Personal dispatch #14

This is a dispatch from Kate Riley. In her cover of "Sweet Thing," Kate sings and whistles, plays ukulele and tambourine. It's simple yet imaginative, like cutting intricate paper dolls from plain white paper. The original "Sweet Thing" is an old-time ode; Kate's cover is a newfangled, sprightly anthem, a throw-your-hands-in-the-air celebration of love's pomp and grandeur. Here is what Kate had to say about her background as well as what went into recording her cover.

I live in Columbus, Ohio, born in Cleveland, Ohio. I'm 29. I've been a musician since a young age. I'm classically trained on the trumpet, but just picked up the ukulele and started singing only two years ago.

I'm very goofy, I play for my family and friends, but I do not perform live or "play out," as almost everyone asks me. I make music mostly for myself, as a hobby, a creative outlet. I'm not looking to be a rock star. I guess you could categorize me as a song writer, if anything, but definitely not a performer.

It's sad to say, the first time I heard "Sweet Thing" was only a few years ago. To put things in perspective, my first memory of music was singing to Huey Lewis and the News on my Playskool cassette recorder. (Funny, I've never attempted a cover of Huey's.) I grew up listening to the ever-expanding genres of pop, rock, alternative, and hip hop. But music from the 60's and 70's really fascinates me; it's something I've had to take the time to discover on my own. I didn't grow up with it. I'd never heard a Van Morrison song other than "Brown Eyed Girl."

When I heard "Sweet Thing", I thought, this is powerful. The emotions of the song are very clear to me, and I like music that has the ability to do that. I listened to the whole Astral Weeks album and was just astounded. The whole album speaks to me in flowing emotions, uncanny simplicity, and amazing musicality. It is very expressive. I wanted other people my age, even just a few, to discover Van Morrison, so I knew I had to do a cover.

I always start creating covers by trying to replicate the original. And since I'm super creative, replicating frustrates me beyond belief. I build on that frustration and I think that's when something beautiful comes out: my own version, what the original means to me, how it naturally flows through me. Everyone hears and interprets music differently. I think a cover should be an expression or interpretation of how you feel about the original. I've had a lot of people tell me how much they enjoyed my covers, but never necessarily liked the originals. I think it helps to hear a different voice or interpretation. It helps the original live on and be understood especially in a new day and age.

I record all of my music on my phone. "Sweet Thing" I used an app called GarageBand for help with some light percussion. I recorded it last spring, around a time when "the gardens were all wet with rain". (Lol.) I sat on the song for months and just "thought" about it. But creating the cover probably only took me a couple of hours. I changed quite a bit in the song, but I think the feeling and emotion speak to the original. I'm very rhythmic. I tend to enhance that in anything I play. I think Van Morrison is a genius because he doesn't have to do that. His music flows and you feel the rhythm without it necessarily being in your face. A true Asrtal Weeks fan and musician may notice I even changed the time signature! (I actually imagined someone being quite displeased about that when I did it.)

I love the song because it's very magical. It simplifies the feeling of love and in reality, that is what falling in love is all about. It's easy, simple, innocent, and child-like. Your senses change. You notice things you hadn't before, all because your feelings for this one person unlocked your mind to new possibilities.

Like holding water in your hand

Astral Weeks has been praised for how it gleefully spits in the eye of conventional song structure. Only one track, "The Way Young Lovers Do," has something even resembling a chorus. It's only sung by Van Morrison twice, but if anything, this decision to keep it minimal allows the lyrics to remain potent and pure. It's not a chorus of the sing-along variety; the words never get stuck in your head. However, the imagery lingers—Morrison's two lovers stay with you long after the music stops. So it’s a catchy in that way.

"Then we sat on our own star and dreamed of the way that we were," the Irishman begins. "And the way that we wanted to be / Then we sat on our own star and dreamed of the way that I was for you / And you were for me."

It sounds like simple nostalgia. Lots of was's and were's. A clear desire to return to the beginning, the beginning of them, back to when the world wasn't just itself, but was a grand stage for all of their acts and words. Or perhaps it's more complicated. Maybe it's the realization that when it comes to our memories of things, the memories are often better than the things themselves. Or maybe it's about shaping and forming a memory into one that's more meaningful, more indelible, that way you have a memory strong enough to give you something to forever hold on to.

Or maybe it's more like this particular passage from Ulysses:

I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand. Would you go back to then? Just beginning then. Would you?

The best song about Belfast?

Last week, The Guardian ran a piece titled "the best songs about cities." "Madame George" was included—and was the first song featured. "Morrison is an exquisite painter of cities," writes Guardian staffer Laura Barton. (As a side note, I would like to be reminded of the other cities Morrison has painted as exquisitely as he did Belfast.) "Much of the joy of Astral Weeks," Barton continues, "lies in the way he captures the sensory impact of Belfast. Here on 'Madame George' he's mingling past and present, stirring memory with a bombardment of sights and scents and sounds."

Personally, I wonder if "Madame George" is the best song ever written about Belfast. I imagine the pool of candidates isn't that large. For those interested in answering such a question, check out this piece I did for Stylus way back in 2006. I included a few ditties about Belfast. (Notice how I went with "Cyprus Avenue" over "Madame George." I was clearly having an off day.)

For all the people who know

BBC Radio 2 is airing a four-part series titled "Too Late to Stop Now—The Van Morrison Story." You can catch the first two episodes here. The next one will air on Feb. 5.

Since Morrison's habitually and famously distrustful of anyone who comes bearing questions, the BBC managed to nab one of his former sideman, saxophonist Leo Green, to handle the interviewing. The second episode features Morrison and Green talking at length about Astral Weeks.

I particularly liked the below quote, which has Morrison touching upon the album's remarkable dichotomy. During the sessions, lyrics flowed stream-of-conscious-like and the assembled jazz musicians were instructed to play "whatever they felt like playing" (per drummer Connie Kay), yet at the same time, this was not an extemporaneous outpouring. Morrison had been refining this material for over a year, removing its impurities, like a craftsman sitting next to a crucible filled with molten gold, skimming off the dross that rises to the top. Here is the quote:

It just didn't happen out of the blue, you know? It was kind of an evolvement. And that's another thing. Years later I'm reading all this stuff about ... "Oh, Astral Weeks just happened" ... It didn't all happen. The material was like rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed and worked and worked on live gigs and rehearsed more and re-written before I actually went in the studio to do it. So all this stuff about it just [snaps fingers] kinda happened. It didn't just happen. The songs had been worked on since, what? Sixty-seven?

The episode also offered up this wonderful little exchange regarding the giant gulf that exists between how Astral Weeks was received by critics and how it was received by the buying public.

Morrison: It still is not the biggest seller, actually. It's the biggest in terms of critical acclaim. Is that what they call it?

Green: Acclaim from who?

Morrison: Well, I suppose the people who know.

"Apparently she was clairvoyant"

Sixteen times Van Morrison sings the words Madame George in the track of the same name. Okay, so the George isn't always a crystal clear George. Sometimes it sounds like Joy. On other occasions it might be a Joyrge. And then there's an instance or two where Van Morrison sings the first portion of George and then trails off, so it comes out as Jor.

Anyway, here is what Morrison had to say about the whole Madame George/Madame Joy puzzle. This quote is taken from John Collis' Inarticulate Speech of the Heart.

The title of the song confuses one, I must say that. The original title was "Madame Joy" but the way I wrote it down was "Madame George." Don't ask me why I do this because I just don't know. The song is just a stream-of-consciousness thing, as is "Cyprus Avenue." Both those songs came right out. I didn't even think about what I was writing. There are some things that you write that just come out all at once, and there's other things that you think about and consider where you'll put each bit ... It may have something to do with my great aunt, whose name was Joy. Apparently she was clairvoyant ... That may have something to do with it. Aunt Joy lived around the area I mentioned in connection with Cyprus Avenue. She lived in a street just off Fitzroy Street which is quite near to Cyprus Avenue.

Down on Cyprus Avenue ...

So check this out ... East Side Arts—an organization that develops and delivers a wide variety of arts-related activities in East Belfast—just announced that its in discussion with Van Morrison's management to hold a concert on Cyprus Avenue. Imagine that ... Morrison rhapsodizing about the street he rambled up and down as an adolescent—and he's doing the rhapsodizing on that very street. Pretty nifty.

From the East Side Arts website: "Nothing has been confirmed. We are also in discussions with all relevant and appropriate parties to ensure the event can be staged safely, in a co-operative manner and, above all, with the least disruption possible to everyone, especially residents in the immediate area."

The concert would be part of the EastSide Arts Festival, which is scheduled to take place in late August. Will keep you all posted ...

High, holy stinks

Back in October, I checked in with writer Pat Thomas, who made the claim that an acquaintance of his had access to the master tapes for Astral Weeks. Thomas' pal worked at Warner Bros. Records and was reviewing the tapes to gauge how much unreleased material existed. (Apparently none.) From what I understand, the idea was to give Astral Weeks the deluxe edition treatment.

To those clamoring for such a release: Calm your tits. Nothing of the kind appears to be on the horizon. However, if you fancy believing in the improbable, there is this: According to a 2012 post from Thomas on the East Portland Blog, Van Morrison got back the rights to 11 of the 14 albums he recorded for Warner Bros. The three he didn't? His Band and the Street Choir, Moondance, and Astral Weeks.

Morrison is steadfastly anti-deluxe edition; the Irishman was none too pleased three years ago when Rhino released a deluxe edition of Moondance, featuring a remastered version of the original album and three discs' worth of unreleased demos, alternate takes, and unreleased tracks. So Astral Weeks' appearance on that aforementioned short list means Morrison would be powerless to prevent it from being all deluxed up and such. But we know he would raise a high, holy stink. Hell, that's reason enough to do it.