Five nights in a row is a lot for anyone. For a man in his 70s? Respect. He’s basically saying, “I’ll outlast you, you young upstarts.” And he probably will.
I picture him backstage with a cup of tea, watching the clock. “Right, 8:47 PM. Time to make them wait until 9:02 for an encore.” Legend.
Also, the venue is brand new. That means the bathrooms will be clean. The seats will be comfortable. The drinks will be overpriced. But you won’t care because you’ll be drifting on a wave of “Astral Weeks” energy.
Van Morrison announces five‑night London residency at the brand-new
The big question: Will he play “Brown Eyed Girl”?
Ah, the million-dollar question. He hates it. He really hates it. But he always plays it. It’s like a grudging hug to the audience. “Fine. Here’s your hit. Now stop clapping so I can sing about Celtic mythology.”
If he skips it one night, that’s fine. You’ll get “Tupelo Honey” instead. Or a 15-minute version of “Cypress Avenue” that makes you weep. Either way, you’re winning.
So, are you going? Are you bringing your best “quiet but respectful” energy? Because this is not a pop concert. This is a seminar in soulful grumpiness. And I mean that as the highest compliment.
Let’s be real for a second. Van Morrison has been doing this for over 60 years. He’s a master. He’s a grumpy master, but still. To see him five times in a row is like taking a masterclass in presence.
You’ll come out of those shows exhausted, inspired, and slightly confused. And you’ll want to do it all again. Because that’s the Van magic. It’s weird, it’s challenging, and it’s absolutely unforgettable.
Mark your calendars. Set your alarms. Have your “pretend to be sick” voice ready. Because Van Morrison is about to own London for five nights, and you don’t want to miss the spectacle. Just don’t try to make eye contact with him. Trust me on that one.
