The third entry in what is considered Van Morrison’s vintage artistic era, Tupelo Honey (released 10/15/71), falls squarely between the polished, jazz-inflected likes of Moondance and the earthier, blues, and soul-rooted tones of His Band & The Street Choir. Recorded after The Belfast Cowboy’s move to the golden state of California from the bucolic environs of Woodstock, the material was all written during his idyllic residence in the now-famous upstate New York community and this now fifty-year-old recording captures this golden period in all its glory, start to finish.
Van Morrison has recorded more irresistibly catchy songs of substance than any artist of his generation except perhaps the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and one of his best begins this LP. “Wild Night” practically bursts with the exuberance of anticipation for an evening in the town and with Ronnie Montrose’s injections of liquid guitar surrounding the Belfast Cowboy’s wry observations about ‘all the girls dressed up for each other,’ the high spirits only grow over the course of the track’s three minutes and thirty-three seconds duration. (The alternate take on the 2008 expanded remaster is viable on its own terms, but doesn’t capture evoke the same evanescent ebullience).
There’s nothing else quite like that on Tupelo Honey, but “Straight to Your Heart Like A Cannonball” comes close. Its lighthearted air elevated even further by Boots Stuart Houston’s flute and the cooing of the female background singers, it may be every bit as infectious as the preceding track, just not so riveting, despite the guttural wail of Van’s voice on the verses. Apart from this one-two punch, the other seven cuts paint a picture of all-around bliss in “Old Old Woodstock” epitomized by the autumnal glow of the cover photo: it’s a long way from the mystical solitude of “Cypress Avenue” as expressed on Astral Weeks to the devoted state of mind (heart and body) Morrison captures in the warmth of his vocal on “You’re My Woman.”
Singing in a somewhat astonished air, the sentiment Van intones there might well apply to this whole album: ‘…it’s really, really, really real…’ But just in case that R&B/soul testifying isn’t convincing enough, there’s the labor of love conjured up by the frontman and his band during the wholehearted expressions of romance that is this title song. Co-produced with Warner Bros. staffer Ted Templeman (with whom the notoriously irascible artist had bonded on a personal level) and far more polished than the previous Van Morrison albums, the sheen of sound on Tupelo Honey radiates thus benefits from the underpinning in Bill Church’s bass; his sustained lines offers a muscular counterbalance to the predominantly bright material.
Numbers like “When That Evening Sun Goes Down” might well benefit from even more punch. Still, Mark Jordan’s piano authenticates that barrel-house boogie, the tart flavor of which mixes deliciously with the sweet country strains understated pedal steel woven in and out of this record by John McFee’s, an erstwhile member of Clover and the Doobie Brothers. No matter how lighthearted are such sounds on the surface, though, there’s still no denying the depth of emotion in compositions like “I Wanna Roo You,” much less the stirring sense of engagement in the performances by the man who wrote them. A tune titled “Starting A New Life” was/is inevitable in this context.
And that’s not to mention the practiced fluidity of his accompanists, all of whom are as tuned right into their leader’s every nuanced movement. Hear, for instance, the lightning-fast transitions and cold stop on the aptly chosen closer “Moonshine Whiskey.” The one other extra cut on the aforementioned reissue, the traditional “Down By The Riverside,” also illustrates how Van has processed his main influences into variations of his own voice; as on many of these cuts, Morrison quickly gets right to the point there, as if he can’t wait to express the feelings he’s experiencing.
In that sense, this record is a match for Moondance and perhaps its superior, at least in the way it so vividly captures an air of inspired peace and contentment the likes of which Van Morrison had never communicated before (and really never would again, at least with such an earthy, bittersweet tone). His next album, St. Dominic’s Preview, would boast material equal parts reflective and introspective, married to music comparably concise and expansive, after which Van The Man would temporarily falter in pursuit of his creative muse. 1973’s Hard Nose The Highway, was merely a momentary lapse, however, and he regained his artistic bearings the very next year with the deeply haunting Veedon Fleece. By that time, however, Ireland’s prodigal son had immortalized himself and his work in such a way that an effort from the time period like Tupelo Honey carries an abiding afterglow five decades later.
One Response
What an amazing year 1971 was for this (now 70 year old woman)! This fabulous album of Van the Man’s was, and still is, one of my all-time favourites. I’m keen to buy another just for the memories, the nostalgia and a celebration of the one and only Van Morrison.