Van Morrison at The Dome

Heading off to a Van Morrison gig there's always an edge of trepidation along with the anticipation. Of course, you know why you want to be there... That astounding voice. A back catalogue of songs to kill for. A jazzman's ability to cut and coax and prod and change - with a shaman's urge to take it somewhere higher. This is one of the few rock performers for whom the word 'genius' might not be the usual obvious hyperbole.

And yet... This is also the guy who turned in a perfunctory, uncommunicative and frustrating show the first time I saw him some thirty years ago, delighted to have bagged front row seats at the Hammersmith Odeon. This is also the guy who has churned out a whole load of uninspired songs with clumsy and self-pitying lyrics. Who has elevated grumpy-old-man-ness to a form of conceptual art.

I saw a couple of concerts in Brighton in the 90s which were pretty good, but then a gap until I was lured back for his reprise of Astral Weeks at the Royal Albert Hall a couple of years ago. Trepidation cubed for that, given the cultural weight of the set-list and the eye-watering ticket prices - it could all go horribly wrong.

It didn't, of course. An absolute and delightful triumph: the voice undimmed by the years, unlike so many of his contemporaries; an extraordinary band; Van (by his standards) chatty and clearly enjoying himself; and to cap it all the unexpected and unalloyed joy of hearing 'Listen To The Lions' live after the night's main menu.

So, I couldn't expect him to match that, nor could I miss the opportunity to see him in Brighton again. Trepidation along with anticipation.

A nicely in-character notice to welcome us to The Dome: no support, on stage at eight sharp, 90 minutes, no drinks, bar shut, no photography - under pain of ritual disembowelment (inside later, security folk were indeed rushing down the aisles earnestly to wag fingers at the merest gleam from a mobile).

But as soon as the music started, the tension slipped way. This was never going to be a reprise of the Albert Hall but it was definitely the next best Van show I've seen. Primarily a jazz band behind him for this tour, all in black, highly skilled - trombone and sax, keyboard doubling on trumpet, guitar, bass and two drummers - slipping effortlessly into a lightly swinging arrangement of 'Brown Eyed Girl'. Van in command: stretching words, repeating, scat singing; pointing in the solos, nodding proprietorially at the particularly good ones - of which their were many.

It's also an evening to appreciate what a good musician Van is himself: he blows some very nice alto sax, along with harp on a couple of numbers and even plays some electric piano.

An early highlight was 'Fair Play' from 1974's classic Veedon Fleece, Van blending sweet high notes with more guttural attack, playing around repeatedly with the wonderfully bizarre 'you say Geronimo' line. There's even a bit of slapstick when Van sings 'you can hear the brass band' then waits ostentatiously while the horns pretend to miss their cue. Sounds daft, but it was good fun at the time...

After that, he briefly reminded us that he can write some clunkers by wheeling out 'I'm Not Feeling It Anymore' ('I just ended up in doubt/All my drinking buddies, they locked me out' etc, etc) before returning to the stronger side of his songbook.

A lot of the set is gently paced and quietly pitched. He's not afraid to cut things back and draw out individual instruments. And that makes for strong dynamic variety when the band crank up and really go for it. A medley moving from 'All In The Game' through to 'No Plan B/This Is It' builds irrestibly to the repetition of the key phrases 'this is it...no rehearsal'.

Then things calm through 'Moondance', 'Haunts Of Ancient Peace' and (another lovely surprise) a slow and gentle reading of 'Into The Mystic' - after which 'In The Garden' builds again to its forceful conclusion 'no guru, no method, no teacher'. Time for some hairs on the back of the neck to spring to attention at a liberating message very convincingly expressed.

After 'Crazy Love', Van calls to the wings for a crib sheet, introducing a Rodney Crowell song 'that we haven't played for a while'. It is 'Till I Gain Control Again', from the Pay The Devil country set from 2006. He doesn't seem to have to study the words much, but relative unfamiliarity may help form what is a moving version of a fragile song.

He then segues into 'I Can't Stop Loving You' before a killer sequence of five songs to close the show: a stark and blues-inflected 'St James Infirmary'; a jaunty 'Precious Time', with an arrangement bordering on ska; then reining back for a luminous take on 'Ballerina' (introduced as a request from his six-year old daughter), before cranking up again with 'Help Me' and closing with a storming and stonking version of 'Gloria'.

The last song is a joy. I realise I'd almost come to think of 'Gloria' as Patti Smith's song, but it's great to hear the relish its creator can still bring to it, the best part of fifty years on - and the sheer enjoyment of the band, reeling off chorus after exuberant chorus after their leader has marched off the stage - a great rock guitar solo followed by a chopping and churning keyboard break, including a heel landing on the keys, Jerry Lee Lewis style.

After that, there is of course no chance of a second encore: the house lights are up before all the band have left the stage. Van is probably several streets way already.

Oh, well: let him do it his way - the results can be extraordinary.

Quick wins from my new career

I spent an interesting day yesterday substituting for my holidaying daughter: she's a sub-editor for PlayGround - a Spanish-based but now bilingual net music magazine. So I spent the day reading and adjusting reviews, interviews and news items about all sorts of performers, including many I hadn't heard of before.

Two discoveries to share with you:

A German band Pretty Lightning who are about to release their first album. I couldn't resist the description of their style 'moving between the psychedelic blues of people like Wooden Shjips or Moon Duo, the freak-folk of Sunburned Hand Of The Man, the primitive sounds of International Harvester and the Kraut-rock of Amon Duul II'. And the audio sample sounds pretty decent - atmospheric, droney and intriguing. I'll be looking out for the album.

Another irresistible bit of copy was a piece about French dance duo Justice, who had apparently managed to draw on 54 primarily rock tracks - including a whole slew of my personal favourites - in compiling a 5 minute minimix. It's really impressive and can be heard here (the PlayGround piece I subbed doesn't seem to be up yet). '21st Century Schizoid Man' and 'Ohio' nicely recognisable, but I could have done with a bit more of Todd Rundgren's 'Izzat Love' at the expense of some of the other 51...

A final bit of serendipity was checking a reference in a PlayGround piece to Shabazz Palaces, learning that they are 'a Seattle-based hiphop collective' and hearing some encouraging sounds from them, and then seeing them in the list of bands who are going to be playing at the Great Escape festival in Brighton in May. I'd been a little underwhelmed by the intial GE line-up announcement (ie I'd barely heard of anyone on it), but the second list includes Beth Jeans Houghton, Jonquil and Alabama Shakes...I know it's the new discoveries that are often the most rewarding, but it's good to have a few fixed points in the programme.

A quick round up

Seven weeks into 2012 and I find I have only written about listening to musicians who'd qualify for a bus pass. Rest assured, my ears are still open to new stuff. Two of this year's releases I'm listening to a lot are:

• Portico Quartet's third album, inventively titled Portico Quartet. It's a really interesting development of their distinctive Hang-heavy sound, less obviously jazzy than before, with more electronics and loops.

• Beth Jeans Houghton & The Hooves Of Destiny's Yours Truly, Cellophane Nose - which is definitely one of those discs you don't want to have to ask for at the counter. Beneath the arch and obviously quirky lurks an inspired writer and performer with a strong sense of melody. I saw her a couple of years ago in Brighton, second on the bill to Stornoway, and thought she definitely had something. The album's been a relatively long time coming, but it feels strong and assured. She's getting a fair amount of publicity now, which I hope will prove positive, centring on her relationship with a Red Hot Chili Pepper...

On the live front, I've seen both young and old: another strong set from Ahab at the Latest Bar (now refusing to play 'Wagon Wheel' because 'it's not one of our songs' - a bit precious, lads. Fair enough if you're fed up and want a change...); Michael Chapman supported by Mark Wynn; and the Coal Porters.

Michael Chapman is a bona fide legend: a glorious guitar stylist with a distinctive voice and song-writing approach, seventy now but going just as strongly as ever. He played at the West Hill Hall in Brighton, which is a bizarre setting: a community hall usually used for toddler groups and Woodcraft Folk meetings - I was one of a bunch of friends who hired it for Millennium Night and, as you'd imagine, contrived to party like it was 1999... until long after it wasn't.

Anyway, it closed a personal circle nicely because I have a poster on my wall advertising Michael's appearance at the 1970 Clitheroe Pop Festival - which is the only one of those events which I didn't attend, so very satisfying to catch up with him just 42 years on. And if you haven't heard of Clitheroe or its festivals have a look at this site here to which I fed some information and pictures.

Mark Wynn, who opened at the West Hill Hall, is from a younger generation of wry Yorkshiremen, setting a dry quasi-talking blues style vocal against rather more original and accomplished guitar parts than that description might lead you to expect. Here's a taste.

The Coal Porters played The Greys and it was a warm and always entertaining evening. I find their recent original songs of varying quality, but they choose some classy covers ('Teenage Kicks', 'Like A Hurricane') and are a reliably strong ensemble, with Carly Frey's fiddle outstanding. Sid Griffin's a hero, of course - just one Long Ryders song this time, should have been more - and I'd always go and see them when they're in town.

Right, that's caught up with 2012.

March will bring Van Morrison at The Dome (fingers crossed, as always, but The Guardian just gave him a 5* review, which is hopeful...) and The Civil Wars at Komedia (fresh from winning two Grammys, so no doubt heading for bigger halls next time round). 

Mr Phigg hits Amazon

The paperback edition of The Night Of The Round Stable is now listed on Amazon in the UK and US. The latter claims to have it in stock, as do some Amazon Marketplace suppliers, which is nice, if true…

The advantage of Amazon is, of course, that they will deliver post free.

Dory Previn has died

I hadn't heard Dory Previn had died until I read this obituary in The Guardian this morning. And I hadn't realised how old she was: 86. In rock music, ten years older than Leonard Cohen is pretty old...

Unlike Len, Dory's music is deeply unfashionable these days. But like Len she was listened to in the seventies by those - like me - who were keen to hear a wide range of singer-songwriters baring their souls and finding some sort of universal echo in the minutiae of their individual lives.

A lot of the stuff coming out of that period was drivel, of course. Self-obsessed, self-satisfied, stuck tediously in the personal - or lost in some doomed attempt to sound poetic.

Dory largely avoided those traps. It was different - particularly for the adolescent boy I was then - to hear songs from the perspective of an older woman, dumped by a husband moving on to a younger model. The song 'Beware Of Young Girls' from On My Way To Where, about André and Mia Farrow, still sounds strikingly raw below its light surface, an intrusion on real hurt.

The album I bought back in the day and am most familiar with is Reflections In A Mud Puddle from 1971. Listening again today, probably for the first time in ten years, is a very interesting experience. There's a big band, with full string section and horns, very much drawing on her earlier film soundtrack experience; not ground-breaking, certainly not hip, then or now - but effective and engaging. The key, though, is her voice: high in the mix, not that good technically, unforced, undemonstrative, convincing. And quite a range of songs: 'Doppleganger' is rather like Mick Jagger ending 'Sympathy For The Devil' by telling you he's been talking about himself; the side-long suite 'Taps, Tremors and Time Steps' blends - not entirely successfully, but quite listenably - story lines about the death of her father, the airship Hindenburg crashing, and an earthquake.

So, not the strongest recommendation I've ever given, but Dory Previn definitely deserves more of an audience than she's currently got. If you're of my vintage and there's an old album or two lurking in your rack, dust them off for old time's sake and some pleasant surprises; and you youngsters, head for You Tube, as you do - here's a starter.