Into the Mystic

I'm quite certain that the most beautiful song I've ever heard is on Van Morrison's Astral Weeks. I just don't know which one it is ("Cyprus Avenue" or "Madame George").

Originally released in 1968, the above first came into my hands eight or nine years ago, and has since aged better than any other record in my collection. That said, with the exception of Moondance (1970), it wasn't until fairly recently that I dove headlong into the rest of Morrison's discography.

Part of my delay, no doubt, stemmed from the fact that much of Morrison's "best" work ('68-74) proved curiously difficult to find in shops. Fortunately, two recent developments have opened the floodgates: in Fall '07 iTunes struck a deal to distribute his collection digitally while in January Polydor/Universal commenced its re-release of 29 post-1970 albums in remastered format.

To take a step back, it bears mentioning that Morrison (above), born in Northern Ireland in 1945, first made waves as frontman for Them, a "British"-invasion band whose 1964 (self-written) song "Gloria"—later covered to great effect by Patti Smith among others—continues to stand up as a truly formative component of the rock single's lineage. Coupled with 1967's "Brown-Eyed Girl", released as a solo act at age 21, Morrison's early (albeit isolated) triumphs were alone sufficient to cement a legacy.

But it is his albums that truly separate Morrison, and none more so than Astral Weeks, a set of eight songs virtually unmatched in its cohesiveness (and available for a mere $5.95 on iTunes). Recorded in just three sessions, it is a lush, vibrant mixture of acoustic guitar, improvisational jazz rhythms, and delicate Celtic flutes and reeds—arched all of it by deeply personal lyrical evocations of Morrison’s Belfast youth. And yet despite this personal nature, the record inexplicably manages to somehow seem universally nostalgic. Indeed, there is no set of songs that more effectively recollects my own adolescent experiences in Lake George, NY: cherished memories of summery simplicity in a world filled with wind and waves against trees and rocks, contemplation and conversation, guitar and radio (but never television).

As I continue through his works, I have basked in the ethereal flute-driven "Country Fair" (closer of 1974's majestically pastoral Veedon Fleece) and reveled in the infectious jubilation of (the 1978 title track) “Wavelength”. In the process, a thought began to take shape: a thought given form by no less an authority than Bob Dylan. According allmusic.com, Dylan once said (in reference to Morrison’s 1971 country-tinged ballad “Tupelo Honey”) "that [the song] has always existed and that Morrison was merely the vessel and the earthly vehicle for it".

A quote from the man himself further fleshed out this thought of mine. As cited in Into The Music by Richie Yorke, Morrison has humbly claimed that:

['Madame George'] just came right out...The song is just a stream of consciousness thing, as is 'Cyprus Avenue'...I didn't even think about what I was writing.

Indeed, it just seems that this is the type of music that can strengthen one's faith in a higher power who guides us if only we open our ears to listen.