In a past life, Fresh and the Qualifier used
to get paid to write about music. For years they toiled through a
tag-team article called Counterbalance, going head to head, hashing out
the relative merits of new releases for the local Chicken Dinner
Newspaper. But that was a long time ago - before the economy crashed,
sending their frivolous Arts & Entertainment section down in flames.
After wandering in the wilderness, lost and directionless, Fresh and the Qualifier have returned to take on their most challenging assignment: the Greatest Albums of All-Time. Do these critics' darlings hold up, or are they just hyped up?
In this week's edition of Counterbalance: Van Morrison's Astral Weeks. Funny name, nonsensical lyrics, tracks that creep toward the 10 minute mark and more improvisational spirit than you can shake a stick at. What exactly was Van Morrison smoking when he dropped this one on the unsuspecting populace? Fresh and the Qualifier investigate next:
Fresh: I'm completely confounded by Astral Weeks' place on The Great List. Don't get me wrong, I like Van Morrison and I'm not above singing "Brown Eyed Girl" to Mrs. Randy Fresh Ocean (because she has brown eyes and she thinks its sweet). But Astral Weeks sounds like a couple of Beatniks, a folk band and a gaggle of hippies were involved in some freak transporter accident that left them fused together in some seething, ugly mass that still has enough dexterity to play the flute. What am I missing?
Qualifier: That's a beautiful story about you and Mrs. Fresh. It gives me helpful insight into your marriage.
I have no idea where to begin as far as what you're missing, because this is quite simply one of the finest albums of the 1960s. Achingly beautiful. I ache.
Remember too that Van Morrison had previously been the pint-sized head thug for the ruffian R&B combo Them, followed by an abortive stint as a top 40 pop singer (the aforementioned "Brown Eyed Girl" era). The leap from all that to a delicate, graceful musing on romanticism is basically unprecedented. It's as if Lost in Translation had starred Tony Danza.
After wandering in the wilderness, lost and directionless, Fresh and the Qualifier have returned to take on their most challenging assignment: the Greatest Albums of All-Time. Do these critics' darlings hold up, or are they just hyped up?
In this week's edition of Counterbalance: Van Morrison's Astral Weeks. Funny name, nonsensical lyrics, tracks that creep toward the 10 minute mark and more improvisational spirit than you can shake a stick at. What exactly was Van Morrison smoking when he dropped this one on the unsuspecting populace? Fresh and the Qualifier investigate next:
Fresh: I'm completely confounded by Astral Weeks' place on The Great List. Don't get me wrong, I like Van Morrison and I'm not above singing "Brown Eyed Girl" to Mrs. Randy Fresh Ocean (because she has brown eyes and she thinks its sweet). But Astral Weeks sounds like a couple of Beatniks, a folk band and a gaggle of hippies were involved in some freak transporter accident that left them fused together in some seething, ugly mass that still has enough dexterity to play the flute. What am I missing?Qualifier: That's a beautiful story about you and Mrs. Fresh. It gives me helpful insight into your marriage.
I have no idea where to begin as far as what you're missing, because this is quite simply one of the finest albums of the 1960s. Achingly beautiful. I ache.
Remember too that Van Morrison had previously been the pint-sized head thug for the ruffian R&B combo Them, followed by an abortive stint as a top 40 pop singer (the aforementioned "Brown Eyed Girl" era). The leap from all that to a delicate, graceful musing on romanticism is basically unprecedented. It's as if Lost in Translation had starred Tony Danza.
Continue reading Counterbalance: Astral Weeks.
