Van Morrison is a lot to handle. He’s cranky, he’s a mystical poet, and honestly, he’s probably one of the most stubborn human beings to ever pick up a saxophone. If you’ve ever tried to map out the evolution of songs by Van Morrison, you know it’s not just a discography. It’s a labyrinth. One minute he’s writing the catchiest pop song of the 1960s, and the next, he’s improvising a ten-minute stream-of-consciousness rant about ancient spiritualism over a Celtic folk beat.
Most people know the hits. You can’t go to a wedding without hearing "Brown Eyed Girl," which is funny because Van himself reportedly isn't even a big fan of it. But if that’s where your knowledge ends, you’re missing the real magic.
The man has been at this since his days with the Belfast band Them. Since then, he’s navigated folk, jazz, blues, soul, and gospel. He doesn't just sing; he repeats phrases until they turn into an incantation. It’s a specific kind of alchemy.
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The Brown Eyed Girl Trap
Let’s get this out of the way first. "Brown Eyed Girl" is a monster. It was recorded in 1967 under the direction of Bert Berns at Bang Records. Originally titled "Brown-Skinned Girl," it was a massive success, but it also became a bit of a golden cage for Morrison. It’s a great song, sure. The bass line is iconic. But it doesn't represent the spiritual weight of his later work.
The reality of his early career was messy. Legal battles over that very song left him broke, reportedly living on a diet of cheap food in New England while trying to figure out his next move. That desperation birthed Astral Weeks. Think about that. Most artists would have tried to write "Brown Eyed Girl Part 2." Van went the opposite direction. He went into the studio with a group of jazz musicians—guys like Richard Davis and Connie Kay—and recorded something that sounded like a fever dream.
Why Astral Weeks Isn't Just "Folk"
If you listen to "Cyprus Avenue" or "Madame George," you aren't hearing standard song structures. You're hearing a man trying to reach a state of "the inarticulate." That’s a term Van uses a lot. He’s trying to say things that words can't actually capture.
Astral Weeks didn't even chart when it came out in 1968. It was a commercial dud. Yet, critics like Lester Bangs eventually hailed it as one of the greatest albums ever made. It’s the contrast that kills you. The music is light, airy, almost floating, but the lyrics are heavy with the ghosts of Belfast. He’s singing about kids hanging out on corners and the "viaducts of your dreams." It’s poetic, but it’s also incredibly gritty.
The Moondance Pivot
Then comes 1970. Van decides he wants to be a soul singer.
"Moondance" is basically a perfect record. It’s tight. It’s disciplined. It’s the exact opposite of the sprawling messiness of his previous work. When you hear the title track, you’re hearing a guy who finally understood how to blend his love for Ray Charles with his own Irish upbringing.
- "And It Stoned Me" – This one is pure nostalgia. It’s about a trip to a swimming hole. It’s grounded in reality.
- "Crazy Love" – This is the ultimate ballad. Simple, stripped back, and heartbreaking.
- "Caravan" – This is where the energy lives. The live version from The Last Waltz is probably the definitive Van Morrison performance. He kicks his legs in the air, wearing a maroon jumpsuit, looking like he’s possessed by the spirit of James Brown.
The Spiritual Search in the 80s and 90s
A lot of people stopped paying attention to songs by Van Morrison after the mid-70s. That’s a mistake.
While the rest of the world was doing synth-pop and big hair, Van was getting deeper into the "Caledonian Soul" vibe. Records like Into the Music and No Guru, No Method, No Teacher are where he really finds his stride as a spiritual seeker. He’s looking for something. You can hear it in a song like "In the Garden." It’s long. It’s repetitive. He whispers, "No guru, no method, no teacher, just you and I and nature and the Father in the garden."
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It’s basically a meditation session set to music.
He’s also famously difficult. There are stories of him firing band members on stage with a hand signal. He’s a perfectionist who hates the business side of the industry. You can hear that bitterness in songs like "Why Must I Always Explain?" and "Professional Jealousy." It’s not always pretty. Sometimes he sounds like a man who just wants to be left alone in a pub in Dublin.
The "Celtic Soul" Formula
What makes a Van Morrison song work? It’s the interplay between the instruments and that growl.
He treats his voice like a saxophone. He’ll take a word—just one word—and chew on it for thirty seconds. He’ll yell "Turn it up!" or "One more time!" and it’s not a stage direction; it’s part of the composition.
Take "Listen to the Lion." It’s on the Saint Dominic's Preview album. He literally starts growling. He’s trying to find the "lion" inside himself. It sounds ridiculous on paper. In practice, it’s one of the most powerful things you’ll ever hear. He pushes past the boundaries of what a "singer" is supposed to do.
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Van's Influence and Modern Context
You can see his DNA everywhere.
- Bruce Springsteen: The E Street Band's early sound owes a massive debt to the soulful, horn-heavy arrangements Van popularized.
- Hozier: You can hear that Irish soul influence in the way he structures his vocal runs.
- Counting Crows: Adam Duritz basically built a career on the vocal stylings found on Astral Weeks.
But nobody quite captures the "Caledonian" thing like Van. It’s a mix of the rainy streets of Belfast and the hot sun of the American South. It’s a contradiction. He’s a white guy from Ireland singing the blues, but it never feels like cultural appropriation because he’s so deeply invested in the feeling of the music rather than just the style.
Key Songs Most People Overlook
If you want to move past the Greatest Hits, you need to dig into the deep cuts.
"Saint Dominic's Preview"
This is a masterpiece of stream-of-consciousness writing. He mentions cleaning windows, the record business, and seeing a flyer for a church service. It’s mundane and epic at the same time.
"Tupelo Honey"
People think this is just a love song. It is, but it’s also a masterclass in phrasing. The way he holds the notes is incredible. He’s not in a rush. He lets the song breathe.
"Ancient Highway"
From the Days Like This era. This is late-period Van at his best. It’s hypnotic. It’s the kind of music you put on when you’re driving late at night and don't want to think about anything but the road.
Understanding the "Van-isms"
He has these lyrical tropes he goes back to constantly. You'll hear about "the healing game," "the bright side of the road," and "the ancient highway." He’s building a mythology. To understand songs by Van Morrison, you have to stop looking at them as individual tracks and start looking at them as chapters in a very long, very cranky book.
He’s not interested in being your friend. He’s not interested in being a celebrity. He’s interested in the "Great Deception"—another of his favorite themes—and finding the truth through rhythm.
How to Listen to Van Morrison
Don't shuffle.
Seriously. Van Morrison albums are meant to be experienced as a mood. If you put on Veedon Fleece, you’re committing to a somber, acoustic, deeply Irish experience. If you put on It's Too Late to Stop Now (the live album), you’re at a high-energy soul revue.
Mixing them up ruins the flow. He’s an album artist in an era of singles.
Actionable Steps for the New Listener
To truly appreciate the depth of this catalog, you need a strategy. Don't just dive into the 40+ albums blindly.
- Start with the "Big Three": Listen to Moondance, Astral Weeks, and Tupelo Honey in their entirety. This gives you the foundation of his three main modes: Soul, Mystic, and Country-Folk.
- Watch "The Last Waltz" performance: See him perform "Caravan." It’ll change how you view his stage presence. He’s not just a guy in a hat; he’s an athlete of the soul.
- Explore the 80s Transition: Check out Poetic Champions Compose. It’s smooth, jazz-inflected, and shows how he matured as a songwriter without losing his edge.
- Read the lyrics as poetry: Get a copy of Lit Up Inside. It’s a collection of his lyrics. Sometimes, removing the music helps you realize just how sophisticated his writing actually is.
- Listen for the "Vocal Mimicry": Next time you listen to a track, pay attention to how he mimics the lead instrument (usually a sax or guitar) with his voice. It's a hallmark of his style.
Van Morrison is still touring, still recording, and still complaining about the state of the world. He hasn't mellowed out, and honestly, we shouldn't want him to. The tension in his personality is exactly what makes his music so vital. It’s the sound of a man who is never quite satisfied, always searching for that "one note" that will finally explain everything. Until he finds it, he’ll keep singing. And we should keep listening.