"It's not the Van Morrison we know and love," sighs a veteran of many campaigns, heading off towards the bar. Like Bob Dylan's long-suffering fans, Morrison-watchers have begun to resemble the folk who gather at Loch Ness waiting for a glimpse of something mysterious and mythical: in this case, the Celtic rock colossus who gave us the band Them and classic solo albums such as Astral Weeks and Moondance.
After years spent crafting his distinctive sound, Van the Man seems to have put it on hold as he reaffirms his roots. First there was the Skiffle Sessions - Live in Belfast album (thanks Van, but really) and now he is further exploring the music he listened to as a boy: rock'n'roll and country. Having contributed so much to pop culture, perhaps Van has to return to zero to plan his next move, or just remain interested. But the faithful are not impressed. "Van Morrison goes country? It's just not right," says one bystander.
To compound the betrayal, the fan has identified a Yoko figure, a devil woman who has stolen our hero's muse. Linda Gail Lewis is none other than Jerry Lee's sister, and her whoops and howls and honky-tonk piano - not to mention her band of 18 years, good ol' boys the Red Hot Pokers - have done much to spawn Van the Country Man. The collective has recorded an album - You Win Again - and judging from the grins onstage, the old curmudgeon enjoyed making it more than his audience enjoy listening to it.
However, even the album's material (frisky, at best) is preferable to the bizarre choice of opening number. Hank Williams presumably wrote the ghastly Jambalayo as a cruel legacy to a heartless world, and Morrison and co's yee-haw version evokes chilling images of scouts and campfires. It does at least provide the rare pleasure of hearing Morrison howl. The last time I saw him, he had a voice somewhere between a rusty bassoon and a walrus (well, it was Glastonbury, and raining). Now his tones are again those of Astral Weeks, although most of the songs are as astral as a couple of firecrackers attached to a milkfloat.
Half the rock'n'roll numbers are standards; most of the new ones are fairly bog-standard. The country ones fare worst. When three middle-aged ladies start jiving, at least they deflect attention from the wailing Lewis. However, while the Pokers may be "just" the best bar band in the world, they can rise to their master's demands. Rough God Goes Riding (from 1974) is worthy of a rock great. When the mood takes him, Morrison inhabits a song like no other, and this portrait of a man crying out for redemption seems stunningly authentic.
Sadly, the mood takes him just twice. The lonely, haunted In the Midnight (from 1999's Back on Top) is as delicate as a winter flower. These are two teasing highpoints, as if Van is saying, "I can do this when I want to" while the bemused crowd are thinking, "I'm sure he normally does Moondance."
Like a small boy rummaging through his pockets, Van delves further and further back. "The first vocal record I ever did" - 1964's Don't Start Crying Now - is a rare treat for devotees but a succession of rock'n'roll medleys (Roll Over Beethoven? No, please!) are increasingly all a bit karaoke jukebox. Like McCartney's Run Devil Run album of rock'n'roll music, this may be something Van has to do. If it reignites his inspiration, maybe it will be worth it. But this incarnation of Morrison is scarcely recognisable as the Man himself.
Still, one Morrison-watcher is delighted. "It wasn't as bad as last time," he chirps.
At the Waterfront Hall, Belfast (028-9033 4400), on Friday and Saturday, then touring.
