Time is accelerating again

Where exactly did the first quarter of 2012 go? The clocks are about to go forward – another hour lost. My daughter's now 29, I'm about to be 55. And even the treasured album I'm gearing up to write a longer piece about (Saint Dominic's Preview) is in its fortieth year. Time didn't used to run so fast, did it?

Anyway, some fragments I have shored against my ruins:

• Bruce Springsteen's Wrecking Ball is better than the flurry of mainly 4* reviews suggested. Some reviewers seemed a bit overwhelmed initially, or thought he was going on a bit. As I live with it, I find I'm buoyed by its range and sweep and passion, not drained: the absolute killer trio of brave and uplifting songs that close the record – 'Rocky Ground', 'Land Of Hope And Dreams' and 'We Are Alive' – make me want to go straight back to the beginning again. Of course, it's not perfect and some of the clumsy lines (see 'We Take Care Of Our Own') can still rankle – but its overall strength means that doesn't matter: it carries you along. It's fascinating how the apparent leftfield diversion of the Seeger Sessions is now fully integrated into the Springsteen sound; and its further mutation into the Pogues-like martial stomp of 'Death To My Home Town' seems entirely natural. Hyde Park in July should be special, despite the large and Clarence-shaped hole in the band... Here's a taster from SXSW.

• it must be twenty years since I bought any new music on a cassette, then suddenly two come along: a limited edition release from The Young Obese from one of those glorious, quirky, labour-of-love labels Art Is Hard Records (who I came across because they will be releasing a 12" from the mighty GUM); and a fine sampler from another of those labels, which I've already recommended - The Great Pop Supplement.

• Jonquil's new album Point Of Go is a disappointment to me - well played and pleasant pop but the weirdness and charm of 2007's Lions, which I loved, seem to have slipped away with line-up changes and new production values. Maybe they always wanted to sound like this but have only now learnt how to...
• Toronto's finest, Wooden Sky, on the other hand, have another winner in Every Child A Daughter, Every Moon A Sun. Strongly crafted, creatively arranged, well sung: fine stuff. Sample them here. They would be ideal for Secret Sessions if they can be lured across the pond.

• Finally, for those who may still doubt that the universe has a deep structure and plan at its heart, what about this? At the very same time that we are thrilled to hear that Englebert Humperdinck will be carrying the UK's fragile hopes to Eurovision's killing fields, none other than Lyle Lovett decides to cover 'Release Me'. Mere synchronicity? I think not.

The Civil Wars at The Komedia, 21 March 2012

So, my phone takes crap pictures from the back of the hall. But you get the Civil Wars vibe: all in black and white, John Paul's tux and guitar, Joy Williams constantly moving and grooving, clearly delighted to be doing what she's doing...

A packed house at Brighton's Komedia last night, sold out weeks ago, gave a very warm reception to a confident and spirited set from the duo of the moment. One album into their career and two Grammys to the good: Best Country Group and Best Folk Album, which hedges the business's bets nicely. Joy affected surprise at the crowd singing along, word perfect. She's going to have to get used to it.

They famously have friends in high places: endorsed by Adele, a collaboration with Taylor Swift just out on The Hunger Games soundtrack. The nudge-your-neighbour gossip last night was that Eric Clapton was sitting at the back with the soundman. But, for once, the hype-detector can stay in its case: they're making it on merits. Their voices do something magical together, entwining, blending, soaring; Joy's alto and John Paul's tenor in similar sonic space but always finding room to be distinctively themselves. They've got the guts (and chops) to do their thing to one, spare guitar (with Joy adding keyboards to just a couple of numbers) and to move off mic on occasion to pull the volume right down.

I'd say their songs are mostly good rather than great, so far. They're always well-constructed and melodic, with some interesting twists, but they can blur into one another. The exceptions are the album's  title track 'Barton Hollow', their most intense and dynamic number, gothic and threatening; and 'Poison & Wine' with its yearning harmonies and great hookline,

'I don't love you, but I always will',

a compelling picture of what might be an abusive relationship – or a mood in a normal marriage. 

Their covers are also exceptional, fine song choices interpreted very distinctively: they encored with 'Billie Jean' and 'Dance Me To The End Of Love' and both were superb.

Now, what next in their rise to world domination? We won't be seeing them play to 500 again soon – they're already booked to play in Brighton again in November at The Dome, which can hold a couple of thousand. In the meantime, Joy will be translating her bump into a baby and they will start thinking about the proverbially difficult second album. It was interesting to hear 'Barton Hollow' introduced as the last song written for the first album – might it signal a change of direction? I wonder whether it will still be just the duo for the bigger halls, or if they'll add some of the instrumentation which brings helpful texture to the first record. And I hope they don't turn their back on covers, as songwriters proud of their craft can sometimes do...

It's going to be an interesting year, however they choose to play it.

Van Morrison at The Dome

Heading off to a Van Morrison gig there's always an edge of trepidation along with the anticipation. Of course, you know why you want to be there... That astounding voice. A back catalogue of songs to kill for. A jazzman's ability to cut and coax and prod and change - with a shaman's urge to take it somewhere higher. This is one of the few rock performers for whom the word 'genius' might not be the usual obvious hyperbole.

And yet... This is also the guy who turned in a perfunctory, uncommunicative and frustrating show the first time I saw him some thirty years ago, delighted to have bagged front row seats at the Hammersmith Odeon. This is also the guy who has churned out a whole load of uninspired songs with clumsy and self-pitying lyrics. Who has elevated grumpy-old-man-ness to a form of conceptual art.

I saw a couple of concerts in Brighton in the 90s which were pretty good, but then a gap until I was lured back for his reprise of Astral Weeks at the Royal Albert Hall a couple of years ago. Trepidation cubed for that, given the cultural weight of the set-list and the eye-watering ticket prices - it could all go horribly wrong.

It didn't, of course. An absolute and delightful triumph: the voice undimmed by the years, unlike so many of his contemporaries; an extraordinary band; Van (by his standards) chatty and clearly enjoying himself; and to cap it all the unexpected and unalloyed joy of hearing 'Listen To The Lions' live after the night's main menu.

So, I couldn't expect him to match that, nor could I miss the opportunity to see him in Brighton again. Trepidation along with anticipation.

A nicely in-character notice to welcome us to The Dome: no support, on stage at eight sharp, 90 minutes, no drinks, bar shut, no photography - under pain of ritual disembowelment (inside later, security folk were indeed rushing down the aisles earnestly to wag fingers at the merest gleam from a mobile).

But as soon as the music started, the tension slipped way. This was never going to be a reprise of the Albert Hall but it was definitely the next best Van show I've seen. Primarily a jazz band behind him for this tour, all in black, highly skilled - trombone and sax, keyboard doubling on trumpet, guitar, bass and two drummers - slipping effortlessly into a lightly swinging arrangement of 'Brown Eyed Girl'. Van in command: stretching words, repeating, scat singing; pointing in the solos, nodding proprietorially at the particularly good ones - of which their were many.

It's also an evening to appreciate what a good musician Van is himself: he blows some very nice alto sax, along with harp on a couple of numbers and even plays some electric piano.

An early highlight was 'Fair Play' from 1974's classic Veedon Fleece, Van blending sweet high notes with more guttural attack, playing around repeatedly with the wonderfully bizarre 'you say Geronimo' line. There's even a bit of slapstick when Van sings 'you can hear the brass band' then waits ostentatiously while the horns pretend to miss their cue. Sounds daft, but it was good fun at the time...

After that, he briefly reminded us that he can write some clunkers by wheeling out 'I'm Not Feeling It Anymore' ('I just ended up in doubt/All my drinking buddies, they locked me out' etc, etc) before returning to the stronger side of his songbook.

A lot of the set is gently paced and quietly pitched. He's not afraid to cut things back and draw out individual instruments. And that makes for strong dynamic variety when the band crank up and really go for it. A medley moving from 'All In The Game' through to 'No Plan B/This Is It' builds irrestibly to the repetition of the key phrases 'this is it...no rehearsal'.

Then things calm through 'Moondance', 'Haunts Of Ancient Peace' and (another lovely surprise) a slow and gentle reading of 'Into The Mystic' - after which 'In The Garden' builds again to its forceful conclusion 'no guru, no method, no teacher'. Time for some hairs on the back of the neck to spring to attention at a liberating message very convincingly expressed.

After 'Crazy Love', Van calls to the wings for a crib sheet, introducing a Rodney Crowell song 'that we haven't played for a while'. It is 'Till I Gain Control Again', from the Pay The Devil country set from 2006. He doesn't seem to have to study the words much, but relative unfamiliarity may help form what is a moving version of a fragile song.

He then segues into 'I Can't Stop Loving You' before a killer sequence of five songs to close the show: a stark and blues-inflected 'St James Infirmary'; a jaunty 'Precious Time', with an arrangement bordering on ska; then reining back for a luminous take on 'Ballerina' (introduced as a request from his six-year old daughter), before cranking up again with 'Help Me' and closing with a storming and stonking version of 'Gloria'.

The last song is a joy. I realise I'd almost come to think of 'Gloria' as Patti Smith's song, but it's great to hear the relish its creator can still bring to it, the best part of fifty years on - and the sheer enjoyment of the band, reeling off chorus after exuberant chorus after their leader has marched off the stage - a great rock guitar solo followed by a chopping and churning keyboard break, including a heel landing on the keys, Jerry Lee Lewis style.

After that, there is of course no chance of a second encore: the house lights are up before all the band have left the stage. Van is probably several streets way already.

Oh, well: let him do it his way - the results can be extraordinary.