Can we separate the art from the artist? Sometimes? Maybe? Or perhaps just focus on the earlier part of their canon?
Why am I so disappointed to learn this? Well, in addition to taking a dangerous and selfish position regarding his inability to tour, the lyrics seem a little too on the nose and not up to his standards. I appreciate Van Morrison for his stories of fantasy, mysticism, spirituality, and nostalgia. My all-time favorite of his is "
And It Stoned Me", the opening track from his sublime 1970 LP "
Moondance".
I suppose I was about 12 years old. We used to go to a place called Ballystockart to fish. We stopped in the village on the way up to this place and I went to this little stone house, and there was an old man there with dark weather-beaten skin, and we asked him if he had any water. He gave us some water which he said he'd got from the stream. We drank some and everything seemed to stop for me. Time stood still. For five minutes everything was really quiet and I was in this 'other dimension'. That's what the song is about.
Aside from being a great song, what's the personal connection for me? It makes me recall a weekend during the summer of 1991. I was 22, not 12, but like Van Morrison's imagery of the rain, the fishing hole, and "great big gallon jar", water was a recurring theme for that weekend. The mists of time may have caused me to conflate the events of multiple trips, but all of these things happened and I'm pretty sure they all happened in one weekend.
Half a mile from the county fair
And the rain came pourin' down
Me and Billy standin' there
With a silver half a crown
Hands are full of a fishin' rod
And the tackle on our backs
We just stood there gettin' wet
With our backs against the fence
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Hope it don't rain all day
I had graduated and was about to start working at CSC as a contractor for NASA (my time as a civil servant did not begin until that Fall). Drew, Terry, and Fred were all a grade behind me and staying at UVa and JMU for the summer in between their junior and senior years. I drove from Newport News to Charlottesville in my 1968 Mercury Cougar and picked up Drew, and the two of us drove to Harrisonburg to visit Terry and Fred for the weekend. While driving the scenic, mountainous route (US 29-US 33) between Charlottesville and Harrisonburg, the Cougar's radiator hose burst and steam was pouring from under the hood. On back roads and in the days before cell phones, this could have been a disaster, stranding us miles from help. Instead, right as the steam was pouring out, an exit appeared and Drew and I were able to coast through the exit and straight to a service station, where we were patched up and soon back on our way.
I had originally planned to stay at Terry's place, but we stopped by Fred's first and his place was so nice that I never made it to Terry's (Fred was one of the few people who at 21 had a place that looked like it belonged to a married 40 year old). Later that night, thanks to Fred, was the first and only time that I've been thrown out of a bar.
Then the rain let up and the sun came up
And we were gettin' dry
Almost let a pick-up truck nearly pass us by
So we jumped right in and the driver grinned
And he dropped us up the road
Yeah, we looked at the swim and we jumped right in
Not to mention fishing poles
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Let it run all over me
The next day a bunch of us drove out to Switzer Lake and the day began with us jumping into the lake via a rope swing hanging from a tree on the side of a ridge. Later we were in canoes and paddled around the lake, including seeing the structures you see at 3:06 in this video. After canoeing, we hiked around the lake some and eventually came across a large boulder, maybe 5' in diameter, partially embedded at the top of a ridge. Fueled by our collective testosterone, we decided that the boulder needed to be dislodged, freed from centuries of imprisonment on the side of the hill. It was quite an undertaking given its size and its deep embedding. We immediately attacked it with our hands and sticks, slowly digging it out. Since I was the only one of our crew that had taken engineering classes, I introduced them to the idea of levers and fulcrums and then we started making real progress. After much effort, we had the sweet release of watching the tumbling boulder of death race down the hillside. The sun was setting, and sore, hungry and thirsty, we began the trek back to the parking lot, satisfied with our pointless triumph over nature. It had been a perfect day, and there was no way it could be improved upon.
On the way back home we sang a song
But our throats were getting dry
Then we saw the man from across the road
With the sunshine in his eyes
Well he lived all alone in his own little home
With a great big gallon jar
There were bottles too, one for me and you
And he said Hey! There you are
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Get it myself from the mountain stream
But it did get better: as we approached that picnic area next to the parking lot, Fred saw that members of his fraternity were there and having a cookout. Greetings were exchanged and we simply strolled into an ongoing party, complete with music, food, and beer. An already perfect day improved, via a level of serendipity that could exist only in a pre-cellphone era.
So why does this song resonate with me? On the surface, Van Morrison's images of the pastoral pleasures of a 12 year old would not seem to speak to me at 22 years old. Sure, there's the recurring motif of water (rain, fishing hole, drinking vs. radiators, Switzer Lake, and, well, drinking). But reflecting on this further, I think there's more. First, thanks to Daryl Schoolar's recommendation from a year or so earlier, "Moondance" was still a new LP to me in 1991. Second, the summer of 91 was a turbulent one for me, including my transition from being a college student to having a career. This was the weekend before I started full-time with CSC, and while Terry, Drew, and Fred still had a year (or more) of college, I knew I was in transition. This was not the end of my adventures with Terry, Drew, and Fred -- indeed, the hijinks continue to this day -- but it will never be the summer of 91 again.
So I will do my best to separate the artist (ca. 2020) from the art (ca. 1970 & 1991) and not let Van Morrison's current commercial crassness erase the magic of "Moondance", its bucolic opening song, and those transcendental moments in 1991.
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like Jelly Roll
And it stoned me
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like goin' home
And it stoned me
Van Morrison - "And It Stoned Me"
