Discovering The Healing Game (1997)
I remember it as if it were yesterday—the first time I came across this Van album. After the initial doubts, mostly concerning the cover art, which even today I still struggle to make sense of, I placed the CD into my Samsung player and pressed play. I already owned a CD burner and had made myself a copy before even listening to it, since the disc had been borrowed from the National Library of Cosenza. On the very same day, my friend Massimo Sisca—a great music lover, especially of jazz—had also burned me a copy of Back on Top, since at the time I did nothing but talk about books and records with practically anyone. Indeed, at that particular moment I was speaking almost exclusively of either Henry Miller or Van Morrison. Massimo told me it was a good record and that I would certainly enjoy it. A truly generous gesture on his part, but more importantly—he was right: Back on Top was indeed a fine album; which is why, at that very moment, I was listening to Back on Top, while the CD burner was working on my behalf, copying and archiving The Healing Game.
It was quite late by my standards, since at the time I was doing an internship in the office of an accountant, which meant I would have to get up at the crack of dawn the next day. But I didn’t give it much weight, nor importance. It was merely something I was doing to keep myself busy. I was 23 years old and my thoughts were almost exclusively about pleasure, books, and music. A rather common state of mind, at least back then. The first track got to me straight away, and with the bass levels turned all the way up, I let myself be struck by the drum pattern and rhythmic section of Rough God Goes Riding. I immediately realized that this was a rather inspired and lively Van Morrison, supported by a band that was running like clockwork. Excellent feeling and solid, well-tested groove. I hadn’t even read the track titles yet, nor looked into who played on the record. At that stage—burning and listening to no fewer than four or five albums a week—I didn’t pay much attention to such details. Which is why I hadn’t read that the album had come out six years earlier, nor that musicians such as Matt Holland, Ronnie Johnson, Georgie Fame, Pee Wee Ellis, Paddy Moloney, and Brian Kennedy had taken part in it. I already knew Fame and had certainly heard Ellis as well, just as I was familiar with Matt Holland’s brother, Dave, who played bass with Pat Metheny.
What struck me most during that first listen was the cohesion, the power of the band, the sound. It was a sound at once supple and elastic, but above all it was a powerful kind of music—at least to my ears. It gave me a sense of restlessness, of motion.
I hadn’t read what year it was from, but it didn’t take much to understand that it wasn’t a Seventies album, nor did it seem to belong to the Eighties. Even if, in some respects, I was tempted to associate it—mistakenly—with certain things I’d heard on Poetic Champions Compose, also by Van Morrison. The trio formed by Rough God Goes Riding, Fire in the Belly, and This Weight won me over immediately, even though I was distracted. But it was only when the fifth track started, Piper at the Gates of Dawn, that I understood the album’s worth. In fact, I got angry with myself for having underestimated it, since I could have borrowed it from the library months earlier. Let’s say that during that period I was a bit distracted, as I was trying to get my hands on any book and any rock album I could find. I had started listening to music with seriousness and commitment only a few years earlier, but I understood that I had tremendous gaps to fill, and that it would take time, effort, and passion to begin closing them. I say all this because today, twenty years after that first listen, I know the value of this work, and I know where to place it within Morrison’s discography. And it is a record that takes on new meanings in maturity. One can certainly appreciate this kind of music at twenty, but listening to it at forty-five is an altogether different experience, for these are the reflections of a mature man—a man reckoning with himself, with his own past, without excuses, and above all without disowning his spiritual quest, a constant within Morrison’s body of work.
Musically, we are truly in the realm of the masterpiece—or very nearly. The album also achieved solid commercial success and is recognized critically, as well as among Van’s devoted followers and music lovers in general. Black as Rembrandt, white as the keys of a piano. It coexists with soul and blues, just as it does with jazz and folk. In short, the same explosive mix Morrison had been offering his audience for over 25 years. And yet there is something special in this 26th work, which arrived exactly twenty years after Blowin’ Your Mind!, the debut solo album of our man. In this case—believe it or not—even the music critics took notice, and they reviewed the album by giving it its due honors. Incredible, but true! Among the standouts were Mark Coleman for Rolling Stone and the ever-punctual Greil Marcus. Indeed, here we are faced with a focused and inspired author, leading a band of absolute quality and caliber.
The record never falters, nor loses rhythm, and in its finest moments it possesses great groove. From the standpoint of lyrics, the references—as always—are plentiful, ranging from The Wind in the Willows, the children’s book by Kenneth Grahame, to the poetry of William Butler Yeats, especially The Second Coming, practically a constant in Morrison’s poetic and spiritual inspiration. The Healing Game, the title track placed at the album’s end, speaks of the tradition of street singing in Belfast. In an interview given to Q Magazine, Van Morrison stated that “people find it incredible when I tell them that people used to sing and play music in the streets,” adding that “there’s an entire oral tradition that has disappeared.” Initially, the musical setting of The Healing Game recalls Moondance: jazz guitar chords, a gentle yet firm syncopation, horn charts centered on a warm and piercing baritone sax. And yet, everything now feels more subtle, more autumnal. Morrison repeats the verses in hypnotic fashion, caressing each word without obscuring its meaning, filling every syllable and breath with suggestion. Without posturing or awkwardness, he draws upon the testimonial power of soul music, even when the lyrics become sibylline and cryptic. All you need do is hear Morrison describe his “Fire in the Belly” over a smoldering groove, and you understand that his flame is the kind that burns endlessly. Burning Ground illuminates the shadowy connections between the fleeting ecstasy of romantic love and the enduring joy of religious faith. Greil Marcus was rather struck by this work, writing that “like the rough god he sings of, Morrison rides astride every episode of the music, every pause in a greater story,” but he also recommended careful listening, because “often the most revealing moments—the moments that disclose the shape of a world, a point of view, a conversation about life—are found on the margins.”
Reviewing the 2019 reissue, All About Jazz declared that “Healing Game is one of the most complete and personal albums, a masterful musical statement in Morrison’s long, substantial discography.”
I’ve told you about the first time I listened to this album, almost by chance. As I write these words, I’m listening to it for the last time. Over these past twenty years, The Healing Game has kept me company on many occasions—some difficult, some cheerful and playful. That, too, is the task of good music: to accompany you along the path. And if you choose an artist like Van Morrison, the journey will certainly be musically exhilarating—undoubtedly inspired.
Dario Greco
Commenti
Posta un commento