It's Just A Windfall Away

      Reading this article, I was reminded of a piece from the NYTimes three years ago called "The Van Morrisonization of the Movies" which rightly lamented the overuse of particular Van songs ("Someone Like You," "Into The Mystic," "Brown-Eyed Girl," "Moondance," to name a few) in the movies. Some songs just get the living hell beaten out of them, and for Morrison, he's become the staple of romantic comedy, the musician perfect for convincing the audience that now the relationship is serious. (It could also be that Meg Ryan seems to have a woody for the Belfast Cowboy; fuck, even Proof of Life had a Van song in it!) If I can find the article again I'll post it here because it's really quite telling: there are certain songs, and in some cases certain musicians, who represent certain emotions or concepts more clearly than others do, the rough equivalent of a musical shorthand for getting audiences from A to B. Sickening? Yes. Need a quick bout of joy in a movie, of pure sassy glee? Gotcha. Ray Charles. "Hit the Road Jack." Need to indicate love? Van. "Someone Like You" if the couple's finally coming together, "Into The Mystic" if it's after a wedding. Unending angst and yearning? Sarah McLachlan. (Right, Joss Whedon?) These guys just slay me. Which reminds me of a contrary: getting Lyle Lovett to sing Tammy Wynette's "Stand By Your Man" in The Crying Game. Very funny, indeed.

      On another note: I've listening to and rethinking of late Van's 1979 album Into The Music, always a personal favourite but increasingly nudging out even Astral Weeks and Moondance as perhaps The Man's finest hour (literally). It occurred to me that the album-- which features Van in magnificent vocal confidence-- is perhaps as close to being a consolidation of rock, blues, folk, and opera-- yes, opera-- as any album ever. If you know the album: set it on and listen to it through headphones at full-blare, preferrably in the dark with no possibility of interruption; it will provide rewards almost unique in popular music. If you don't know it: you should. It's now 25 years old, and it sounds nothing less than sterling, especially the album's final four songs which are as intimate as music can be without indulging in tepid psychomachia. Rolling Stone's review of the album at the time of its release is worth reading in its entirety. There's a kind of barbarian majesty to the album, a rough, romantic dignity articulated as a bold, blistering, and sustained howl to which I can think of no equal and only partial parallels. Even Ray Charles and Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley wouldn't have had the nerve to go where Van goes on this album, and he does it without trepidation, sappiness, or weakness-- and it's nothing less than glorious.