Van Morrison: Best Of (1965-89)

(Mercury)

RECOMMENDED

Some artists were never meant to be compiled; from such a textbook arrives Van Morrison's first officially sanctioned greatest-hits, issued back in 1990. There had been compilations of his Bang Records material, but never with his blessing. In the years hence, Morrison had traveled across every realm of commercial success and obscurity, so in covering such mountainous terrain, Best Of becomes a dilution of the premier blue-eyed soul singer, the man whose intensity of feeling and hard-hitting starkness seem so resonant and resistant to reduction. As introductions go, you could do worse, and from "Jackie Wilson Said" to "Moondance" to "Wild Night," this has the bulk of the songs mainstream listeners are likely to know. As an introduction to an artist with depth, however, it falls short, perhaps because it aims to please rather than to impress, which it very easily could.

The new arrival to Morrison will nevertheless find this album an immediate charmer. His personal reputation notwithstanding, Morrison is possessed of one of rock's true miracle voices. His virtues are many, but his subservience to emotion sets him above and beyond most others. From the opening bounce of "Bright Side of the Road," this music is open-armed forgiveness for all. The years have perhaps allowed many of us to forget how packed with power and joy something like "Wild Night" truly is, but on those '70s selections, Morrison betrays a wisdom and grace far beyond his age at the time.

Some of the MOR excursions of later years (seven tracks from the '80s, most of which are hardly as misguided as is their reputation, and many of which have entered an inescapable pop culture lexicon -- "Have I Told You Lately" above all) don't really fit with the peerless '60s-'70s material, but the most jarring selections are clearly the three tracks by Morrison's seminal garage band Them; while classic, they belong on a Them CD -- at least one of which should be owned by every rock fan. Those quibbles aside, the number of emotional crescendos here is truly staggering, and makes for a surprisingly enriching, comforting listen -- particularly for the soul in distress.

A point worth making is that Best Of signalled the beginning of a career renaissance for Morrison, who would -- after somehow managing to create an Event out of his licensing of a best-of, a decade before the Beatles would do the same -- go on to record some of his strongest-ever albums in the '90s. It's a pity that this package remains tied firmly to a reverence for the material prior to that emergence; while "Wherever God Shines His Light" is tolerable, even if it sounds vaguely like a Buick ad, there's really no excuse for "Wonderful Remark." Polish has never fit Morrison's scrappy performance style, even as his writing has remained strong.

On the whole, my advice would be not to start here; the collection is rushed and wastes too much time to explore Morrison's career in its real breadth. Look, the correct progression is: Astral Weeks; His Band and the Street Choir; Moondance; Tupelo Honey; Saint Dominic's Preview; Into the Music; It's Too Late to Stop Now; and you're on your own from there. Any one of those is guaranteed to make you more of a fan than this will and to entice you to continue. Oh, and grab a Them package while you're at it. Fun as this CD is, once you've heard those you can build your own Van mixtape that will trounce it, and hearing "Sweet Thing" stripped of its Astral context is quite heartbreaking for anyone to whom that record means something, which should fucking well be every single person reading this, and you are required to get it immediately if not.

Still, major point -- this is the best-ever context in which to hear "Brown Eyed Girl," Morrison's career-blueprint classic, one of rock & roll's indisputable 45rpm masterpieces. Its haphazard grace and emotional intelligence -- his lead in to the chorus is wrenching every time -- must constitute some of the loveliest noise ever captured on tape. Everything Morrison has done since 1967 has been an outgrowth of that moment, which retains its youth, sexual buoyancy, melodic charm, and odd sadness even now. In fairness, this is the only place short of a Various Artists comp that you can hear "Brown Eyed Girl" on an LP that doesn't surround it with vastly lesser material. For that alone, Best Of warrants a home in the canon alongside those stunning full-lengths.