Van Morrison ASTRAL WORKS

Rip It Up, Issue 17, 1 November 1978, Page 10

Van Morrison ASTRAL WORKS

Bruce Belsham

THEM, 1966

A few months ago, while I was doing a story on recording in New Zealand, the head of WEA records in this country tried to point out to me the difficulties musicians can give their record companies. One of the examples he gave from the international scene was that of the Irish rock aristocrat, Van Morrison. Conceding Van Morrison’s brilliance, he nevertheless referred to him as "a crazy man”. He alluded to Morrison’s fitful output in recent years and lamented that nobody at Warner Brothers could predict how the forthcoming Wavelength album was going to turn out. No sooner were songs, arrangements and musicians lined up than Van switched changes on them. The great irony is that for Van Morrison fans, the Irishman is a powerful symbol of stability and reliability. As far as I am concerned he has produced fewer duds over more than a decade than any other rock performer alive. In doing so he has recorded one, perhaps two of the ten best albums of t\yi period. Astral Weeks is one of my desert necessities; Moondance is the masterpiece of blue-eyed soul. Even A Period of Transition, commonly rated as one of Van’s lesser achievements, was one of the three or four finest records of 1977.

There is an overworked line of thought which denies the compatability of commerce and artistic integrity. Taken to its fanatical extreme the contention is absurd. Van Morrison has never been an absolutely monster seller. But you can bet Warners are not so sentimental as to tolerate a moody Irishman who doesn’t turn in a profit. All the same, Van Morrison claims very good reasons for being less than prolific in recent years reasons that would mean very little to a multi-national company’s cost accountant.

When Van Morrison left Them in 1967 he had already had recording success with the band's versions of “Here Comes the Night”, “Mystic Eyes” and “Gloria”. From 1968 when he signed with Warners, to 1973, he had released six albums, including Astral Weeks, Moondance, Tupelo Honey and Saint Dominic's Preview. Within that time he had assembled the Caledonia Soul Orchestra around long time collaborators like arranger-pianist Jef Labes and saxman Jack Schroer. Morrison had in fact been a working musician since his early teens and by 1974 was carting an eleven piece band,* including string section, around America and Europe. If the superb Too Late to Stop Now set chronicles the live energy of Van Morrison and the Soul Orchestra, it also marks the understandable exhaustion of the man’s resources.

Van Morrison reached dropping point. “I just got completely saturated,” he explains. “Bands, gigs, recording, the business.” Elsewhere he has stated that he had ceased to progress. “What a lotta people didn’t realise was that we’d been doing practically the same show for five years ... it had been extremely enjoyable working with those musicians, but instinctively I knew when it was over."

Veedon Fleece recorded in 1974, but not released until many months later, was the last statement of those years. It is a subdued, melodic record with careful arrangements that tend to obscure the R&B legacy of the songs themselves. Veedon Fleece stands as a neat summary of Morrison’s blended styles during previous years.

Between 1974 and 1977 exasperated sighs must have begun to escape from the offices of those handling the Morrison contract. In this time a variety of schemes were vetted, but none came to anything. One of rock historians' favourite guessing games is to estimate what unreleased material from those days was recorded. Almost certainly a nearly complete album using jazz producer Stewart Levine and The Crusaders was scrapped at the last minute. Other schemes which probably never reached tape were for a rock-and-roll set with Al Kooper, and a blues and skiffle collaboration with Bill

Wyman. Yet, even if the record company people were confused, Van Morrison was probably being legitimately fussy. He argues that one of his reasons for going to ground in 1974 was his lack of freshness. "I got burnt out on recording. When you’re free to go into a studio anytime, day or night, it’s quite easy to overdo it and that’s precisely what happened to me.” Van was interested in keeping up what was a very good batting average and sought new direction. Eventually Morrison settled on a coproduction with Mac Rebbenack (Dr John) which took the title A Period of Transition. The songs Morrison had written were direct R&B, complete with chanted phrases, short simple refrains, and recurring melody lines. Critical reception was mixed. Critics as highly regarded as Greil Marcus of Rolling Stone berated Morrison for the album’s unheightened quality, its elemental lyric content and standard horn arrangements. Yet on reflection (and more importantly on repeated listening) Period of Transition seems underrated, authentic rhythm and blues sung by a man who is a highly inventive vocalist. Morrison approached an exercise in basic blues and funk with a skill that restated the artist’s apprenticeship in that genre. For those pre-

pared to enjoy it, A Period of Transition is engaging, goodtime music. Coming after A Period, Wavelength, Van I Morrisons brand new LP, occupies important I territory. His record distributors are clearly anxilous after all the changes Van Morrison is re- | ported to have implemented, dropped, reimplemented and so on. The man’s public is intrigued to see whether the move to basics was long or short term. In lots of ways questions will go unanswered. Wavelength is not the definite sign of a new Van Morrison, yet it is like nothing he has ever done. It is far from simplistic, yet it is direct. It is both highly arranged and understated. It is also incidentally very, very good. Shortly after the release of A Period of Transition, Van Morrison used, on and off, a band which included Peter Bardens and Bobby Tench. These two musicians are employed on Wavelength and have a striking effect on the album's sound. Bardens, who played with Them but has spent past years playing with the bland English group Camel, contributes significantly. Because Wavelength uses almost no horns, the backing seems lighter than is usual for Morrison. On first listening arrangements seem to lack impact.

Further listenings however tell that there is a shift from rhythmic to melodic arrangement. This shows in Bardens clever use of synthesiser melodies (“Hungry for Your Love” and “Wavelength”) and in Tench’s beautiful guitar phrasing predominant on Side Two.

The real effect is not to emascalate Van Morrison’s song-writing, but to lighten it. The release timing could not be better for New Zealand consumers for Wavelength gives an impression of music for summer. Deft, lively music that nevertheless retains substance. Apart from “Venice U.S.A.” which sounds so breezy it might have come from the Eurovision Song Contest, the songs are deceptively intricate and very carefully arranged. Although Morrison sticks with the chants and simple lyric content of his last record, he has produced melodies which seem carefully contoured. The title track, now on single release is a prime example. Perhaps Wavelength is unlikely to arouse the unanimous praise that was once accorded a new Van Morrison release, but as far as I’m concerned, if the man continues to produce music I enjoy as much as this, he can create whatever merry hell he likes for his record company in the interim.