Review: Van Morrison, Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, three stars

It’s certainly hard to think of another artist - Dylan perhaps - who is less interested in ingratiating himself with the people who have come to see him. It takes 40 minutes before he says anything at all to us. When he speaks briefly again at the start of the next song my Concert Hall neighbour - a Van veteran - cheerily suggests, “He’s talkative tonight.”

Well, he is to his band, certainly. In the first half of the show, particularly, he seems intent on offering them verbal “notes” as they play.

And for a man who has made some 48 studio albums in his time - some of them among the most beloved in the history of pop music - he spends almost half of tonight’s extensive set giving us cover versions of old blues and jazz numbers. But Morrison is - has always been - a law onto himself and for Van fans there’s plenty here to enjoy.

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He comes on dressed in suit, hat and “don’t look at me” dark glasses and begins the evening with Into the Mystic, from his 1970 Moondance album. In between the covers of Lester Young and Ray Charles we will get familiar Morrison songs including Days Like This and Moondance itself, here reimagined with a Latin swing. You could see Morrison playing this version on Strictly.

There are 10 musicians, including Morrison, onstage this evening and their playing - for all of Van’s cajoling - is impeccable. If anything it’s a little too smooth. A little too polished. Bright Side of the Road may be one of Morrison’s sunniest songs, but here it sounds a little like the soundtrack to a tea dance.

What cuts through all this polite prettiness is Morrison himself. That stentorian bar brawl of a voice of his punches a hole through any sense of decorum. His harmonica and saxophone playing, likewise. He is still, now in the foothills of his ninth decade, a force of nature.

And as the evening wears on you can feel both Morrison and his band begin to stretch out and lock into their rhythm. When they play Enlightenment, the title track of his 1990 album, there’s a real ease and grace to it.

But everything really kicks up a notch in the final stretch, starting off with a lively tilt at Real Real Gone which manages to be both sweet and sassy at the same time. Ballerina, from Astral Weeks, is then given room to breathe and expand before the inevitable closer Gloria, all fizz and fire. Morrison’s band is let off the leash at last and we get an extended vamp, with each player given their solo slot. By the time we’ve got to the (admittedly impressive) drum solo there is a sense that it’s maybe gone on too long. But by then Morrison has long since disappeared offstage.

He doesn’t need an audience to remind him of his worth.

Teddy Jamieson writes on arts and culture for The Herald