The pink suit, round shades and white fedora couldn't fool us; the first rich clipped notes into the microphone hipped us it was Van all right, off to a cool sail that would get almost sweaty as the crescent moon ascended.
Without sacrificing his muse, Morrison made sure we got what we demanded in the way of oldies, so yeah, a kick-ass "Wild Night" featuring his crack band and backing singers, an amiable closing rave on "Gloria," and oh-oh, "Domino" (plus "Shake, Rattle and Roll," once shaken by the referenced Domino-on-the-radio, Fats). The punching-bag voice sounded tops, and Van piled on powerhouse harmonica, firmly-strummed Les Paul (plugged in!), and lots of his acute alto sax. Van's nicely interlaced duet on "Sometimes We Cry" with his cut-voiced daughter, Shana, tugged at the ol' heartstrings.
Which made us think about why we come to Van Morrison. Even if he cries sometimes, the way he truncates his syllables marks a desire for control, not catharsis. His famous melismas, which sound as if a bunch of grapes tumbled out of his head, don't ask for ecstasy -- he knows just where those fruits will fall. Our experience is like that of a baby tightly rocked in its mother's arms, filled with the joy of safety. And that's all we ask.
As for what Morrison asks, he's a man with a mask. The cover of his 2018 album "The Prophet Speaks" shows him shushing a dummy. A telling choice of covers this night was Sam Cooke's "Laughin' and Clownin'," where he sang, "Tryin' to hide my feelings, tryin' to hide my soul." Where better to hide your soul than behind soul? And blues, and gospel, and folk, and rock & roll, and country (what a rhythmic twist on Hank Williams' "Cold, Cold Heart")? Van can do it all, while covering his cards. We're the ones tasked with looking inside, if we dare.
Morrison stocked his set with not one, not two but three train songs. Maybe he was thinking about Jimi Hendrix, who sang "I Hear My Train A-Coming" and died almost exactly 53 years ago. Maybe he was thinking about his old songwriting partner and train metaphorizer Robbie Robertson, who died last month at 80. Van was 78, looked fit, was telling everybody about the inclusive religion he likes, and chided us Hollywood liberals for not letting him think what he wants about vaxx "facts." Well, whatever keeps him kicking.
Taj Mahal opened with 20 minutes of country blues, with the same relaxed snap and the same set list as in 1968, and he got the same smiling response tonight. He also joined Morrison on "Shake, Rattle and Roll." There was no sustained call for an encore, because these old troupers had left the L.A. tenderfoots panting. But satisfied.