VAN THE MAN
Oh, weird. 10 minutes after my last post, Chris points this out to me (no, no, not the Proper Job car boot). Him...whatshisface...you know, Van von Thingy:
Incredible, isn't it? No fucker plays Yeovil for years, and then we get Van Morrison. Virtually anyone else and I'd go and see them. God must really hate Yeovil.
Yeah, needless to say, I can't bloody stand Van Morrison. "Astral Weeks?"...more like bloody "Arse-tral Cheeks" if you ask me. Sorry if this sounds Ageist, but my mother-in-Law is 65 years old and even she thinks Van is bloody boring: "He's just a miserable old git who stumbles round the stage looking like he doesn't want to be there..." Hmm. Well how do you think the audience feels, eh?
Still, my dentist likes him. Once, in the middle of doing a filling he suddenly pulled back from my gob and his eyes glazed over as he was tranported elsewhere by the magic of Van (magic van?). He stood there with this dazed expression on his face, with the drill still whirring in his hand and said (he's Scottish): "Aye, an' I saw him once. In Dublin, it was...Aye, an' it were bloody magic..." And I swear there was the glint of a tear in his eye. And then the moment passed and the drill descended to wreck more Celtic havoc on my tooth...
I saw Van Morrison live once in the Eighties. By accident.
Well, come on, I'd never watch him on purpose, would I? How stupid would that be? I 'spect you're probably wondering: how can you see a band by accident? Don't be daft...think about it, it's easy; I've done it loads of times: Status Quo, The Jam, Foreigner, Guru Josh, The Ian Gillian Band, Sad Cafe (twice!), Judy Tzuke, Melanie, Ten Pole Tudor, UB40...actually, UB40 is a blog in itself: I was there while they were playing, but I'm not sure it counts 'cause Dom and Brendan...fuck me, Brendan actually went down the front, and it was like something out of fucking Star Wars or the Vietnam War, but...No I really don't want to talk about UB40. Well, not tonight.
Anyway, Van Morrison: saw him live. Not particularly proud of the fact, but it was Pilton and where the fuck you gonna hide, eh? The festival was smaller in those days. You couldn't exactly get away from the old Pyramid Stage particularly easily, unless you were prepared to leave the site completely and walk to West Pennard just escape the sound of the PA and, needless to say, I wasn't. Suffice to say, it was pretty bad. Grown men wept...women and children were sobbing uncontrollably: why oh why, dear God, did he have to ruin such a beautiful, sunny afternoon? While he was on stage, Class A drugs suddenly wore off, iron-hard erections wilted, etc. It was grim, but as Nietzsche once said: "I'll be back, Spider-man! You can bet your webs on it..."
And so he is: and, this time, the bastard's got the nerve to show his face in my town. On my turf.
This time, I'm going to make an example of Van Morrison for once and for all.