NO PRIMA DONNA: “The Songs of Van Morrison” (Exile)

FORGET THE arguments about egotism, self-obsession, narcissism. The question is still the same. Is No Prima Donna worth parting with the readies, or not?

Weell . . . it all depends on your motives really. If a colour-by-numbers thumbnail sketch of Van the Man’s back catalogue is what you’re after then this is the merchandise for you, complete with enough name acts to pepper the most animated of after-dinner chit chats, darling. On the other hand if you’re already acquainted with the gospel according to Ivan then No Prima Donna will probably come across like the blasphemy that it really is.

There are a handful of exceptions to the sacrilege of course: Brian Kennedy virtually repossesses the tracks he guests upon: ‘Queen Of The Slipstream’ is a far more ethereal and vaporous air buoyed by his fragile larynx, and ‘Irish Heartbeat’ is mesmeric in a way that could never have been imagined on the original. And – as ever – Elvis Costello produces the goods, with a full frontal replastering of ‘Full Force Gale’, the original gospel air stripped bare to make way for a rousing acapella version with The Voice Squad assuming their rightful place as preachers of the good news.

Trouble is, the respites are thin on the ground. All else are either note for note replays of the original – but without the benefit of the original muse’s vocal cords (a travesty), or a pedestrian reworking with Phil Coulter’s asinine musical sensibilities plodding all over the show like a month’s supply of Mogadon (neither of which should be consumed without prescription).

Even Marianne Faithfull’s much-vaunted reprise of ‘Madame George’ is a puny weakling, its mournful arrangements shouting ‘verse’ and ‘chorus’ from a mile off, the internal scaffolding left gaping; its clothing stripped of any warmth or feeling by the ubiquitous soporific Coulter keyboards. As for ‘Tupelo Honey’ well, it suffers a prolonged instrumental mauling at his hands that’d be hard to match – even at the hands of Johnny Carroll at his most saccharine.

Pity really. Van himself has been heard to observe that some people spend their time just running round in circles always chasing some exotic bird. Seems like his own circles are ever-decreasing these days. Navel gazing it may not quite be, but No Prima Donna casts one too many glances in the direction of the bellybutton to make for comfortable listening.

Fingers crossed, the Man’s gaze will shift upwards so we’ll have something to tickle either the cardiac muscle or the cerebral hemispheres next time out.

• Siobhán Long