VAN MORRISON : DAYS LIKE THIS

 

  1. Perfect Fit
  2. Russian Roulette
  3. Raincheck
  4. You Don't Know Me (with Shana Morrison)
  5. No Religion
  6. Underlying Depression
  7. Songwriter
  8. Days Like This
  9. I'll Never Be Free (with Shana Morrison)
  10. Melancholia
  11. Ancient Highway
  12. In The Afternoon

Label : Exile Productions

Release Date : June 5, 1995

Length : 58:05

Review (AllMusic) : Van Morrison's 22nd album of new studio material will have a familiar sound to anyone who has followed his career thus far. The songs are set to steady mid-tempo grooves, with tasty guitar and organ solos and warm horn charts, over which Morrison sings in his butterscotch baritone, employing his characteristic slurs and repetitions, exploring topics that have interested him over the years. If there is any difference from earlier works, it is one of degree: Days Like This is typically introspective and given over to spiritual, psychological, and romantic concerns, but its songs are unusually straightforward. Beginning with a direct, up-tempo love song, "Perfect Fit," Morrison provides a statement of purpose in "Raincheck" ("Won't let the bastards get me down...I don't fade away, unless I want to"), yet confesses to doubt ("Underlying Depression," "Melancholia"). He matter-of-factly describes his profession ("Songwriter"), and discounts spirituality, at least in formal terms ("No Religion"), though in the extended song "Ancient Highway" he prays to "my higher self." In the title song, he turns the usual cliché on its head - the "Days Like This" he means are the good ones, "when everything falls into place like the flick of a switch." Morrison changes the pace with two covers of 1950s oldies, the '56 Eddy Arnold hit "You Don't Know Me," and the '50 Kay Starr and Tennessee Ernie Ford hit "I'll Never Be Free," on both of which he duets with his daughter Shana. As he approaches 50, Van Morrison remains interested in the same subjects and is able to sing about them with the same forcefulness. "I cleaned up my diction, I had nothing left to say," he confesses at one point. Nothing new, perhaps, but on Days Like This Morrison says some of the same things with a new clarity.

Review (Rolling Stone) : Just past the halfway point of his 25th album as a solo artist, Van Morrison offers a Vegas-like soft shoe called “Songwriter.” It’s his statement of purpose, codified in cringe-ola couplets: “I’m a songwriter, I can put it in words/I’m a songwriter, and it’s not for the birds.” If you’ve been moved by anything Morrison has done in the last 10 years, it’s hard not to be discouraged: Why would Morrison, king of curmudgeonly cranks, feel compelled to add an extra helping of sanctimony to “I Write the Songs”? Immediately following “Songwriter” comes a stunningly simple piece of introspection called “Days Like This” — classic Van Morrison, as though he knew he would need to atone pretty quickly. With its steady, churchgoing easiness, “Days Like This” is everything “Songwriter” is not: a gentle, understated gospel prayer invested with lyrical poise and old-soul insight. Here is the man who is concerned with soul healing and salvation, his every pronouncement buttressed by terse horns and firm piano triads. Here is the worshipful Irish aspirant to the soul throne. One campy indulgence, one masterpiece: That’s the general pattern on the bumpy Days Like This. There are moments of genius followed by lavish displays of questionable taste, sometimes within the same song. Though the mood doesn’t shatter, the title track isn’t exactly enhanced by Morrison’s squawky, wobbly alto saxophone solo. Elsewhere, again proving that he’s not the best judge of talent, he allows the two guest vocalists who trampled 1994’s A Night in San Francisco to wander freely through his new material. Daughter Shana Morrison sings an odiously off-pitch duet with Dad on the Ray Charles classic “You Don’t Know Me” and contributes hair-raising backing vocals to songs that didn’t need any such help. And singer/songwriter Brian Kennedy worms his way into “Melancholia” and other selections simply by repeating Morrison’s vocal phrases — a mindless echo. In a small, timid voice that’s nearly buried in the mix, Kennedy sings with surplus earnestness until the lyrics, sometimes even the rather profound lyrics, are reduced to a gibberish-filled pingpong match.