The truth is, that I’ve been trying to review this album for a long time now and every time I embark upon the task, I fail, miserably. So this time I just thought I shall write about my failures. I will try and write about why I am unable to write about this album.

Over the years, it has become such an intrinsic part of me that it’s impossible for me to separate myself from it and wear the reviewers cap. It’s as if, in one of the attics of my mind, the album is always playing in loop and I just have to open the door (of that attic) to hear the refrain Dry Your Eye For Madam George with its shadowing violin or the jazz chords of The Way Young Lovers Do. It’s almost like the air that one breathes, unaware and unnoticed until the aroma of fresh coffee being brewed in the kitchen hits you. And how does one write about air?

And then, throughout the different and sometimes very difficult phases of my life, the album has been a constant. When I was down in the gutter, it has lifted me from there with the hope of To Be Born Again and its lilting flute. When I was doing alright, it has uplifted me further with the easy sweetness of Sweet Thing. The album has been like a melodious confidante who knows about all my ups and downs and how does one write about the best confidante? And perhaps one shouldn’t, right?

Lyrically speaking, how do I even start writing about something like, “The Love’s to love the love’s to love the love’s to love...?” Or take this, “If I ventured in the slipstream / Between the viaducts of your dream / Where immobile steel rims crack / And the ditch in the back roads stop / Could you find me? / Would you kiss-a my eyes…..?” The poetry just keeps flowing from one song to another. How do I write about this?

Musically, it swims in so many territories. It’s Folk, its Jazz, its Soul, its Blues, its Irish, its Rock and its undefined. It’s something that the world had never heard before and some critic called it Celtic Rock. I still don’t know how to define it.

The singer’s vocals just keeps flowing like a river narrating the tales of its origins, its past, Cypress Avenue, a Ballerina and Belfast. How does one capture the essence of a flowing river in still words?

So, that’s why I’ve never been able to write about Van Morrsion’s ‘Astral Weeks’.

But, there is one thing that I can certainly say about the album. I want it to be played when I’m dying as I want to go out peacefully…To be Born Again.

Year: 1968

Duration: 47:10

Label: Warner Bros.

Producer: Lewis Merenstein

Rating: ****

Reviewed by Meraj Hasan

Meraj Hasan is a Mumbai based communication professional (and an amateur poet/musician) with a passion for listening to music the vinyl way. His 25 year old Technics turntable along with a humble collection of LPs across genres like Classic rock, Classical, Blues and Jazz (amongst others) are his prized possessions.

He can be reached at +91 9833410791 or email: meraj.hasan@gmail.com .