in overdrive but nobody around him could keep pace - he hated the way the recordings turned out, and hated even more the fact that they were released without his creative approval.
Berns died in 1967 and Van gigged his way around Boston, slowly overcoming his drink problem and honing the material which was to become 1968's solo debut (and one of the most remarkable records of the decade) Astral Weeks. Soulful, Jazzy and not at all like his previous band's sound, Astral Weeks confronted Hippy chic with tales of Belfast's Cyprus Avenue, guaranteed to make a lump appear in a Belfastian's throat if away from home for too long.
Through the 1970's Morrison continued to grow musically, seminal works such as Moondance, His Band & Street Choir, St Dominic's Preview, Tupelo Honey and Veedon Fleece (released in 1974 after Van's divorce from the fantastically named musician Janet Planet) were released in a few short years. He performed onstage with The Band at their farewell concert, documented in Martin Scorsese's The Last Waltz and, in 1979 released Into The Music, his final 'Great' album until the mid-80's.
Many singer-songwriters have a spiritual side to their work and Morrison was no different, though in the early 80's this seemed to dominate his records. Gems like Rave On, John Donne are to be found here but a lot of the songs were self-indulgent. Self-indulgent, that is, until 1986 and No Guru, No Method, No Teacher.
Having hit 40 with a reputation veering between 'difficult' and 'obnoxious', Morrison finally seemed to break free from the constraints of his Belief system.
"No Guru, no method, no teacher. Just you and I and Nature. In the garden, wet with rain" he sang. And he meant it, for a while. Fantastic record...
He carried on into the 90's with some of his most remarkable work - the Yeatsian poetry set-to-music of Coney Island and On Hyndford Street. The inspirational was, however, increasingly joined by the sort of drab Bluesy R'n'B that settles for his current output. It doesn't matter though. Look at what he's given us.
Van's back in Ireland now. Older, wiser, fatter, balder but still as belligerent as ever. Fame doesn't sit easily with him though and his reputation for not suffering fools and sycophants is almost as well known as his music. I've only seen him twice in concert: Once, in Belfast's King's Hall with my dad in the early 90's and once at an open air festival a few years later. The first occasion was, I can only describe as, spiritual - the second was awful (if you've seen This Is Spinal Tap think Jazz Odyssey). That's the man though. Van The Man.
Happy Birthday. And thank you.
__________________
"Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how the Tatty 100 is done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves." - Brendan Behan
"Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how the Tatty 100 is done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves." - Brendan Behan
Last edited by Tacitus; 08-31-05 at 07:01 AM.
I love "Brown Eyed Girl" Thanks for info on Van and your Dad 
