Page 33 - the NOISE April 2015

Van Morrison, circa 1981 & 1968, respectively. INTERNET / FAN TV ARCHIVES
had made the LP. The second session was more chaotic and less productive. Van want- ed to handpick the band, Berns again insist- ed on the pros. (Later, Van would discover that all studio costs, including the musicians’ salaries, had been charged to him.) He told the group to loosen up, to make the music sound freer. They would nod and then play the track exactly the same way. Van grew more and more frustrated.
The final straw was “Madame George.” Morrison intended it to be the centerpiece of his next album: the tale of a sad drag queen, beaten and robbed by the “friends” s/ he had partied with hours before. Van had finally gotten the band to play at a slower, less bouncy tempo, but still wasn’t satisfied with the results. When he heard the final mix, however, Van hit the roof. Berns had clue- lessly overdubbed “party” sounds of men and women laughing and glasses clinking to brighten up Van’s dirge.
Around this time, Morrison had his con- tract looked at by a lawyer. Upon discover- ing some creative accounting by his label, Van sued. Bang hit back with a countersuit that prohibited him from working or living in New York City until the case was settled. He slunk off to Boston and played several solo acoustic shows. On December 30, 1967, Bert Berns unexpectedly passed away at the age of 48 from heart failure. Van’s hope that he was a free man was dashed when Berns’ wid- ow took over the company. Ilene Berns had learned much from her late husband and was just as ruthless a businessman. She had no intention of letting Van out of his contract.
Help finally arrived in the form of Mo Ostin, president of Warner Brothers Records. Ostin had caught one of Morrison’s solo shows and was dazzled. The two men talked about R&B and Van’s problems with Bang. To his surprise, Van liked Ostin very much. He was a genuine music fan with no showbiz sleaze about him. Ostin asked Morrison to sign with Warners. Van said he wanted his next album to be all acoustic, pastoral, with maybe some jazz musicians backing him up. Some of the tracks might run over six minutes and he couldn’t guarantee any hit singles. He also wanted full ownership of his song publish- ing and complete control of the LP process: title, cover design, liner notes, etcetera. Os-
BY TONY BALLZ
tin agreed and gave him a sample contract to look over. Van’s lawyer said it was legit. He would finally be in charge of his own career. Van was overjoyed.
Warners first had to extricate him from Bang. Ilene Berns pointed out a clause which stated that, in the event of his con- tract being bought by another company, Van would owe Bang Records thirty new songs by year’s end. Thirty songs which, of course, would become the sole property of Bang, to do with whatever the label wished. They didn’t even have to be fully recorded, demos would do. Backup musicians could be over- dubbed later. Van’s lawyer sadly told him the clause was legal. He had two choices: make records with Bang (and surrender all control and publishing rights) until his contact was fulfilled, or jump ship to Warner Brothers and provide Bang with thirty brand new songs (and surrender all control and publishing rights) by the end of 1968.
It was this dilemma that Van furiously pon- dered while pacing around his Boston flat. God damned leeches. What the hell was he going to do?
Thirty songs. Thirty bleedin’ songs. What was a song, anyway? Some dolt plunking a guitar with some assh*le yelling over it, Van supposed. Simple enough. Hell, look at how much that slimeball Bert Berns made by recy- cling the same three chords with new idiotic lyrics. Boom! Another hit single. His anger flared again. Hope that son of a bitch was en- joying all his money in the grave. Van thought of the feeling in his stomach when he first saw the Blowin’ Your Mind! LP cover. Blowin’ Your Mind ... ha, more like Blowin’ Your Nose.
Abruptly, Van stopped pacing. He stood stock still, the echo of his last footstep still ringing. He had a crazy thought and his mind would not let go of it. Could it work? He must call the lawyer in the morning. It had to be 100% legal, had to be. Van’s anger was replaced with a wicked glee. A smile ap- peared on his face.
You bloodsuckers want thirty songs? OK, I’ll give you thirty songs.
A short time later, Van Morrison strode into a recording studio carrying his acoustic guitar. He informed the engineer he would be laying down some demos. Sketches of
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