At the vanguard of rock music for half a century

Van Morrison is dismissive of fame, but his music will endure despite his aloofness, says John Minihan

VAN Morrison takes to the stage of the Odyssey Arena, Belfast, on February 3 at the start of a tour that will include Dublin and Britain. The singer/songwriter, born in Belfast on August 31, 1945, is one of the few performers whose achievements have attained the status of ‘myth.’

Morrison has always stood aloof from musical fashion or convention. Now in his late 60s, he is the antithesis of a rock star. Being called a ‘legend’ would not stir a modicum of interest in him.

Morrison’s music has endured, and his plentiful fans across the world are growing in numbers. His lyrics, evoking images of his past, of Irish mythology and spiritual meditations, transport the listener to another place.

Songs like Tir Na Nog, a title taken from the land of the young in Irish mythology, are utterly haunting. Not for Morrison the pyrotechnics of visual artifice or matters of appearance.

I have known and worked with Morrison for 25 years, and spoken at length with him about literature, from William Blake to Samuel Beckett.

Morrison writes poetry and is a prolific reader, but is fixed to a business for which he has little time. Like Beckett, who was damned to fame, Morrison believes that “fame is an illusion.” His work is in the poetic tradition of Beckett and John Donne, whom he eulogised in the song Rave On John Donne (“Rave on Mr Yeats, Rave on thy Rosy Cross. Rave on through the writing of a vision”). Rave on, like Samuel Beckett’s mantra: “I can’t go on, I’ll go on.” Morrison could be talking about himself, as he surprises his audience with his genius. The tabloid press have hounded Morrison about his private life, and there is now an exclusion zone; taboo subjects include anything to do with his relationships.

Some journalists have an agenda; they want to write damning stories. But Morrison has respect for writers who know his work and who engage with him about literature and the authors who have influenced him. I remember an occasion in 1993, at the Poetry Voice Box in London, in the company of Séamus Heaney and Stan Gebler Davies. A journalist interrupted the proceedings to inform Morrison that he was still listening to Astral Weeks. Morrison was clearly embarrassed. “That was lunch-time,” he said. “Now it’s dinner-time.”

Van Morrison is an inspirational writer; he’s connected to poetry and art and the communion of those he admires and respects. Those who really know the man know of his generosity to friends. That’s evident in the way he has worked over the years with people like Chris Farlowe, Georgie Fame, Acker Bilk, Lonnie Donegan, and Mose Allison.

Morrison’s superb backing band watch him like hawks as he performs on stage. There are few who would not recognise the richly evocative qualities he can still conjure from a repertoire spanning nearly 50 years. His voice can descend to a hoarse whisper, as if he was giving a sermon from a church pulpit.

Most will recognise the driving rhythm on a blues track called Gloria, with its “G-L-O-R-I-A” chorus. The track has become a standard and has been covered by Jimi Hendrix, The Doors and U2, and a host of other artists, over the years. It’s all a long way from the first time Morrison performed the song, in the Maritime Hotel, Belfast in 1963, with his group Them. After the break-up of Them, Morrison moved to America, where in 1968 he recorded Astral Weeks. It remains one of the most influential and extraordinary records of our time.

Once in a while, a musician unexpectedly veers from the tested path and opens a new avenue of possibility for all who follow. Morrison takes us on this journey: “And our souls were young again in Tir Na Nog.”