Celtic Guru :: Van Morrison In The 80s | A Sense of Wonder

Fresh off the road from showcasing his calculated brand of Celtic Soul, Van returned to the studio in 1984 to record his most overlooked work of his 1980’s oeuvre. From the opening licks of “Tore Down a la Rimbaud” we’re greeted with familiarity: a tight groove, a muted edge, and Van drawing inspiration from his literary heroes. The studio craftsmanship of Morrison’s prior works of the decade remains, and he runs a tight ship keeping the layers of arrangements and backing singers right on time. The obligatory alto solo is thrown in and it’s back into the warmth of another chorus before the tune drifts off into “Ancient of Days.”

The release of Sense of Wonder marked 20 years since Them’s first single dropped and put Van on the map. Up close, the two couldn’t seem further apart, but as the subsequent decades provide perspective, the same base elements are contained within each. The tracks assembled for Van’s 20th release in as many years (including those first three Them records), are built around the same R&B and Soul underpinnings as that first single. In fact, as the folk and blues rock inclinations were stripped away in late 70s and early 80s, Van actually becomes closer to the original impetus and inspiration of his art.

Constant evolution and redefining the ‘soul’ component in Van’s music – especially in this decade – does remain at the pulse of Sense of Wonder, however. Though it is not as apparent as Beautiful Vision’s heavy-handed Theosophy, or the exploratory improvised mystique on Common One, we’re given cuts like the aptly titled “Evening Meditation.” Over the course of four-minutes, Van oozes out a wordless chorus, part howl, part scat, conveying his intent with the same dedication of a tenor master blasting out a ballad in half-time. As noted on his previous trio of records, by the 1980s, Van had ascended to a point where words became unnecessary for the artist to get his point across. With this discovery came the opportunity for Van to once more, dip into the slipstream and let his compositions come to life organically, wherever his muse directed.

Van had settled into a good thing and the reasoning for A Sense of Wonder’s anonymity becomes obvious. The record blends right in to Morrison’s 80s successes. By no means is the record weak or necessarily inferior, but there is little new ground tread over the course of the work. “The Master’s Eyes” and “What Would I Do Without You” offer full-on balladry, but this is nothing new after his post-Veedon Fleece hiatus. The title-cut showcases Morrison’s songwriting at its finest, but this remains in the same literary-specter-meets-emotive-wise-guy mode that we’ve come to love with the last few records. It only makes sense that a record with so little controversy or groundbreaking would come to blend in—that is, until we dig slightly deeper and find some hints of what’s to come.

To begin on a lighter note—there’s the outstanding “Boffyflow and Spike,” which buoys the generally laid-back Sense of Wonder with a lighthearted instrumental. Successfully blending jazz with bluegrass and Irish traditional music, the number delivers a rambunctious rollicking fusion that points toward the coming collaboration with The Chieftains. Certainly, leaning more on the countryside romp than that record, Van and company give a performance closer to an emerging Bluegrass Jam Band scene than to any sense of Celtic revivalism in a grand display of proto-Flecktones action. The second noteworthy development on this otherwise quiet album, points to a trend that would shape much of Van’s years to come.

Morrison’s predisposed distaste for ‘the business’ side of things had been well-documented unto this point in his career. But, almost remarkedly, the artist had always been able to keep that strained relationship from entering his craft. Here, we see the breakdown of whatever barrier had kept the ill-feelings at bay. Perhaps the recent conclusion of a drawn out split from Warner Brothers had fed the flame, but on “If You Only Knew” we have an overture to the personal curmudgeonry that would come to define Van’s later career. The hostility is mild, for sure, and the entire piece comes off more of a venting session, but there’s no denying the cut remains oddly out of place on an otherwise solemn and painstakingly lush record.

In a moment of whiplash, Van follows his cautionary tale of the music industry with the monumentally slow dirge “Let the Slave.” As the number moves into its second half, we have a three-minute spoken word from Van on personal freedom and experiential coming-to-enlightenment. And while this is certainly the sentiment upon which one would expect Van to end the record on, the listener is granted a final moment of self-reflection with the far-cheerier “A New Kind of Man.” As the title suggests, Van ain’t done with his search yet, and that’s more than apparent as the 1980s begins its second half. | j rooney

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