The story behind
Nights in Copenhagen with Van Morrison

Reflections on a 1985 interview with Van by Al Jones
The interview itself can also be read here.

Just how Van Morrison wound up sitting in my living room on a Sunday afternoon in 1985 for the radio interview which appears in print here [Ed: Wavelength issue 29, 2002; now included in this site's interview archive here] for the very first time is a strange, meandering tale. If it were a Van Morrison song, it would probably be on Common One.

I have been listening to Van ever since the first Them singles hit the airwaves in my hometown Los Angeles. My part of town is now referred to as South Central L.A., but it was known as Watts back then.

As a black ghetto kid barely in his teens, I was never part of your typical VM demographic, but nevertheless, his music has been a large part of the soundtrack of my life for nearly forty years. Even before I had ever heard the name of Them's lead singer, I found the edgy menace and majestic blues power of the voice on "Gloria," "Here Comes the Night" and "Mystic Eyes" irresistible.

In the 80's, there were only three artists whose releases were on my "automatic buy" list: Elvis Costello, Prince and Van. Today, there are only two names: John Hiatt and Van Morrison.

Throughout the 80's, I lived and worked in Copenhagen, Denmark as rock reporter for the national radio service Danmarks Radio Program 3. This led to my first brief encounter with VM at the Midem music festival in Cannes in January 1984. Midem is a trade show where music deals are brokered, much like movie deals at the more famous summer film festival. In 1984, the event featured live performances on January 26th by Richard Thompson and Van at the Palais de Congres broadcast live as a Rockpalast show across Europe. Full details of Van's band and set list that night can be found in the Wavelength videography. [Ed: and here]

Danish television wasn't interested in the show for live or delayed broadcast and the radio division had declined to do a live broadcast, so I had obtained the rights to use both performances in the following weeks on my Thursday night Rock News show.

While in Cannes, I decided to interview both artists for brief introductions to their concerts on the show. Richard Thompson was accessible, outgoing and generous with his time and opinions. Van, however, was in full-on curmudgeon mode and the few minutes I had with him on the afternoon of the concert in his hotel lobby yielded nothing I could use. Instead, I opened his concert with an interview with Rockpalast producer Peter Rüchsel and the show's two hosts on the mechanics and logistics of these pan-European events, artist selection, etc.

I did have a long, informative talk with Van's bass player, Jerome Rinsom, who had worked at Motown as a session musician. This interview became part of a two-hour Motown history that I produced for DR P3.

In March, 1985, I happened to be at the radio station when Polygram's press agent dropped by with a stack of Van's new LP, A Sense of Wonder. This was during Van's Copenhagen period when he lived in the suburb of Vanløse, immortalized in "Vanlose Stairway" on Beautiful Vision.

As she was leaving, I said half-seriously, "If Van is in town, let him know I'm available for an interview." Everyone in the room fell out laughing, knowing Van's reputation with the press.

But two days later, she phoned me: "Van Morrison will do an interview with you, but it has to be this Sunday at 5 P.M. for one hour and it can't be at the station, at his home or in any public place." Once I had picked my jaw up off the floor and double-checked to make sure this wasn't some cruel practical joke, I could only think of one place that met his requirements and that would allow me to tape the interview without background noise - my apartment in central Copenhagen.

And that's how it came to pass that VM and his companion at the time Ulla Munch showed up at my doorstep precisely at 5 P.M. on Sunday, March 24th 1985. Van was dressed in a dark suit and dark shirt with no tie, looking exactly as if he were ready to go onstage.

In many years of broadcast journalism, I have had my share of tough interviews. Michael Rose of reggae vocal trio Black Uhuru actually fell asleep in the middle of a question, while lying on his hotel bed smoking ganja. I once tried to squeeze blood from a stone in what felt like an hour with a totally uncommunicative Lou Reed. When I checked the tape, it had only been 7 minutes before I gave up on him. I walked out in the middle of a Human League interview, but they were so busy arguing with each other over the answer to one of my questions that they didn't even notice.

Obviously, Van's reputation had preceded him, so I was prepared for rough sailing. My plan, such as it was, was to ease into things with a talk about Sense of Wonder for a 15-minute feature on the next Rock News and then, if that went well, to do a career retrospective that could form the basis of a one-hour radio portrait.

When he unexpectedly showed up with Ulla, I immediately decided to drop all the questions I had about the women in his life and their influence on his music. Asking a man about girl friends and wives from 20 years ago while his girlfriend was sitting next to him just struck me as too weird. As it turned out, his adamant refusal to go anywhere near questions regarding his private life would have ruled out that line of questioning anyway.

The interview is presented here unedited in its entirety. At one point fairly early on I felt that things were going so badly with monosyllabic replies and elaborate evasive efforts that I turned off the tape and retreated to the kitchen under the pretext of making coffee. I desperately needed some time to rethink my strategy, if I was going to get anything out of this encounter. But when the coffee was ready, I had no idea what my next move should be.

But to my great surprise, Van was suddenly much more relaxed and open when I returned and things went smoothly from then on, so smoothly that I felt confident enough to offer Van the chance to leave after my first half-hour tape ran out. Fortunately, he agreed to continue after I changed tapes.

I am convinced that during my absence, Ulla Munch chastised Van about being defensive and uncooperative. After all, they had first met while she had been working as press agent for the Danish division of his record company, so she had a good idea of what I needed from him.

Four days later, on Thursday, March 28th, I aired a 22-minute Van Morrison feature on Rock News. In the middle of the broadcast, Ulla called me in the studio from London. They had been listening on the longwave band and wanted to let me know that they were very pleased with the result. This was the first and only time any artist ever called to pat me on the back for a broadcast.

Two months later, Van was scheduled to do the first of what would turn out to be many recording sessions with the Danmarks Radio Big Band. The idea of collaborating with a full jazz band came about through a chance meeting at a private dinner in Copenhagen between Van and DR's chief of music recording, Erik Moseholm. Moseholm convinced Van that the Big Band and their skilled arrangers could create a workable format.

The first session was recorded May 12, 1985 without an audience at Søpavillionen (the Lake Pavilion) two blocks away from Danmarks Radio's headquarters. I dropped by to attend this experiment as Van and the Big Band recorded "Haunts of Ancient Peace," "Listen to the Lion" and, naturally, "Vanlose Stairways."

After the session was quickly finished without a lot of takes, I approached Van to greet him, but he turned away and left the room. I went home and was still fuming over what had happened two hours later, when suddenly the phone rang. It was Van. I was stunned. He asked me to meet him at a café called Oscar's, next to Copenhagen City Hall.

We talked for a couple of hours. Van wanted to hear my impressions of the Big Band session. He had had some reservations about whether the arrangements by Butch Lacy and Bo Sylven would allow him space to stretch out and improvise. But he was pleased with the results: "Compared to my usual band, this gives me more colors to work with, more space, more dynamics. The songs take on a new dimension that's hard to describe."

Afterwards, we shared a taxi. As I got out at my place, the driver asked Van, "Where to?" and I could see Van trying to put off answering him until I was out of earshot, pretending that he couldn't remember the Danish street name. Being in a good mood, I didn't let on that I already knew his Vanløse address and just walked away.

Several months later, out of the blue, Van called again and we met at Vesuvio, another café near Copenhagen City Hall. Van had numerous coffees and a plate of Gorgonzola cheese. I never figured out why me and why now, but we had a relaxed chat about life as a foreigner in Denmark, the dismal state of pop music and a host of wide-ranging topics. I often wish that I had been able to record that meeting somehow, because it showed an unguarded, generous, human side to Van that he, for his own good reasons, chooses to keep to himself. As he so succinctly puts it in the interview, "It's not for public consumption."

At the end of this meeting, Van gave me his London address and telephone number, suggesting that I look him up if I was ever in town. Unfortunately, I never did. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but people close to Van have let me know that this was an unusual gesture of trust from a man who trusts very few.

On the way home, Van put on the same act of not knowing his address. This time, I leaned forward and told the address to the driver. Van's head flew back like someone had slapped him hard. I smiled and got out of the taxi.

The one-hour portrait based on the original interview aired on December 26, 1985 and I didn't hear from Van until well into 1986. Once again, he called, asking if we could meet. I suggested a bar just a few minutes from my place called Number 90, because of its address Gammel Kongevej 90.

Van said that he would be there in 15 minutes, so I rushed out the door to get there ahead of him. He arrived an hour later, seeming twitchy and nervous. Van ordered coffee, but the waiter said that they didn't have coffee. I could see that this did not help Van's mood. Fortunately, a group seated at another table recognized Van and let the waiter know that he had a celebrity guest. The waiter promptly brought out his own coffeepot and poured a cup for Van.

Oddly, this meeting was more like the first 15 minutes of the original interview, with Van guarded and defensive. I constantly felt like reminding him that he was the one who had called me. After a couple of hours, Van said that he needed to go home and get some rest.

In late October 1986, a second Big Band session was scheduled in Danmarks Radio's Studio 3, once again without an audience. Music chief Erik Moseholm had sent out a press release that caught the eye of someone at one of Denmark's largest newspapers, Politiken. The editor contacted Moseholm about doing a full-page article on Van. Knowing Van's reticence about these things, Moseholm suggested that the editor let me do the interview. I agreed and so did Van.

I dropped in on the recording session Tuesday, October 21st. I remember some lackey rushing off to the nearest music store to rent a harmonica, because Van had forgotten to bring his own. At the end of the session, Van had disappeared suddenly, taking the £400 harmonica with him.

I managed to tape half an hour with Van in the staff canteen. He was in a generous, expansive mood and expressed strong opinions about music videos and synthetic music. I still recall his loud laugh when I asked him how he thought Astral Weeks would be received if it came out today: "I wouldn't even want to think about it. It's as if the 80's have completely eradicated all the progress we made in the 60's. And not just musically, but culturally, politically, everything. Musically, we're back in the 50's where everybody had to look the same and sound the same to get a break."

The article appeared on the front page of the fourth section of Politiken Sunday October 26th, 1986. A few days later, Van phoned to let me know that he was offended and outraged by the article, without going into specific detail about exactly what it was that offended him.

To this day, I have no idea what set him off. There was nothing even remotely controversial and it was a loyal presentation of his words. I can only guess that something must have been lost when Ulla Munch translated the article from Danish to English for him.

This was the end of my personal relationship with Van Morrison. We met one more time on February 28th, 1987 when I was the onstage host of a one-hour live afternoon radio broadcast with Van and the Big Band. [Ed: booted as Listen To The Lion] Apparently, there are videos in circulation from this event in which I can be seen onstage with Van doing the between-song intros in Danish.

The session was held in Ishøj Centersal, a small converted cinema in a dismal suburban shopping center. Tickets for the show had been advertised on various radio shows and had been sent out free of charge.

The crowd was electrified and Van responded to their enthusiasm. As the broadcast was ending, I went on stage to wrap up, introducing: "Conductor Ole Koch Hansen, (applause) Danmarks Radios Big Band (more applause) and VAN MORRISON (the crowd goes wild)." I stood there pointing, waiting for Van to come back and take a bow. Seconds ticked away. The red light went off, indicating that we were off the air.

I yelled once again: "VAN MORRISON." The crowd was on its feet with anticipation. Then a crew member stepped in through the side door: "Van had a cab waiting for him. He's already gone."

And that was the last time I saw Van Morrison without having to pay money for the privilege.

(Al Jones can be contacted at al@leemedia.dk)

Part of the van-the-man.info unofficial website