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Rating:
Say goodbye to Madame George.
Feel sadness, shed a tear for her, feel a bit of pain for her. Pain, the strangest and most complex feeling, encapsulating all others, from love to loneliness, from joy to nostalgia. Pain is in everything, even if it's in less visible forms, sometimes it's even possible to confuse it with a good feeling. And so the pain in seeing the outcast George, the subtle little joy in realizing one is at least superior. But the man said the show must go on, and if the show is life, then Madame George's condition is absolutely indifferent to the course of events. So why dwell so much on this outcast, praising him, infusing sad feelings? Couldn't life, music, be made solely of graceful Ballerinas, as sweet as they are majestic in their movements? No, because even in these visions sooner or later, visibly or not, forms of pain, more or less deep, would come to form, perhaps even just nostalgia or profound sadness transmitted only skin-deep, only by music itself. And so everything is pain, music especially, and Van discovered it with T.B. Sheets a few years earlier. The times of the brown-eyed girls and easy glories were over, or at least it was time for reflection. It was time for astral weeks, placed between a cold spring and a warm autumn, without going through summer, because that's just a mirage, an illusion. In summer everything seems to be going well, everything seems solvable, even pain seems to disappear behind the sun. And so let's arm ourselves with long avenues, among dry leaves, feel grand, like we'll never feel in our lives, load up our guitar and tread this long path, describing everything we see, excluding nothing. It's a difficult mission, especially if you’re just twenty-three years old and manage to complete everything in just two sessions. It’s called Stream of Consciousness, right? It was James Joyce if I'm not mistaken. Yes, it was him. And the result seems like an impressionistic painting or a simple beat poem: this record is of a grandeur unparalleled in music itself, it never had and never will have, because here it's really not just about music, although it is simply immense. So let us be taken by Astral Weeks, walk that long path made of poetry and solitude where only the great do not get lost. And would you find me? In this idyll formed by guitars and flutes, with inserts of strings that create a surreal air, with the strong voice of Van Morrison reminding us that we are still on earth. And yet it's Van himself who says at the end that we're going to heaven, in another time, in another space, and even in another face. And so who Jimmy is and what his story seems really like details, because the lyrics seem to be embroidered on the harmonic canvas with magnificent perfection, managing to give more and more information, increasingly lengthening the verses, without ever being out of rhythm, indeed it's precisely his voice that is the principal instrument of all tracks. And when he throws himself into those crazy descents of tongue-twisters repeating a word or phrase to the point of spasm, he seems unreachable and perhaps he is. And we feel satisfied without the need to read between the lines, because now without realizing anything we are in the middle of that huge cypress road, where nothing is a sin, not even loving a fourteen-year-old girl, because only love manages to penetrate through the dense flora of the cypress avenue. And so wait, taken once again by Cypress Avenue, look up, flakes of rainbows season a sky clear of prejudices. This must be love, surrounded as it is by such a romantic panorama that continues outside the avenue, or perhaps on a parallel little street, where young people love each other naively, still believing in that summer, frivolous love, because it is still 1968, and the world was absent from Cypress Avenue: the summer of love had passed and left its residues of hope, at least faint. This is why this record has become so important for many reasons.
And as the music dozes off we realize from the first verses and the sonorous coherence that we returned to that avenue, this time much more determined than before, with a guest that inhabits it in his marginalization. Madame George is there under a tree, while playing dominoes looks much older with a hat on his head and sipping wine. All the kids steal his cigarettes and make fun of him. A gentle character yet so mistreated by all, in his eternal condition of outcast and different. Say goodbye to Madame George, take that train, far from him, run from Madame George, but first have at least respect in his pain shedding a tear for him. Say thanks to him when with lowered head he will return your gloves, without demanding anything in return but our satisfaction with this acoustic paradise. But you run away from her, take another path, not far from that of the young lovers, where reside sweet dancers with gracious movements, as if they were living in enchanted music boxes that a single tinkling of a bell lights up. And then the vision begins, and you don't remember the last thing that crossed your mind. Perhaps it was the same Madame George a few minutes earlier, but it doesn't matter: all you have to do is ring the bell, and here’s your ballerina. Seems everything vanished, everything returned to normal, until the delightful conclusion. There's still the cover to look at, that perfect circle inscribed in a square, and Van’s face among the green of the trees. His face seems really to feel thin pain on the surface, but immense inside. Pain that only mother nature can understand, being the cause herself. And then it’s precisely from her that a man must seek, that’s precisely the road to take, whether it takes two days or two years, I believe this is the difference between a formidable artist and a common person: the time taken to find a solution or simply to come to terms with a difficult reflection, whether it’s of pain or love or any other thing, because nature makes no difference of feelings.
And then close your eyes and rest for the love that will come flowing through your stream of consciousness.
Van Morrison.
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Astral Weeks (07:06)
If I ventured in the slipstream
Between the viaducts of your dream
Where immobile steel rims crack
And the ditch in the back roads stop
Could you find me?
Would you kiss-a my eyes?
To lay me down
In silence easy
To be born again
To be born again
From the far side of the ocean
If I put the wheels in motion
And I stand with my arms behind me
And I'm pushin' on the door
Could you find me?
Would you kiss-a my eyes?
To lay me down
In silence easy
To be born again
To be born again
There you go
Standin' with the look of avarice
Talkin' to Huddie Ledbetter
Showin' pictures on the wall
Whisperin' in the hall
And pointin' a finger at me
There you go, there you go
Standin' in the sun darlin'
With your arms behind you
And your eyes before
There you go
Takin' good care of your boy
Seein' that he's got clean clothes
Puttin' on his little red shoes
I see you know he's got clean clothes
A-puttin' on his little red shoes
A-pointin' a finger at me
And here I am
Standing in your sad arrest
Trying to do my very best
Lookin' straight at you
Comin' through, darlin'
Yeah, yeah, yeah
If I ventured in the slipstream
Between the viaducts of your dreams
Where immobile steel rims crack
And the ditch in the back roads stop
Could you find me
Would you kiss-a my eyes
Lay me down
In silence easy
To be born again
To be born again
To be born again
In another world
In another world
In another time
Got a home on high
Ain't nothing but a stranger in this world
I'm nothing but a stranger in this world
I got a home on high
In another land
So far away
So far away
Way up in the heaven
Way up in the heaven
Way up in the heaven
Way up in the heaven
In another time
In another place
In another time
In another place
Way up in the heaven
Way up in the heaven
We are goin' up to heaven
We are goin' to heaven
In another time
In another place
In another time
In another place
In another face
02 Beside You (05:17)
Little Jimmy's gone way out of the back street,
Out of the window, into the falling rain,
Right on time, right on time.
That's why Broken Arrow waved his finger,
Down the road, so dark and narrow,
In the evening, just before the Sunday six-bells chime, six-bells chime
And All the dogs are barkin' way down on the garbage studded highway
Where you wander and you roam from your retreated view,
Way over on the railroad,
Tomorrow all the tipping trucks will unload together
Everywhere the scrapbooks built together stuck with glue
And I'll stand beside you, beside you,
Oh child, to never wonder why
To never, never, never, never wonder why at all
To never, never, never, never wonder why
It's gotta be, it has to be
Way across the country where the hillside mountains glide
The dynamo of your smile caressed the barefoot virgin child
To wander past your window in the lantern lit
You held it in the doorway and you cast against the pointed idle breeze
You said your time was open go well on your merry way
Past the praise and footlits of the silence easy
You breathe in, you breathe out
You breathe in, you breathe out
You breathe in, you breathe out
You breathe in, you breathe out
And you're high on a high-flying cloud
Wrapped up in your magic shroud, ecstasy surrounds you
This time it's found you
You turn around
You turn around
You turn around
You turn around
And I'm beside you
Beside you
Oh, darlin'
To never, never wonder why at all,
No, no, no, no, no,
To never, never, never, wonder why at all
To never, never, never, wonder why it's gotta be
It has to be
And I'm beside you
Beside you
Oh, child
To never, never, never, wonder why at all
I'm beside you
Beside you
Beside you
Beside you
Oh, child
03 Sweet Thing (04:25)
I will stroll the merry way
And jump the hedges first
And drink the clear
Clean waterfall to quench my thirst
And I shall watch the ferry-boats and they'll get high
On a bluer ocean
Against tomorrow's sky
And I will never grow so old again.
And I will walk and talk
In garden's all wet with rain.
Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
Oh my, my, my sweet thing.
And I shall drive my chariot
down you streets and cry
'hey its me, I'm dynamite and I don't know why'.
And you shall take me strongly in your arms again.
And I will not remember that I ever felt the pain.
We shall walk and talk
in gardens all misty wet with rain.
And I will never, never, never grow so old again.
Oh sweet thing, sweet thing.
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing.
And I will raise my hand up
into the night cloud's sky.
And count the stars shining in your eye.
Just to dig it all an' not to wonder that's just fine.
And I wil be satisfied
Not to read in between the lines.
And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain.
And I will never ever, ever grow so old again.
Oh sweet thing. Oh sugar baby
Sugar baby, sugar baby, sugar baby.
With your champagne eyes
And your saint-like smile.
06 Madame George (09:45)
Down on Cyprus Avenue
With a childlike vision leaping into view
Clicking, clacking of the high heeled shoe
Ford & Fitzroy, Madame George
Marching with the soldier boy behind
He's much older with hat on drinking wine
And that smell of sweet perfume comes drifting through
The cool night air like Shalimar
And outside they're making all the stops
The kids out in the street collecting bottle-tops
Gone for cigarettes and matches in the shops
Happy taken Madame George
That's when you fall
Whoa, that's when you fall
Yeah, that's when you fall
When you fall into a trance
A sitting on a sofa playing games of chance
With your folded arms and history books you glance
Into the eyes of Madame George
And you think you found the bag
You're getting weaker and your knees begin to sag
In the corner playing dominoes in drag
The one and only Madame George
And then from outside the frosty window raps
She jumps up and says Lord have mercy I think it's the cops
And immediately drops everything she gots
Down into the street below
And you know you gotta go
On that train from Dublin up to Sandy Row
Throwing pennies at the bridges down below
And the rain, hail, sleet, and snow
Say goodbye to Madame George
Dry your eye for Madame George
Wonder why for Madame George
And as you leave, the room is filled with music, laughing, music,
dancing, music all around the room
And all the little boys come around, walking away from it all
So cold
And as you're about to leave
She jumps up and says Hey love, you forgot your gloves
And the gloves to love to love the gloves...
To say goodbye to Madame George
Dry your eye for Madame George
Wonder why for Madame George
Dry your eyes for Madame George
Say goodbye in the wind and the rain on the back street
In the backstreet, in the back street
Say goodbye to Madame George
In the backstreet, in the back street, in the back street
Down home, down home in the back street
Gotta go
Say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Dry your eye your eye your eye your eye your eye...
Say goodbye to Madame George
And the loves to love to love the love
Say goodbye
Oooooo
Mmmmmmm
Say goodbye goodbye goodbye goodbye to Madame George
Dry your eye for Madame George
Wonder why for Madame George
The love's to love the love's to love the love's to love...
Say goodbye, goodbye
Get on the train
Get on the train, the train, the train...
This is the train, this is the train...
Whoa, say goodbye, goodbye....
Get on the train, get on the train...
07 Ballerina (07:03)
Spread your wings
Come on fly awhile
Straight to my arms
Little angel child
You know you only
Lonely twenty-two story block
And if somebody, not just anybody
Wanted to get close to you
For instance, me, baby
All you gotta do
Is ring a bell
Step right up, step right up
And step right up
Ballerina
Crowd will catch you
Fly it, sigh it, try it
Well, I may be wrong
But something deep in my heart tells me I'm right and I don't think so
You know I saw the writing on the wall
When you came up to me
Child, you were heading for a fall
But if it gets to you
And you feel like you just can't go on
All you gotta do
Is ring a bell
Step right up, and step right up
And step right up
Just like a ballerina
Stepping lightly
Alright, well it's getting late
Yes it is, yes it is
And this time I forget to slip into your slumber
The light is on the left side of your head
And I'm standing in your doorway
And I'm mumbling and I can't remember the last thing that ran through my head
Here come the man and he say, he say the show must go on
So all you gotta do
Is ring the bell
And step right up, and step right up
And step right up
Just like a ballerina, yeah, yeah
Crowd will catch you
Fly it, sight it, c'mon, die it, yeah
Just like a ballerina
Just like a just like a just like a ballerina
Get on up, get on up, keep a-moving on, little bit higher, baby
You know, you know, you know, get up baby
Alright, a-keep on, a-keep on, a-keep on, a-keep on pushing
Stepping lightly
Just like a ballerina
Ooo-we baby, take off your shoes
Working on
Just like a ballerina
08 Slim Slow Slider (03:17)
Slim slow slider
Horse you ride
White as snow
Slim slow slider
Horse you ride
Is white as snow
Tell it everywhere you go
Saw you walking
Down by Ladbroke Grove this morning
Saw you walking
Down by Ladbroke Grove this morning
Catching pebbles for some sandy beach
You're out of reach
Saw you early this morning
With your brand new boy and your Cadillac
Saw you early this morning
With your brand new boy and your Cadillac
You're gone for something
And I know you won't be back
I know you're dying, baby
And I know you know it, too
I know you're dying
And I know you know it, too
Everytime I see you
I just don't know what to do
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Other reviews
By Grasshopper
Van Morrison is a volcano of pure sensations, goes straight to the soul, escapes any classification.
The somewhat abrupt closure of this last magic leaves us speechless, with a fierce desire to listen to this sublime album again.
By tonysoprano
Astral Weeks is a bittersweet arrow that lodges in our weak and sensitive human hearts.
The first time I heard that unforgettable acoustic guitar sound, I burst into tears: unthinkable that a man could move me in just 30 seconds.
