Musicians, the great ones at least, tend to garner a certain aura about their music, a je ne sais quoi (Pardon me), that oozes from their work and follows us into our everyday lives. For example, when you listen to the Stones, more often than not, you want to get your rocks off. You want to do something chauvinistic, or sleazy, or a combination of the two. When you listen to the Gypsy Kings, you want to dance, you want to clap your hands (even if you can't stay on count).

If I had to pick one word to describe Van Morrison's aura, it would be wistful.

He's passionate but not boisterous, soulful yet reserved, poetic yet accessible. At his best, he's hashing out the cold graces of life, the good times gone by, the uncertainties of what's to come. Even his happiest songs limp with a vague sense of woe. Take Everyone from the album Moondance; it's a happy, little ditty, complete with flutes and lyrics such as, "Sing a happy song and we'll sing along". On paper it all makes for sunshine and Zoloft, but Morrison's bluesy timbre weaves in just enough melancholy to make it interesting, so much so that it's appropriate for a funeral (see The Royal Tenenbaums).

Van Morrison's best work is about the pursuit in life. The journey into the unknown. I'm not talking about Brown-Eyed Girl: the nice, catchy pop song that everyone knows the words to... a song that's been overplayed to the point that it gives me seizures. I'm not talking about Gloria either, a resonant and impassioned cat call (Hey Baby Girl, whas-yo-name?).

I'm talking about a sense of nostalgia. A sense of the bittersweet. I'm talking about And It Stoned Me. Most of all, I'm talking about Into the Mystic.

Van Morrison has a storied career, which is just a google away, but I've decided to focus on Moondance because of its particular cohesiveness and overall quality. The title track is a well-known, jazzy number; it paints a charming picture of Fall and evening romance. It's a great song, but if you take the time to listen to the album through a few times, you'll find the true gems: And It Stoned Me, Caravan, Into the Mystic, and Crazy Love.

Morrison's vocals are bluesy and haunting on this album, despite the fact that he's singing about love most of the time. The exception to the rule is Crazy Love, which reveals a sensitivity we rarely see: his voice is quiet and cooing, as opposed to his usual ragged sound. He conjures visions of long-legged, black Irish damsels, emptied bottles of Jamison, and midnight embraces (maybe only the last one is true, but this is my personal interpretation). The lyrics are lovey-dubby: typical early Beatles fare, but his voice on the song is unique, which makes you take notice.

Perhaps the most powerful song on the album is Into the Mystic. The song also mentions a girl, a girl whose "gypsy soul" begs to be rocked, yet this isn't a simple love song. Images of an ocean voyage reveal the deeper meaning. Its not so much about love as about the joy of the moment. Nor is it simply about the unpredictability of the unknown. The word "mystic" gives a certain romantic sensibility to the possibilities of the future. For Morrison, the "fog" isn't necessarily bad. The beauty lies in the journey, floating into the mystic, brown-haired lasses at our sides.