Van Morrison
Moondance

Two years earlier, he had surprised critics and audiences with that unstoppable stream of thoughts in music and words called "Astral Weeks," which at the time wasn't a sales champion but would later become one of those albums that leave an indelible mark in the history of music. Logic would have suggested a cloning attempt, but luckily Van Morrison never got along too well with logic: the same previous album is proof of this, and the zig-zag turns of his long career would later demonstrate it.

Hence "Moondance" (1970), a masterpiece almost on the level of the previous one, but with a totally different approach: serene, bright, and "complete" as opposed to the agitated, deep, and "undefined" nature of the other. In place of the long hypnotic ballads and the impetuous whirlwinds that fuse the voices of the instruments, here is a series of short gems the length of a song or a little more, an absolute and almost maniacal cleanliness of sound, crystal-clear piano and sax solos, an almost total dispersion of the sweet, enveloping mists of the winds, especially the flute, which was a major player in "Astral Weeks."
This greater transparency highlights even more the structural bases of Van Morrison's music, his blues, soul, and jazz roots, pillars that now appear in their nakedness. Whether this is a good thing or not depends on taste: as for me, I have a slight preference for the depth of "Astral Weeks," which doesn't stop me from fully appreciating the singability of "Moondance." Singability that, unfortunately, hasn't escaped even a "young sly guy" like Michael Bublé, who covered the splendid title track, a perfect swing with impeccable piano and sax solos, to make a version that, while remaining fairly respectful, sounds rather dull and banal. The positive side is that perhaps a part of Bublé's audience will be intrigued and want to discover this Van Morrison, the obscure author of "Moondance." In that case, the operation will have served a purpose.

When someone is in a state of grace, in a mystical exaltation, it's enough to go fishing with a friend to derive a series of magical sensations, but then there's a way and a way to express them. Among the best ways is "And It Stoned Me": naïve wonder ("Oh, the water...") in a heart full of soft piano and sax melodies. Visual and auditory impressions, happiness glimpsed and immediately captured, as in "Caravan," where Van's brusque voice expresses the urgent need to fixate on a theme (La la la ...) just intuited along with the passage of a caravan of happy gypsies.
Every positive vibration seems to be prey to the antennas of "Van the Man," who then in turn invites us to "smell the sea and feel the sky, let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic." To do so, an insistent, hypnotic bass line like the one "Into The Mystic" is built upon can be helpful. But the opportunities to let your soul soar are endless, and Van Morrison allows us to choose the means most congenial to us: those who wish can happily follow the trail of clear notes left by the splendid "Brand New Day," or be lulled by the delicacy of the romantically "Crazy Love," with the almost whispered dialogue between acoustic guitar and bass, or get hyped with the more upbeat and "black" rhythms of "Come Running" and "Glad Tidings," or immerse themselves in the canonical blues of "These Dreams Of You," or even be taken back centuries by the harpsichord and flute of "Everyone."

Overall, Van Morrison's second masterpiece is a series of clear snapshots of a mood that rarely occurs in life, captured by a fortunate photographer who was there at the right moment. Taking advantage and sharing this joy by listening to it is almost obligatory.