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Cranky uplift
Van Morrison laughs!
BY BRETT MILANO

Van Morrison has displayed many strengths in his four-decade career but a sense of humor has never been one of them. In fact, save for a notorious 1967 tape of purposely lousy songs written to get out of a publishing deal (those, including "Blowin’ Your Nose," "Nose in Your Blow," and "Ringworm," have since turned up on various import reissues), there’s barely a funny line in Morrison’s entire catalogue.

So it comes as a surprise to hear him break into a warm, apparently spontaneous laugh during the opening, title track of his most recent album, What’s Wrong With This Picture? (Blue Note). On the surface, it’s just his latest song about distaste for the spotlight — a subject he’s returned to, over and over again, since broaching it on 1991’s bad-tempered double CD, Hymns to the Silence (PolyGram). But "What’s Wrong With This Picture?" is his first anti-fame song to play like a love ballad, with its relaxed tempo, soft wash of strings, and close-miked vocal. In this context, Morrison’s laugh has a winning, self-depreciating quality: You’d laugh too if you’d just delivered a line like "It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing/ And a ring-a-ding-ding."

It’s tempting to hear that song and assume that the mercurial singer has finally found some peace of mind, but anyone who’s heard his last few discs would know better. Beginning with 1990’s Back on Top (Virgin), Morrison mastered the knack of being bitter and uplifting at the same time. Musically, Back on Top was one of his sunniest albums, full of jubilant R&B and sweet Irish balladry. Yet the lyrics are overwhelmingly dour. On the jaunty single "Precious Time," he sings, "It doesn’t matter to which God you pray; precious time is slipping away" — thus sweeping three decades of spiritual explorations out the door. And on "New Biography," he devotes an entire song to gripes over someone bothering to write his life story, asking, "How come they got such good memories, when I can’t even remember last week" — a line that would qualify as another joke if it wasn’t delivered as a serious question.

Unlike his contemporaries Bob Dylan and Neil Young, Morrison doesn’t go through well-defined musical phases; instead, he just tweaks the basic formula, getting a consistent sound even while overhauling his band every few years. Blue Note is the jazz imprint of Capitol, and Picture does tilt toward jazz—but then, so did his breakthrough disc, 1968’s Astral Weeks (Warner Bros.). The difference now is that Morrison isn’t staking any new territory or expanding rock’s vocabulary. Rather, he seems glad to be done with rock altogether, going down well-worn paths—New Orleans blues (a strong version of the oft-covered "St. James Infirmary"), hard R&B (Lightnin’ Hopkins’ "Stop Drinking"), and his own patented Celtic-soul blend, keeping the tone cozy and nostalgic.

Except, that is, for most of the lyrics. Just in case the title track doesn’t make it clear enough that he hates the spotlight, he underlines it a few more times with "Fame," "Goldfish Bowl," and "Too Many Myths." His honeyed vocal delivery makes the sentiments go down easier than they probably should. It’s only after reading lines like, "Oh fame, they took away my humanity/ Got to fight every day for my dignity," that you start wondering whether they’re needing Celtic mystics at Wal-Mart.

If Clinton Heylin’s recent bio, Can You Feel The Silence? (Chicago Review Press), is to be believed, songs like these are the purest glimpse into Morrison’s soul we’re likely to get. This 600-page book is something of a first: A fascinating rock bio with no significant dirt — no drug addictions save for an on-off relationship with alcohol, no strings of ex-lovers, no big revelations except his ongoing workaholism. Instead, Van comes off as a garden-variety crank, sometimes amusingly so. One priceless quote is relayed after he was recognized at Alcoholics Anonymous: "I don’t give a fuck if you liked the last album; I’m here because I have a problem with drink."

Heylin’s lack of access to Morrison’s inner circle makes the story a bit suspect (still-bitter ex-wife Janet Planet is the star interview; local compadre Peter Wolf is represented only by a secondhand quote), as does Heylin’s obvious disenchantment with his subject (the singer’s affectionate nickname, Van the Man, is never even mentioned). Still, these tales of endless temper tantrums and random band firings may well be true. Morrison himself puts it best in a quote at the start of the book: "I never, ever said that I was a nice guy." What’s not mentioned in the book — but is clear on the best of the new album — is his uncanny ability to sound like one.

Van Morrison plays the Orpheum Theatre, 1 Hamilton Place, tonight, Thursday, April 8, and the Wang Theatre, 270 Tremont Street, on Friday, April 9; call (617) 931-2000.


Issue Date: April 9 - 15, 2004
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