Van Morrison
A Sense Of Wonder

On the cover, the ruddy face of Van Morrison in "woodland creature" mode pokes out from a colorful frame of autumn leaves. As if that weren't enough, on the back we see the same round and stocky fellow, in an unlikely attitude as a proud descendant of the ancient Celts. Funny images, showing us a "Van the Man" absolutely devoid of what the French call "physique du rôle."

But any doubt insinuated by such a bizarre packaging is quickly dispelled by the content of this "A Sense Of Wonder" (1985): it is pure, authentic Van Morrison, more than ever immersed in a state of constant exaltation of the spirit and senses that we've known since "Astral Weeks" and that, with inevitable ups and downs, has always marked his artistic journey. His soul is always open to the deepest suggestions, both those offered by the beauty of nature and those linked to ancient Celtic traditions. A perpetual sense of wonder, as the title suggests, and as was obstinately repeated by the verse with which he bid us farewell in the previous "Inarticulate Speech Of The Heart": "I'm a soul in wonder. . . ". Another evident sign of continuity with the other great "Celtic" album is that here we find the answer to the passionate call contained in "Rave On, John Donne", where the spirits of the great poets of the past were urged to awaken and make their voices heard. Well, here they are, manifesting punctually and honoring "A Sense Of Wonder" with their authoritative presence, making it a masterpiece of visionary art.

William Blake, one of the Irishman's favorite poets, personally takes the floor in "Let The Slave", which incorporates his poem "The Price of Experience," recited by Van Morrison's voice, deep and trembling with emotion for the occasion. An ideal background for these verses is provided by music that the choir of the two "vocalists" and the sacred sound of John Allair's organ make almost liturgical. Blake also influences many verses of Van himself, whose hypnotic power resides in the obsessive repetitiveness of their beginning, with minor variations at the end of each verse. A typical example is "The Master's Eyes", a slow and sorrowful blues, which gains further spirituality with the contribution of typical gospel choirs. Similar solemnity is found in "What Would I Do", and here it is truly difficult to find any trace of the agile and danceable original soul, signed by Ray Charles. Yet it's him: the words are the same, and even the music, albeit with greatly dilated measures, leaving room for unsettling silences.

Arthur Rimbaud is cited as an example of that existential anguish known as "ennui" or also as "spleen" (hard to find the equivalent term in Italian). What is surprising is that in "Tore Down à La Rimbaud" this state of mind finds outlet in a brilliant soul, complete with a crackling sax solo by Pee Wee Ellis. Similar animation is found in "Ancient Of Days" which, while not replicating, seems to be its ideal sequel. The nature and its magic that renews every year, the coexistence of concrete trees with the imaginary creatures that, according to ancient Celtic legends, hide in the darkest nooks of the woods, is at the heart of the mysterious charm of "A Sense Of Wonder". The title-track, with its majestic stride, punctuated by the gloomy thud of the percussion, evokes the silent mystery of a winter forest ("it's easy to describe the leaves in autumn and so easy in spring, but during the months of January and February, it's really a different matter. . . "). A delightful, typically Celtic "reel", full of cheerfulness, is dedicated to two of these characters living in the woods: it's "Boffyflow And Spike", where we can appreciate the agility of Chris Michie's and Van's own guitars, both in great shape. The other instrumental is the fascinating "Evening Meditation", a melodic oasis of rarefied sounds where the sharp chimes of the keyboards stand out, in a style that can be found in certain Vangelis soundtracks. It is a moment of enchantment, of ecstatic contemplation of nature.

"If You Only Knew" is certainly a pleasant episode, but its sensual Latin danceability seems to have little to do with the mood of the album and, more generally, with Van Morrison. Indeed, it is borrowed from Mose Allison, while Morrison's "A New Kind Of Man" is perhaps the only somewhat gray track in an album that, while initially it might seem a bit cerebral, eventually proves to be a fully-realized and mature expression of deep spirituality and above all of boundless sensitivity.

And these are the qualities that make Van Morrison an artist as unique as he is rare.