Published on Jun 11, 1998
Admittedly, I don’t know a lot about Van Morrison. Unlike many
other artists in the Pierce Archive, there is damned little of
Morrison’s music lining the walls. Oh, it’s not that I don’t like
his music – in fact, I have enjoyed a lot of what I’ve heard him
do. But there’s the problem: I haven’t heard much, save for the
usual singles and
The Best Of Van Morrison that I bought some years ago.
So starting with a collection of outtakes,
The Philosopher’s Stone, might not be the smartest move for
me, the diehard Morrison fan might think. As it turns out, after
listening to this two-tape compilation, I am that much more
inspired to pick up more of Morrison’s catalog than before. If the
majority of these 30 tracks were just tossed away, then what he put
out has to be damned incredible.
The styles on this set run from the jazzy-rock Morrison became
well-known for to all-out blues to beautiful ballads – even into
spoken-word at one point! While such a hopscotch over genres might
have sank any other artist, it almost feels natural for
Morrison.
A gentler side of Morrison is quickly evident, and is heard on
tracks like “Wonderful Remark”, a 1973 recording featuring Ronnie
Montrose on guitar. But instead of fiery guitar work, the spotlight
is placed on a flute solo running through the body of the song,
which brings out the track’s beauty. Other of the gentler songs
that stick out are “Not Supposed To Break Down,” “Madame Joy” and
“I Have Finally Come To Realise”.
Morrison also saves two tracks as darts against the evil music
industry balloon, “Drumshanbo Hustle” (which I found pretty
amusing) and “Showbuisiness,” which isn’t as powerful. I almost
wonder if “For Mr. Thomas” would qualify under the same category,
but I didn’t seem to pick up that kind of venom on the track.
There are only two tracks on
The Philosopher’s Stone that leave little question as to why
they were cut. “Steeping Out Queen Part 2” isn’t a terrible track,
but it almost seems to capture Morrison trying to find the mood of
the song with spoken asides. “John Henry,” a modern version of the
American folktale, is an all-out failure, though – Morrison should
have known better not to first sound like Dr. John and then try to
scream as if he was pulling his own lungs out.
But only two small stumbles on such a vast collection is well
above average, and it leaves me questioning why many of these
tracks never made it to albums prior to this. “Really Don’t Know”
would have somehow fit into the mood of
Moondance, while “Laughing In The Wind,” “Lover’s Prayer”
and “Joyous Sound” would have most likely been radio hits for
Morrison. Even the Irish jig-like “High Spirits” that closes the
album would have had potential, what with the
Riverdance craze that has swept this country in the last few
years.
The biggest obstacle
The Philosopher’s Stone has to face is that some might
consider it primarily a “for-the-fans” package. In truth, this set
might pull in many more new fans if they give it a fair shake. I
know that after listening to the set, I’m already checking my
reference guides to see what other albums I can acquire. (Hmm… is
a trip to the used record store this weekend possible?)
The Philosopher’s Stone demonstrates that “outtake” does not
mean bad music. These mostly excellent tracks just didn’t make
Morrison’s quality cut – a fact which should make the rest of his
discography must-own material.