A.M. by Chris Green
Why am I awake? It’s 2:38 a.m. and it really doesn’t matter where San Anselmo is. But I have the song in my head, Snow in San Anselmo. Going around and around. My brain won’t let it go. I don’t have Van Morrison down as a skier so perhaps he’s referring to cocaine. There was a lot of that about in the rock world back in 1973. Probably still is. So where is San Anselmo? I’m completely stumped. I have to get up and Google it to find out. It’s easier than lying awake speculating. It transpires San Anselmo is in California, north of San Francisco. It is a warm place but apparently, Van is singing about an unusual bout of wintry weather they had there in the early 1970s. Good! I would not want to think that Van needed Colombian marching powder in order to write a great tune,
No sooner have I settled than I find Tupelo Honey going around in my head. Where on Earth is Tupelo? I like Van Morrison a lot but I do wish he would stick to the same hours as me. To most people, it would not matter where Tupelo was unless they were planning to go there. Certainly not at 2:46 a.m. when they need to sleep. But I have to find out. I discover Tupelo is a small city in Mississippi. No snow here, ever. Tupelo is the home to multiple arts and cultural institutions including The Elvis Presley Birthplace. And of course, honey.
I find I suddenly need to check out where Cyprus Avenue is. It is now 2:57 a.m. In case you have the same problem in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, I can let you know it’s a residential street in Belfast. It has nothing to do with cypress trees if that was what you were thinking. There. All done.
Just in case Van has sung about any other places I don’t know about, I leave the laptop open on the bedside cabinet. It’s quite likely something will come up. Van has recorded forty studio albums plus a number of live albums.
But now it’s the other Morrison. Jim. It’s 3:17 a.m. and Love Street by The Doors has made its way into my head. I discover from Wikipedia that Love Street is Rothdell Trail off Laurel Canyon Boulevard in Los Angeles where Jim Morrison used to live with his girlfriend, Pamela. Soul Kitchen which I find lurking in my consciousness at 3:28 a.m. is, you will be pleased to know, Olivia’s in Venice Beach, Santa Monica.
‘I can’t sleep,’ I tell Doctor Hopper. ‘Every night I get Van Morrison and Jim Morrison tunes in my head and need to find out facts about them. There seems to be nothing I can do about it. Believe me, I have tried but it’s more than curiosity. It’s a compulsion. It’s been this way for weeks. What’s your diagnosis, doctor? What have I got?’
‘H’mmmm. I’m afraid it looks as if you may have Acute Morrisonia,’ Doctor Hopper says. ‘It’s quite a rare condition. In fact, Acute Morrisonia or AM as it is known has only recently been recognised by the medical profession. It’s not life-threatening but it will need careful management. You will need to avoid all classic rock music. Especially Van Morrison and Jim Morrison. That’s the first thing. Don’t listen to it. Don’t read about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t go near anyone who listens to it. Tell yourself it doesn’t exist. Also, I’m afraid you’ll need to de-sensitise yourself with four hours of bland pop every day. Mediocre middle of the road fare only. Now, I’m going to prescribe a triple album of Abba’s Greatest Hits to start you off. If that doesn’t work then we may need to try you out on Phil Collins or Cliff Richard.’
I try my hardest to follow doctor’s orders but on the second day, I crack. Knowing Me, Knowing You, the fourth time around is the one that breaks my resolve. It’s simply excruciating.
And now, of course, its a.m. again and my AM is back. Where, I’m wondering, is the Vanløse that Van sings about in Vanløse Stairway?
© Chris Green 2019: All rights reserved