When That Rough God Goes Riding: Listening to Van Morrison (original 2010; edition 2010)

by Greil Marcus (Author)

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LibroLindsay's review

Wondering just how to qualify this collection--my rating isn't representative of this book as a whole. Since I only really know Van Morrison's work up through 1974, I pretty much skimmed or skipped entirely the essays on music with which I wasn't familiar. However, I have thoroughly immersed myself in Them's repertoire and Morrison's solo work through Veedon Fleece since the first few days of my 17th year, and I found Marcus' writing in these essays to be solid and rightfully swept up in the spirit of romanticism that Morrison's music evokes, in no uncertain terms.

Primarily, though, this book gets my recommendation for its "Astral Weeks. 1968" essay. The album was my first real introduction to Van Morrison as an artist, and I quite vividly remember the first time I ever listened to the album. It is a living, breathing being to me that has offered solace and contemplation through the years and has adapted in its truthfulness as I've grown older. It has meant everything the lyrics and musicianship offer, but has also long since ventured further than maybe even its own intention. This is why, for a while, I avoided Marcus' essay on it, for fear of ruining its place in my soul, but I am happy to say that was not the case. Marcus' essay was fully its own--clearly identifiable as Greil Marcus, put into the context of his own particular dissection. I was a little doubtful at first of where he was going with John Carlos, Tommie Smith, and Bob Beamon, but he tied it to the album quite nicely. I like the essay itself because ultimately it is simply a paean to any particular art that has the power to move an individual to his or her core. Sure, Marcus gives us specifics on the album's musicians and makings and contours, he puts it into historical context, he puts it into the context of Morrison's body of work, and that's fascinating in its own right. The persistent note though is that it occurred because all the elements came together in such a way that made its beauty exactly what it was. Which is what you can say about any great, terrible, or mundane event really. But it gives the individual a sense of meaning. It highlights my own experience, when and where this album came into my life, how it has influenced my self and how my self informs what I take from the album. Like Marcus, who spends around 17 pages detailing this album only to end with "I've played Astral Weeks more than I've played any other record I own; I wouldn't tell you why even if I knew," I can understand the entirety of the album's structure, but in the end it's just about the personal connection, the right place at the right time that sticks. I think we can say lots of things about what we love deeply, but there is always the unspoken element that can never be put into words.

On the rare occasion I come across a member of the tribe that fully reveres this album with no exceptions; we hardly ever exchange any meaningful dialogue over it, but there's an unmistakable gesture that usually accompanies our shared reverence. Likewise, Marcus acknowledges that it "has led so many people to take the album as a kind of talisman, to recognize others by their affection for it, to say 'I'm going to my grave with this record, I will never forget it.'" This essay affirms the private fulfillment that is at once so singular but that is also shared by so many.

And that is what I have to say about that. (

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LibroLindsay | Jun 18, 2021 |

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Like all Marcus collections, it contains examples of him at his insightful, thought-provoking best and at his blustery, bullshitting worst, at times in the same long, rambling sentence. For some reason, every subject he writes about has to somehow be made into an exemplar of the American democratic experiment or an artist testing the boundaries of freedom or expression. The smallest throwaway moment in a song can be the launching point for pages and pages of ruminations on God and/or the blues. When he's on to something this can be amazing, but the more he writes like this the more he risks turning into a parody of himself. Every note is not a life or death matter, even for a singer as weird and gifted as Van Morrison. The high points are easily worth the lows, though, and not enough people have written in depth about Morrison, a guy overdue for some serious critical study. Biggest disappointment with this book: only two mentions of "Veedon Fleece," his greatest album after "Astral Weeks." It's a minefield of literary and Celtic mythological references that I thought would surely attract Marcus. (

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ecdawson | Jan 22, 2024 |

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LibroLindsay | Jun 18, 2021 |

I've read this before and even though Greil Marcus gives me a pain, there is so much I like about this, not least of which is that he makes me want to listen to Van Morrison even more carefully then I already do. And read more Yeats. (

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laurenbufferd | Nov 14, 2016 |

I found this to be a rather uneven, at times impenetrable, book, but with enough going for it to salvage it from being two stars.

I stopped reading music newspapers like NME a couple of decades ago as I couldn't understand what the hell the journalists were talking about, even when they were writing about music I knew very well. It all seemed like they were trying to prove how clever they were and, maybe showing that I'm not so clever, I just didn't get it. This is the tone that carries across in this book - Marcus has clearly thought a lot about Morrison's music, and he really wants you to know that he has.

So, while there's too much "clever-cloggery", there isn't enough of the stuff that partially redeems the book: background to the writing and recording of the songs featured; Morrison's own thoughts about the songs (though, granted, he doesn't talk much about his work); and just why Morrison's music, and these songs in particular, are so important to Marcus.

Maybe that stuff is in there and I just wasn't paying enough attention, but I had to force myself to finish the book and, while I'm glad I did, it's not an experience I'd care to repeat, at least not all in one go. I might re-read a chapter about a particular song as I'm listening to it - but then again, I might not.

I bought this book thinking it might give me some insight into what I find so appealing about Van Morrison's wonderful music. In the end, I guess I've decided that Marcus's opinions about Morrison just don't matter to me all that much, and I'm glad: I'm happy to leave my fascination with Van Morrison's music somewhat unexamined. As Billy Bragg said:
The temptation
To take the precious things we have apart
To see how they work
Must be resisted for they never fit together again.

Edit: This book did not survive my recent book cull. (

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Michael.Rimmer | Mar 30, 2013 |

I like Van Morrison! Do you like Van Morrison?! (

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librarianbryan | Apr 20, 2012 |

Funnily enough, considering the subject and theme of his latest book, reading über-critic Greil Marcus is a lot like listening to Van Morrison. The experience can be illuminating, frustrating, transcendent, and solipsistic—often in the same paragraph or song. Like Morrison, Marcus has been following his own path for quite some time, and anyone who has a passing familiarity with either of them will always be able to find the gold hidden down a backstreet or way up top a flight of fancy.

My problem with Marcus is that his exhortations can be the definition of pedantic, referencing far-flung obscure artists and works in order to make a point that no one can truly argue with, having no idea who or what he’s is talking about. On the other hand, like listening to Morrison himself, if you’re willing to put in the work, you can be turned on to artists, books, movies, etc. that may later become indispensable to your life.

What Marcus does here is doubly off-putting, as he spends a great deal of time extolling the virtues of tracks and performances of Morrison’s that are unavailable anywhere but bootlegs, a stream that Morrison spends a great deal of energy to dam, enlisting the services of Web Sheriff to scour the internet of any traces of illicit music. I was lucky enough to have a copy of the 1971 KSAN Pacific High Studios show which is referenced pretty heavily, but as far as Caledonia Soul Music, which according to Marcus is the key to the whole thing, I’ll just have to take his word for it.

In this book, Marcus eschews most biographical information, much, I can imagine to Morrison’s relief, only pointing out pertinent signposts along the way. The whole focus is on those moments of un-forced transcendence that Marcus believes paint a secret map through the jungle of Morrison’s oeuvre. As with any great artist—and to put my cards on the table, I believe Morrison to be one of the greatest singers of the last 40 years—what pieces resonate with your soul at any given time is completely subjective. I think Marcus is either trying to be cute, or is just being lazy to discount in one fell swoop everything Morrison put out between Common One in 1980, and Tell Me Something in 1996.

Marcus talks about looking for the “yarragh” in Morrison’s performances, that moment that transcends language and artifice to, as Morrison once sang, “get down to the real soul, I mean the real soul, people.” To take a page from Marcus’ book if I may refer to a performance now out-of-print and unavailable, as a child of the ’70s I knew Morrison primarily as an AM radio hit maker and it wasn’t until PBS ran Van Morrison The Concert, recorded at New York’s Beacon Theater in 1989, that I was exposed to Morrison the mystic. I don’t recall which number he used to launch himself into the “yarragh,” but all of a sudden, he was growling and barking, not like a madman, but like a genius. I remember standing in front of the TV just slack-jawed; this was someone who warranted further investigation. All of a sudden I understood why someone like Morrison would rankle against cheap stardom. It wasn’t the fucking point. This, this is the point. And although Marcus’ examples are personal to his own experience, as far as catching the desperately vital point of it all, we really do see eye-to-eye. (

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