1979 Melody Maker Interview
by Chris Welch
From the February 3, 1979 issue of Melody Maker
Outside the Royal Garden Hotel, a blizzard raged. Inside, snowflakes dripped and melted into the plush carpets. Waiters scurried while rich Americans and Arabs mulled over Bloody Marys and listened politely to the strains of a gypsy violin.
And there, sitting alone in a corner, mulling over a white china tea service, sat Van Morrison, a man to send rock 'n' roll cliches tumbling from the typewriter.
In the past, Van has been accused of being incoherent, monosyllabic, and a recluse. He has been castigated whenever his performance level has slipped and he in turn hasn't failed to express his contempt for the manipulators of a music business he freely describes as a rat race.
However people have reacted to the songwriter in the past, or however he has reacted to them, on this cold, miserable night in London, on the eve of an historic return visit, Van Morrison proved to be a realist, and a man of charm and sensitivity, once he allowed the anger and frustration that is part of his makeup to subside.
Van's initial welcome back to Britain had not been too pleasant. Just a couple of weeks ago, the MM front-paged a story from America which mentioned that he had stormed off stage during a gig at New York's Palladium Theatre. A comment about his mental health didn't help, and Van's protests resulted in the sacking of one of Warner Bros.' New York publicity staff.
The episode seemed to confirm Van's suspicions that journalists are only after dirt, and are not to be trusted. And yet, despite it all, as we adjourned to a quieter bar, where the violin was replaced by endless but less obtrusive piano playing, Van couldn't really summon up great anger.
He spoke with frankness and passion, attacked what he saw as the excessive power of the rock press, and is obviously still a man who doesn't suffer fools gladly. But he also relaxed in a manner that revealed a much more responsive human being than his image has ever acknowledged.
During our long talk there was one moment when he was almost on the verge of telling a joke, an English joke, doubtless spurred on by the arrival in our midst of another great Irish musician, Phil Lynott, who has also suffered at the hands of insensitive critics.
Van laughed a lot, and that was good to hear. He flung aside an elderly fur coat, sipped orange juice, thought long and hard, and quickly dismissed any trivialities that I occasionally introduced into the conversation.
It seemed to me, I mentioned, that the songs on Wavelength seemed like a celebration of America and his lifestyle there.
"It's about everything, it isn't just about America. And that song "Wavelength" is not about America, actually. It's about the Voice of America, which I listened to as a kid. So it's actually about Europe, because that's where the station was. It came out of Frankfurt, and the first time I ever heard Ray Charles was on the Voice of America."
So the song wasn't about FM radio?
"
No, it's not about America, it's about Europe, and we tried to get a tape recording of the Voice of America to put on the front of that track, but it didn't work out. I didn't get it by the time the album was due to be mixed. But I think it would have made it a lot clearer if the signature thing was on the front of it. It doesn't click for a lot of people."
It transpired I had laboured under another delusion about Van's lyrics. The song, "Take It Where You Find It" contains the repeated phrase "Change, change, come over," which I interpreted as a message to the people back in Ireland to change their hearts and come across to the New World. This suggestion amused Van mightily, and his usually somewhat forbidding features broke into a warm smile. Not only that - he laughed heartily.
"No, you're kidding? No, that was about ME, man. It was about what I was going through. Change, change... you thought it was "change", full stop, "come over". No, it wasn't that... ha, ha, ha!"
I declared it was amazing how one could misinterpret lyrics.
"Well, that's one of the main reasons for doing interviews, really, you know what I mean? But it doesn't worry me if people have different interpretations. Things I've written a long time ago mean different things now. When I'm performing them, they mean TOTALLY different things. As you change, so it changes."
So you change the meaning of a Morrison song, actually during the performance?
"Oh, yeah, all the time. The songs, the meanings, everything changes constantly. The way I usually write is to take a concept or idea for a song and just keep writing whenever I can. When it's time to do an album, I get everything together that has been accumulated over a period of time and put the effort in, and the band can chip with ideas too."
Van flatly denied my assertion that "Wavelength" seemed to be a mellower album.
"No, I really think it's a more aggressive album than past stuff, actually. All the instrumentals are more aggressive and heavier in delivery. On the tour it's the same band as on the album, plus a couple of horns and a violin player."
It'll be nice to see Van playing in England again.
"
Yeah, when it's happening, it's happening. I like to play small places, you know. That's what I really get off on, small intimate places. But it's very hard to do that, because you don't make enough bread to cover the overheads and pay everybody, so we're compromised by having to do the Hammersmith Odeons and that. I don't really find it that thrilling to be playing there, do you know what I'm saying? But that's the name of the game if you wanna play.
"Most of these halls were built a long time ago, and they weren't built for music. Ideal for me is a 500-seater. But I can't do that and keep a band together, so I have to play the bigger joints, which puts the whole thing into a subject-object thing. A lot of people are coming to see SOMETHING, and a lot of others are coming to hear music, right?"
Does he mean that some people just come to see the image, the Van Morrison they had read about?
"Yeah, they do."
How do they see him?
"Who are they? A lot of different people make up THEY, and each one of those people is an individual, so there is no such thing as THEY. There's a lot more involvement with image here. Everything is image, and I can see why the punk thing is happening. Like that number that went down between me and Melody Maker and Warner Brothers, that to me was a reflection of what's happening here. For a paper to have that much control is a bit far-fetched. I can do something about it. If somebody says something about me, I can do something. But someone who has just got their first or second album out can do nothing about it, you understand?" Van fixed me with a stern gaze. "I think these guys have got a bit too much power. They'd let it get out of hand, this power they've got, and they're misusing it."
Did the MM front page story make him angry?
"Yeah, it made me angry, because I work really hard at what I do, and I've only been doing it for 21 years, you know? I put a lot of work into it, whether it's an album or gigs or whatever, and to have somebody come along and take liberties like that... I'm not gonna stand for it, because it's bullshit.
"After everything I've been through, and the work and sweat I put into it, they do that to me. It's ridiculous they should have that much power over anybody, whether it's me or anybody else. To throw spanners in the works like that is... "
Van got more and more heated. Did he think the statements about him had been damaging?
"It couldn't damage me, but it could damage someone else, deprive them of their livelihood, ya know what I mean? Most musicians put a lot of graft into what they do, and for someone to sabotage that... well, it seems pretty easy to do in England. They can do it overnight, 'far as I can see. They control the show over here."
Was there no substance in the story, then?
"
They mentioned the most negative thing they could find. They mentioned one gig out of 40 gigs and NOTHING about the other 39 gigs. The whole thing was screwed up, from two people I've never even met! I never met John Orme, I never met Gary Kenton (ex-Warner PR), they probably know NOTHING about what happened, and the people who read that take whatever is printed as gospel. They could seriously damage someone, which is a sick thing.
"But they always do that with me, they always emphasise whatever negative thing happened. They never emphasise the good gigs. They keep playing up whatever image they have of me, and I'm kind of tired of it, really. That was a direct ATTACK on my career, which is my livelihood, how I make my living, and that's a heavy number, when people get into that stuff.
"This isn't the Sixties, this is 1979. People used to say a lot of stuff and get away with it, but times have changed."
But on this particular occasion, was there any reason for the negative behaviour?
"I don't think there is much point in talking about it. What about the other 39 gigs, what about the first set the same night? What about the gig the night before that at the Bottom Line? They didn't review the Bottom Line gig in New York, which was the highlight."
Isn't this sort of thing the price you have to pay for being in the public eye? Van paused to reflect.
"Ummm... well, I suppose it is. I suppose it goes along with the gig, but it doesn't mean you have to let 'em get away with it."
Van had walked off stage, though, I observed.
"No, the story is this. After about 40 gigs, double shows, I was suffering from complete exhaustion. I'd had no sleep, and there was no statement put out to point this out, and it was kinda blown up. Warner Bros. could have taken care of it, like that... " and Van snapped his fingers.
"It was a very successful tour, probably the most successful I've EVER done, right? Nobody happened to mention that. This album is the biggest seller I 've put out so far, which they didn't mention. It's done gold so far."
Van revealed that on the tour he would be doing about six songs off the new Wavelength album and a couple from Moondance and Astral Weeks, representing a cross-section of his recorded work. Did he feel, then, this marked a kind of celebration of his career thus far?
"It's not a celebration, it's my job. I'm doing my job."
But isn't he a happier man now? Van weighed his words carefully, and seemed reluctant to commit himself too much.
"Yeah, I feel happier in myself... I guess that's because I can balance things out more now, between the music business and other, outside interests. Before it seemed like I was doing music all the time, there was no balance. I'd been working, then I'd just be OFF.
"I run my own business now, I've got lawyers and managers... you've gotta have this kind of thing, because the music business is FIXED, see? It's like a chessboard and everybody's got a manager and a lawyer to move around. The music business never changes, it's been the same since Day One. You've gotta have this structure to be in it. All this stuff about the music business changing, it's all lies, it's never changed one bit."
Does that mean it's good or bad?
"It's a pretty dirty business, let's face it. It's a rat race. You know that. I don't see any point in telling people it's glamorous or anything. It's not - from anybody's angle, lawyer or musician or whatever, it's a rat race."
But Van has learnt to deal with it?
"Oh yeah!"
Does he still get the same excitement out of music that he did as a kid back in Belfast, tuning in to the wireless to hear Ray Charles?
"
Yeah, I still get that buzz. Not all the time, I'll hear something that knocks me out, but I like to keep that to myself because then you get into NAMES and stuff and in the next interview I do, they'll say, "Oh, in that interview you said you liked so-and-so". I don't want to drop anything, because then you're gonna fix me. You do, like, the Rolling Stone Interview, and you say something that's just part of your conversation, and they'll use it. Anything could come out of my mouth, as we're sitting here, just rapping, and the piano's playing and you're eating nuts, and then in six months' time someone will come up and say: "Oh, you said in that interview"... they try and FIX you.
"People don't understand that life is not fixed, just because something happens to come out of your mouth. So I'm learning not to do that. As far as names go, I keep names to myself. The minute you say someone's name in an interview they FIX you -- right?"
Right.
"Right!"
So Van likes to be as fickle as the next guy?
"No, I'm not fickle, but I certainly don't want to be held to an interview. It's not like real life, where you have the option. You can say something on Tuesday, and change your mind the next day, when you've grown to like a record or something. I'm sure you've done it yourself. Once you say something in an interview you're frozen in time. They've got you, you're nailed!"
Does the music business worry him in that respect?
"
Well, you get somebody, saying things about you, and for me it's a 24 hour a day gig, and as I was saying before, I get so pissed off at the John Ormes of the world, thinking they're gonna blow your whole scene when you work so hard to get where you are. They should be put in their place. I think it's great the punks are starting to put people in their place. At least they are doing something about it, because these people have been running the show for too long."
Does Van ever feel drawn towards physical violence in these situations?
"Oh, I've had a few fights in my time. Everybody has, but why stress that?" Van gave me another of those searching, mistrustful looks.
"These punks are pretty smart kids, and they've got a lot of it nailed. But they're losing by the way they're attacking. To be truthful, I don't really like punk rock that much. I've heard a few things I've liked, but it's a kinda dead subject, I don't even want to talk about it."
Even so, it seems that Van is perhaps slightly less mercurial of termperament (sic) now.
"Why, was I supposed to be mercurial?" he asked, innocently. "Who said this? Somebody in an interview five years, or two weeks ago, eh? What does it matter? What difference does it make? I have my own life. I'll tell you something about what I do, blah, blah, but I'm not getting into details about who I am or what I'm really like."
Apropos of absolutely nothing, and putting an utterly irrelevant question, I asked Van if he was still playing the saxophone. He looked at me in some bewilderment, and I silently thanked God we weren't on live television.
"I'm trying to think about what I wanted to say in this interview. I think I said it at the beginning."
At this lull in the conversation Phil Lynott made a miraculous appearance, striding towards us resplendent in full evening dress and a colourful bow tie. What he had to say seemed to add to the unreality of the situation.
"Hello, I'm just going to see Princess Margaret. With the Osmonds. Can you believe that? I just come over to say hello. I'm really glad to hear you' re touring! Are you playing Ireland? They'll go crazy. Well, I'll catch ya later."
Is he being serious - Princess Margaret?
"More nuts,", said Van, unexpectedly.
But as he reached for the bowl on the table I realised he wasn't commenting on Thin Lizzy or the Royal Family. He grabbed a handful and hurled them somewhat inexpertly towards his mouth.
What will happen in Belfast? Is he looking forward to an historic return to his native heath?
"
Mmmmm?" said Van through the nuts. "
Belfast? Oh, that should be good. I find it difficult to sell myself, you know. I'm not really looking forward to it, or NOT not looking forward. It's not a big deal any more. As far as I'm concerned, I'm working. You win some and lose some. That's the name of the game. There's no thrill about doing gigs. I went through that when I was about 17. I've put a few gigs under my belt. I just try to get to the point where I'm putting across what I want to say."
Presumably he wouldn't do it, if he didn't enjoy it?
"I don't really enjoy it."
Really!
"Really! What? Huh?" Van barked at my exclamation of surprise.
"I do it because it's a job. I write songs and I put albums out, and in order for me to have a working situation, I have to do so many gigs, to keep it together. But sometimes the p.a. is totally shot and you can't hear what you're doing, and that's not very enjoyable for me. Ideally I'd do a 500-seater, but then I'd lose a lot of bread, unless somebody is going to sponsor the whole thing, and write it off."
Surely it's important to him or the kids to hear the lyrics?
"I'm not doing a rock and roll show, you know. I don't come out wearing leather jeans shouting "Shake it, baby." I did that long ago. The best gig for me on the whole American tour was a small club in Colorado. I remember it well, and everybody in the band remembers it. Bang. It was happening. But that doesn't happen in a 30,000 seater. People there are too concerned about images and stars and subject-object relationships."
Does Van think he's a better singer now than when he was a kid, passing from Them into the days of Astral Weeks?
"Well, what do you think? You know the answer to that one." He laughed again. I hazarded that artists mature, and perhaps attain a better technical grasp of their chosen idiom.
"Yeah, I think I'm a better singer. In fact I'm a better horn player too, but I don't get enough chance to play. If you don't play it for six months your embouchure goes. Back in the old days I used to play clarinet as well as sax, but I've not had one for a long time."
Is he glad to be working with a permanent band again, instead of picking up session musicians?
"Well, there really is no such thing as a permanent band. That's another myth!"
How has his songwriting changed, comparing his present material with past classics? Is he now writing just to entertain?
"I don't really know what I'm doing. I write for the sake of writing. I put songs together, but I don't know what I'm doing with it or saying. It's not even important."
But people expect a lot from songwriters of Van Morrison's calibre or status.
"People expect a lot from everybody, from writers, musicians, actors, they really expect a lot from them. I expect far too much.
"I might write about a feeling, or about love. But to me, I think I'm writing about NOTHING. Except at times I write about the feeling of LOVE. Other than that - I don't know."
He has been called a sensuous writer.
"What you've read about me means nothing. It's just one man's opinion. I don't think I'm a sensuous writer... hey is this going to be edited? It seems a bit long, doesn't it?"
Well, it wasn't often we had the chance of talking to Van Morrison. It was NICE talking to him.
"You're just stroking me. You've got plans. The front page will look perfect, but in the article you'll definitely catch me. You'll have something on me by the time this is all over. What else are you looking for? Really? Are you looking for DIRT? I know journalists, and they look for dirt, so I don't let them interview me. You nodded your head, right?"
"No," I said, "I'm just thinking about it. I can't speak for other journalists. Let them do what they like."
I went on to ask Van about his plans for writing scripts. He agreed he had one ready, but didn't want to be drawn on the subject.
"What difference does all this stuff make in terms of the world? There's a lot of importance placed on all this stuff, but when it comes down to it, it 's really all so irrelevant. Who cares about somebody's ego trip? I find it really boring. It's a bit far-fetched when it comes down to what's going on in the world. Survival is the name of the game."
I asked him if he thought much about the world's problems.
"I think seriously about being of some help to somebody. In order to get to that point, you have to go through quite a bit. I'm doing it in my music, right?
"Music is like a healing thing, and we're all being healed. I'm being healed. That's what I know, what I feel. It's what I'm going through and we all go through. Any kind of art or music is involved in healing, whether it's rock 'n' roll or classical music, it's all healing. People go to a rock and roll show and they come away feeling better. All this is just the foreground, but the background is something else.
"Like the image thing is all foreground. You get images relating to images. When you're up there on the stage and the audience is miles away, then there's no way that can become a meaningful experience, unless the music and p.a. are so together, and you're so together you can transcend all that and reach the people at the back of the hall, who can't even see you.
"In a club you can meet the people, maybe up at the bar afterwards. It's contact. You play a concert and you don't see anybody. You go out there, do your bit and go back to the dressing-room, and it could have been anybody out there. After a club gig you may meet some nice people and they'll take you back to the house and maybe you'll sing with a guitar and the whole place is singing. THAT is a different experience from being an IMAGE.
"When there's that pressure and expectancy, it makes it harder for you to deliver. In a club they're just glad to see you and they don't EXPECT you to do everything that was on the album. When you're touring the audiences don't know you've been sitting in a bus for 12 hours, and the drummer has been bending your ear, and there's no toilet paper in the dressing room. As far as the audience is concerned, they just see you, and you've got to deliver no matter how you feel.
"That's where it becomes difficult, because I'm not delivering like a rock 'n' roll act where I sing 12-bar blues and jump around. I'm dealing with a certain sensitivity and it's hard to get that way. It's hard to be sensitive when you've been on a bus, and got hung up at the airport.
"Who knows what will happen on this tour? I might blow it. There's always the chance I might. Some people come to see that. They'll read something in the paper and say: "I'll go. He might blow it." Other people might be coming to hear the music. I don't really know what's going to happen next week, or tomorrow. I'm just living one day at a time.
"Every time you deliver an album, that's a year or two of your LIFE. It's taken me 15 years to deliver Wavelength and all the albums before that. It ain't easy to keep going. It's still a struggle for me, and it's still a struggle for most people. I don't see why we have to perpetuate myths."
Which myth did he mean?
"Well... the myth that you are somebody and have to live up to that. In rock and roll it's the myth that you have to do drugs, and have to become alcoholics..."
He had mentioned that music is a healing force, but rock and roll is often a force of destruction.
"Unfortunately, a lot of it is. Totally. The vibration level is shattering people. There's too many sensitive people around that don't want to be shattered any more. I personally am tired of being shattered."
Did Van ever feel he had delusions?
"Yeah, I think I did have delusions. At one time I thought I wasn't going to live very long. That was when I was young, and my mind isn't (sic) what it is now. When you're 16 it's pretty hard to see 21, isn't it?
"The thing that saved me was my interest in music. I wanted to know more chords, to sing better, to play more horn, to do arrangements, more music!
"I was a complete recluse most of my life, whereas most of my peer group were into having parties and owning a Mary Quant watchstrap or something, which didn't interest me. But it's just me. I didn't wake up one morning and invent being into music. I've been into it all my life."
Is he in any way surprised that he's reached the status of a composer and performer of real importance in rock and roll?
"No, I wasn't surprised. I know what I went through to get where I am, and the work I put in. It's not surprising in the least. Hey, I'm just spouting. When I see this I'll probably throw up!"
Just then, Phil Lynott reappeared, and there was a remarkable reunion of compatriots as Phil unabashedly revealed that Van had been his idol since the old days in Belfast. He was more nervous about meeting Morrison than about his impending audience with royalty.
Phil began his own personal interview with Van, asking him if it was true that when Van was a young musician in Irish bands he had to be smuggled across the border inside a bass drum because he was under age.
Van smiled: "Oh, that was just another myth."
