Drinking a cold beer and listening to Van Morrison’s near masterpiece Veedon Fleece. I always wanted to track down this album, now I am tripping through Van’s own Irish myth and stream of conscious ramblings toward rich green patches of brilliance.
He’s just a giant mushroom. He doesn’t make much sense, but you are free to make sense of it. This album is pretty pure. It takes me back to Orcas Island beyond the windstorms at full gale.
Full Disclosure: I’m not really in Ireland. But it was Van that couldn’t get back to Belfast on his return because of the civil unrest & street war known as The Troubles (this album was born of that sort of homecoming).
I am so happy to have spent one night in Dublin with Miriam Courtney and her sisters drinking Guiness, listening to their melodious accents and insights. I can’t help thinking about a touching story a cab driver shared with me on the way home that night this Fall. He spoke of the bubble of innocence he lived in, not truly really knowing of the violence between the Catholic and Protestant until he and a Jewish friend ventured further North as teenagers and reached a check point. These are just musings from my very cozy American recliner. Check out the song “Bulbs.”
