Van Morrison and Chris Farlowe are singing ‘It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue’. They both recorded the song as young men and they return to it fondly, one of the great Dylan songs about departure and change. And so on stage, while they trade lines and savour the poignancy, they are reaching for a kind of valediction. Like Bob, they are variously singing to an old lover, to a scene that’s finished or even to the self-same artist who needs to pack up and move on.
Van Morrison and Chris Farlowe plus band, Waterfront Hall, 31.08.25
Today is Van Morrison’s 80th birthday and his durability as a performer is manifest. He plays guitar, saxophone and harmonica. He jerks his arms at critical moments, directing his musicians, upping the tempo, cueing a solo or commanding silence. He works it like air traffic control, managing an infinite variety of moods and pace, all expertly scheduled.
Van wears a stingy brim hat and a snug suit of midnight blue. He has stature although he has never been tall. He has 60 years of back catalogue and he might enrich us with parts of his outstanding albums; Astral Weeks, Common One or Veedon Fleece. Yet we know he is contrary and sure enough, none of the above receive a visit. But he does commence with ‘Into the Mystic’, the sweetest invitation to venture beyond the veil, away from the material world.
He also sings ‘Little Village’, a precious return to the parish of Bloomfield in East Belfast. He admires the quiet, the sense of place and the ambience of church bells. When his soul is sated, he takes us on to a drive towards Strangford and the church at Saul, an ancient haunt of Saint Patrick and site of a Celtic mystery tradition.
Also, there is time for big band swing and some tunes that recall the jump jive of Louis Jordan. A pal called Kevin Burke scats in the old way like Slim Gaillard and Van watches with unfiltered joy. There’s a greater cheer for Ronnie Wood who lurches out in a leopard skin coat, evidently pleased to accompany the birthday guy. They play ‘And It Stoned Me’ and the evening gains a welcome, loose character. On the classic 1970 recording of the song, Van’s voice soars high on the final chorus. That’s not a given these days, and understandably so. Instead, he follows the notes down, singing a kind of counterpoint with his boyish past.
Van Morrison, Ronnie Wood and Chris Farlowe plus band, Waterfront Hall, 31.08.25
There are many rewards for Van Morrison fans, chiefly his regular shows at home. Scores of visitors arrive for the concerts and the community they have built together is a heartening prospect, a gift for Belfast. On the contrary, Van has challenged the listener often and some of his outbursts during lockdown were unattractive. Much of that is forgiven tonight, long before he exits with ‘Gloria’. His friends join him on stage, the band livens a notch, applause flows and the artist receives his dues.
Such a life in music. I think often these days about the lines in Sailing to Byzantium by William Butler Yeats and I believe it relates here.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress.
That’s where you come from, man.
Stuart Bailie
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