Van Morrison His Band And The Street Choir by: Justin Pearsall Mon:13-Aug-07 Label: Warner Year: 1970 WB rating 86 out of 100

Influential, commercially successful and critically acclaimed, as far as Landmark artists go there are few equals to Van ‘The Man’ Morrison. In his 42 year recording career to date – and it is important to remember that recent Morrison albums such as Down The Road and Magic Time are gems in their own right – Morrison has defied convention, remaining true to his own whims, sculpting a monolithic catalogue of varied and powerful work.

His Band And The Street Choir is Morrison caught between two realms, the heart exposed, nomadic, stream-of-consciousness of Astral Weeks and the crisp optimism of Brown Eyed Girl. Already renowned for his status as a musical chameleon, this hedging of bets facilitates both variety and depth throughout the album, leaving Morrison free to roam through his trademark Celtic Soul, Doo-Wop, Blues and Funk with the restless spirit that has defined his whole career.

Opening with ‘Domino’ – Morrison’s highest charting US single; a song dedicated as a musical tribute to Fats Domino – The Man and his band hint at the groove-based ride to follow, gyrating-and-thrusting Morrison spits black gospel, engulfed by saxophones wail and a driving rhythm. Reminiscent of the notoriously improv affairs of Astral Weeks, Morrison’s performance on ‘Domino’ is dripping emotion, allowing his voice to break and overreach “And if you never hear from him/That just means he didn’t call”.

Other soul standouts on the album include the grease-stained, groove-heavy ‘I’ve Been Working’, its chorus nothing more and nothing less than Morrison scatting: “Woman, woman, woman, woman, woman” over-and-over-and-over, each intonation crashing over the progressions, punctuated by a saxophone squeal. ‘Blue Money’ is another of Morrison’s finer soul excursions; its bluesy shuffle and horn lines ala the theme song of Sesame Street thankfully embolden Morrison’s rambling lyricism: “Well, you search in your bag/Light up a fag/Think it's a drag, but you're so glad”.

A vague, lyrical inaccessibility, which at worst verges on inanity, does cloud the brilliance of His Band And The Street Choir. However, in Morrison’s defence, his free-flowing jazz vocal style has never been conducive to poetic turns of phrase. To the singer’s credit when the tempo wanes he is able to colour his ballads and slow burners with an increased lyrical detail: “All the people were waiting for Crazy Face/He said he'd meet them at his favourite place/Dresses in a-black satin, white linen and lace” and fragile vocal performances (such as the feminine falsetto of ‘Gypsy Queen’) that propel even the record’s more restrained numbers.

While His Band And The Street Choir fails to reach the transcendence, the ingrained mysticism, of Astral Weeks, it nevertheless plays to the near religious power of Morrison to vocally embody the burdens of the human heart; a quality consistent with the best of The Man’s work. While the three years surrounding the Street Choir were a particularly fruitful time for Morrison, this album holds a special place as a mediator between the free-spirit of Astral Weeks and the universal Brown Eyed Girl, succeeding in marrying the commercial and challenging aspects of the Irish songwriter. For this fact, or simply because it is a lively and engaging work, His Band And The Street Choir is an essential addition to any record collection.