Sir Morrison

Sweetheart took me to a Van Morrison concert last night.

It was kind of an adventure to get there through a thunderstorm that looked like the end of the world. Skies blackened, a howling gale intermitted by flashes and roaring thunder. Water coming from every direction, from above and – oddly – up from the ground, too. As sewers overflowed and spewed their content back up onto the streets. But as quickly as the storm brew up, as quickly it died down again and we arrived savely at the Mercedes-Benz-Arena, the venue of the concert.

I was surprised to find Mr. Morrison’s voice younger than ever. I even remembered him singing a little mellower than what I heard yesterday evening. Maybe he quit the booze. Or cigarettes. Or both, who knows.  It hit me like a hammer: this guy is 73 and sounds not one bit old.


However, Mr. Morrison is not known to be an entertainer of crowds. He really lived up to this prejudice last night. He entered the stage punctually to start off. But I don’t think he even said hello to us. Any applause was contered with the quick start of yet another song. At the end, he left the stage without any goodbyes or thank yous. Just his band played on for minutes, showing off their individual artistry. Which was truly amazing. Especially the background singer and the drummer.

I had forgotten most Van Morrison songs I knew. Some of which I used to love. Along with the husband. As I heard these long forgotten tunes again last night, many repressed emotions flooded back to the surface. Music does that, sometimes. I was glad it was dark and loud in the hall, so noone noticed.

After the concert, we went to Hangar 49, an open stage joint, where anybody can just jam. The music was amateurish, but the drinks were quite professional. So I am tending a hangover today. Just as well, I have a day off work to laze away in my garden. Watching bees buzzing around, trying to match the buzz in my head.

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