Adam Sweeting 

Marvellous night for it

Van Morrison fits increasingly comfortably alongside the blues veterans who originally inspired him. In the past, Morrison has shared the stage with Ray Charles and John Lee Hooker. This time, the chosen living legend was Bobby Bland, the bluesman from Tennessee who turned 70 in January.
  
  


Van Morrison fits increasingly comfortably alongside the blues veterans who originally inspired him. In the past, Morrison has shared the stage with Ray Charles and John Lee Hooker. This time, the chosen living legend was Bobby Bland, the bluesman from Tennessee who turned 70 in January.

Wearing what looked like a pair of grey silk pyjamas, Bland occupied centre stage with nonchalant composure. Though his throat sounded ragged round the edges, and he kept emitting an alarming noise somewhere between a gargle and a snore, Bland can still use his light, precise tenor to point up a lyric with laser accuracy.

Van Morrison has evolved into his own one-man genre, and if his new songs often sound interchangeable, he has become a peerless live performer. As usual, he had surrounded himself with a band of apparently infinite capability, with every member ready to peel off a solo before dropping back to provide tactful support for Morrison's adventures at the microphone. In particular, Candy Dulfer was invited to take a string of blistering interludes on alto saxophone. Morrison cuts an increasingly Godfatherish figure in shades, dark suit and pork-pie hat, but this was a smiling, relaxed Van, dimensions removed from the curmudgeonly performer his audiences have often endured.

Morrison seemed to be bending over backwards to be friendly, flashing back to some of his best-loved songs. He kicked off with a sprightly I've Been Working, punched along by crisp horns and jabbing rhythm guitar, then slotted into a breezily-swinging Moondance. Bland joined him for Ain't That Loving You and When You Got a Heartache, before Morrison began to stretch himself a little on I Believe to My Soul.

But Bland wasn't the only guest. Morrison suddenly vanished, to be replaced by the bull-like shape of Chris Farlowe singing his 1966 hit, Out of Time. Later, Farlowe reappeared to swap lines with Van on a tribute to James Brown, and to duet on a stately rendition of Dylan's It's All Over Now, Baby Blue. Throughout, Morrison's mastery of the proceedings was assured.

 

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