Dry Your Eye For Madame George

Profound emotional instability demands subtle and neatly tuned pieces of delicious ear candy. Saying, “fuck all” to music from the last 39 years, I felt an obligation to myself in my current state (the state of deteriorating happiness) to finally give Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks a proper listen. I’d offered the collection of historical genius my brief attention in the past, but at 2am on a Tuesday morning I’d finally felt that the proper time had come.

Although I’d give the Best Songwriter award to my dear solemn friend Paul Simon, an instant 2nd and rapidly approaching the Simon frontrunner is/would have to be Van Morrison. It’s not the craftsmanship of the instrumentation, but rather the honest and thoughtful delivery offered up by my new hero, Van Morrison.

I know “small minded” america (please notice the lack of capital letters) tends to shy away from things, no matter how great, that aren’t hot-new-fresh. Because of this I pity the masses and silently smirk at the fact that I can recognize great poetry when I see, or in this case HEAR it.

Astral Weeks by Van Morrison WILL be this week's YIFTMAOTW, but I was so moved by its powerful gusto that I felt it necessary to share my recent comfort to sorrow to all who view this site.