It is one of the perverse facets of contemporary music that there is a constant demand that artists have to re-invent themselves. I’m all for it if it’s what a band or a performer either needs or wants to do, in order to give renewed sparkle to the muse. But it isn’t something that we ask of poets or writers. Would we want or expect John McGahern to produce a sci-fi thriller set in an imaginary bog landscape five hundred years into the future?
Magic Time, then, represents no great new departure. It’s a record that mixes blues, soul, jazz, folk and Irish influences in the way that Van Morrison records – or most of ‘em anyway – have for a some time. It opens beautifully with the melancholy strains of ‘Stranded’, Van blowing on the Alto against a light and glistening backdrop that, especially in the piano work, harks back to ‘Have I Told You Lately?’. “I’m stranded at the edge of the world,” the Man sings, but the element of complaint that often insinuates itself into his work is conspicuous by its absence, "It’s a world I don’t know/Got nowhere to go/Feels like I’m stranded.”
And the next line, very simply, reminds you of the origin of the word that gives the song its title. “And I’m stranded between the devil and the deep blue sea,” he says, and you can see the solitary figure down there on the beach below, resigned to his insignificance in the cosmic scheme of things.
It isn’t all so restrained, but there is a feeling throughout the album that the anger that has on occasion driven Van to bitterness in the past has been subsumed into a more measured view of the world and its vagaries. ‘They Sold Me Out’ is more matter of fact than miserable. And ‘Keep Mediocrity At Bay’ may poke a stick at ‘bleeding hearts’ in general, but it’s a legitimate statement of intent that encapsulates an important thread in what Van is really about.
‘Just Like Greta’ is a standout. It strikes an apologetic note that’s welcome (“Other times you just can’t reach me/Seems like I got a heart of stone”), and there’s a lovely string arrangement courtesy of Fiachra Tranch, as Van identifies with the self-imposed isolation of the fabled Hollywood legend. “Well, I guess I’m going AWOL/Disconnect my telephone/Just like Greta Garbo/I just want to be alone.” And, you think, the music drawing you into the feeling, wouldn’t that be a beautiful escape.
Musicians are driven creatures: wheels are constantly turning under them. The life they lead, moving from town to town to ply their trade, creates an aura – an illusion perhaps – of freedom. But there is a fierce loneliness to it at times, and that contradiction surfaces here not just in ‘Just Like Greta’ but in the blues of ‘Evening Train’, in ‘Gypsy In My Soul’ and in the title track, ‘Magic Time’’. This is familiar Van territory too, looking back without embarrassment to stolen moments of rapture, when the clock stopped ticking for a moment, and love had a chance to shine. “Don’t lose the wonder in your eyes,” he asks, “I can see it right now when you smile/Let me go back for a while/Let me go back for a while/To that magic time.”
This is not a grandiose record with claims that it’ll change the world attached. It is the latest missive from a master craftsman getting on with the job of producing new things for us to enjoy, maybe even here and there to marvel at. And to have a laugh. The album finishes with ‘Carry On Regardless’, which finds Van in jovial mood, taking the piss out of the TV trash and media rehash that we’re surrounded with.
Magic Time opens in a state of melancholy and finishes with a chuckle. Not a bad trip to be taken on, at all.