Van Morrison is one of those performers who rock critic types like me — you know, the folks who worship at the altar of people like Dylan and Springsteen — are supposed to be in absolute awe of. But I've gotta tell ya' the truth here:

I've never completely got Van.

What I can tell you is this. I absolutely recognize the fact that Van Morrison has an undeniably soulful voice that, at its best, can take you to some pretty amazing places — at least as far as going into the furthest reaches of the subconscious goes. Van is definitely that rare breed of vocalist whose emotive quality can transport you to places far, far away.

Understood.

But for me, his catalog — vast as it is — has always been sort of spotty.

For the record, I've seen Van Morrison twice in concert.

The first time was in the late seventies. I think he was on his comeback tour for the album Wavelength, and I have to be honest here, the lure for me, like many on this night, wasn't Van so much as it was his opening act. Rockpile fronted by Nick Lowe and Dave Edmunds, were shit hot at the time.

Still, I was curious to see the guy who had built such a great reputation for amazing concerts. Now, I've gotta be fair here. The billing of Van Morrison, the great Irish soul singer, with Rockpile, the pub rockers with the New Wave pedigree of Elvis Costello producer Lowe probably wasn't the best idea. Especially given the fact that music was particularly polarized along genre lines at the time.

Still, when Van did his entire set with his back to the audience — he was probably pissed because the Rockpile fans who comprised about one third of the audience had left — he didn't exactly win me over.

The next time I saw Van was a few years later, at the urging of a fellow writer — and Van Morrison disciple — at Seattle's music magazine The Rocket. Greg (God Bless him), pretty much dragged me out to see him. This time around Van was touring behind the great album Inarticulate Speech Of The Heart. And unlike the debacle with Rockpile, the show was absolutely amazing — especially when Van went into his trance like reading of that album's standout, spoken word poetry track, "Rave On, John Donne."