Before the boom of Astral Weeks came the origin of Brown Eyed Girl. We all start somewhere and for Van Morrison, his assurance of blowing our minds was reserved for his sophomore record. Everyone knows the slick guitar work and sharp bass work which opens Brown Eyed Girl but the euphoria comes not from the instrumentals but from the sharp voice of Morrison. He perfected the half-hour bliss. Blowin’ Your Mind! serves a wonderful and entertaining purpose but also provides a keen display of Morrison. He was once a fine vocalist, now a peddler of grim covers. The well of knowledge and experience has dried up and we are left looking fondly on the early years of heartfelt reminiscence. Whether Morrison considers it a true album or not is neither here nor there. Blowin’ Your Mind exists and just so happens to provide a glance at the man who would boom forward with Astral Weeks.
Beyond Brown Eyed Girl, what remains of this chronological debut? Pair it with the second record Morrison put out, the first he put faith in, and there comes a similarity to the work Bob Dylan had put out a few years prior. Blowin’ Your Mind in turn does not feel to be his work, even with quality marks like He Ain’t Give You None. Cry out for the help we give those who cannot separate themselves from their past. Let the vitriol overtake common sense as Morrison does on this track. Morrison may have some distaste for the record, sleeve and all (he was enraged by the brown swirls and the alleged connection with psychedelics of the time), but Blowin’ Your Mind plays to the strengths of the time and in turn offers up the quality works of Morrison to a wider audience. “You can leave now if you don’t like what’s happening,” he says towards the end of He Ain’t Give You None. But few did. Most stayed around for what would be a remarkable name stay in folk rock.
Yet the drugs alluded to on a paranoid freakout T.B. Sheets, the sniffing and snarling Morrison crying out for some unbeknown adversary or lover as the cool room is mocked for being a cold place of loneliness cannot help but sound like a psychedelic breakdown. This is no discredit to straight man Morrison for the effort here in replicating the comedown and shakes of a dependency on any substance or booze is a fundamental part of the times and assessed well, whether he likes it or not. Still, the drop comes. It is better to suffer, sweating in the cold than it is to listen to the clunky Spanish Rose. An album of two sides certainly, with the B-Side offering very little of the clarity and hit-worthy writings found on the first side.
Solid form on Goodbye Baby (Baby Goodbye) is still a bit rough around the edges and relies on the constant interjections of Morrison decrying his foul actions to the Lord as though it gives him cover to play around with excess and taboo. It is a neat trade which tires by the fifth track. Ro Ro Rosey enjoys the contemporary view of instrumentals of this period – a nothing piece of lyrical work which sounds slightly like a Creedence Clearwater Revival rejection. Midnight Special shines a wonderful light on the sharp and gruff vocal work Morrison was gifted with from such a young age and sparks a real, charming link-up between the backing vocalists as they hope for the shining light of the big man upstairs. Though the record company told Morrison these would be singles, the compilation of his efforts turning into a soulful and religious groove is not a surprise. It all sounds like it was meant to be together and while Morrison would seek his revenge on Astral Weeks, there is no denying the consistency found here.
