Van Morrison sings like someone turning a street corner and stepping into sunlight that remembers your name. The songs feel lived in and generous, full of hearth smoke, river light, and blue note swing. Guitars glisten, saxophones lean in, and rhythm sections stroll with an easy authority that never gets sleepy. He moves from whispered tenderness to open throated release with the calm of a master storyteller. These ten favorites capture joy, memory, and spiritual reach in equal measure. Put them on and ordinary hours start to glow. Conversations get kinder. Windows seem larger. It is music that keeps finding a way home.
1. Brown Eyed Girl
The first guitar lick feels like a door thrown open to summer. Then the band settles into a happy sway and Van Morrison steps in with a smile that you can hear. Brown Eyed Girl is a study in effortless melody and memory. The lyric sketches pictures anyone can carry around for life. Tuesday afternoons, transistor radios, sunlight on grass. He does not use fancy language. He uses the kind of detail that sticks because it is true. The chorus arrives like a familiar road you always want to walk again. Sha la la is not filler. It is a way of letting the voice become a companion to the groove, a release that feels human and kind. The rhythm section keeps the pocket light so the tune can breathe. Bass moves with friendly intention. Drums place crisp accents that encourage shoulders to move. A small organ glow keeps the corners warm. His phrasing is playful, leaning into vowels then clipping a consonant so the line lands right on the beat. The whole thing is built with clarity. Nothing strains. Nothing shouts. Which is why it lasts. You finish the song feeling younger than you started and that is not nostalgia. It is craft doing quiet work.
2. Moondance
Moondance slips into the room like satin with a wink. A walking bass draws elegant circles. Piano splashes little lanterns of harmony. Sax and flute trade small smiles that make the air feel taller. Over that soft swing Van Morrison sings with dancer poise. He stretches fine phrases across the bar line, then snaps them back with a grin. The lyric is all autumn air and velvet sky, but the real star is the way everything moves together. This is jazz feel meeting pop instinct with perfect proportion. The verses work like short steps toward the big lift, and the chorus lands with the ease of a hand finding a hand. You can hear how carefully the arrangement respects space. No one crowds the melody. When the solos arrive they sing as much as they play, and they finish before you have time to miss the voice. Listen to the tiny rhythmic nudges in the drums and the gliding touch of the piano that keeps the room glowing. It is romantic without perfume, confident without swagger. If you want a single track that explains why Van can make a club feel like a living room and a living room feel like a club, start here.
3. Into the Mystic
A gentle acoustic figure sets the keel and a hush falls that feels like salt air. Into the Mystic is about travel of the spirit told with sailor calm. Van Morrison sings as if he trusts the tide. He leans long into vowels, makes consonants soft as rope, and lets the melody move like water under moonlight. The band understands that patience is the engine. Bass holds a steady lantern glow. Drums breathe rather than punch. A faint organ halo widens the sky above the lyric. Little horn sighs arrive like distant fog signals and the famous sail into the mystic line becomes a vow rather than a slogan. What gives the song its lasting charge is simplicity guarded by taste. Each instrument plays only what the picture needs. The structure is classic verse and refrain, yet the emotion keeps deepening because the singer refuses to hurry. By the final chorus you feel the room tilt toward quiet awe. It is a love song and a map at the same time. Not a map with street names, a map of permission, telling you it is safe to let wonder steer for a while. Few recordings make stillness sound this alive.
4. Domino
Count it off and do not look back. Domino bursts forward with bright horns, a spring loaded bass line, and guitar that snaps like a well shined shoe on a city sidewalk. Van Morrison rides the groove with delighted command. He tosses syllables like coins, catches them on the beat, and grins through the next line. The lyric is more about motion than story, which is exactly right. This is feel good as a disciplined art. The horn charts are crisp and a little sassy. Piano comps in tidy blocks that keep the floor solid. Drums push the song with subtle ghost notes that make it hop without getting busy. When the chorus hits, it does not just stick. It stays. Short words, strong cadence, perfect release. There is a gospel afterglow in the backing voices, a reminder that celebration can have roots. You can hear how carefully the arrangement trims every spare ounce. Even the handclaps know their job. Play it in a car and the road gets shorter. Put it on at a party and conversations lift a notch. It is the sound of a band that knows how to smile in time and a singer who can turn joy into architecture.
5. Crazy Love
This is devotion whispered and offered with open hands. Crazy Love floats on a tender sway where nothing hurries and nothing drags. Van Morrison sings close to the mic, every breath a small ember. He avoids big gestures and the restraint becomes the point. The lyric is plain speech warmed by melody. When he repeats she gives me love love love you believe him because the band has built a space where honesty sounds comfortable. Acoustic guitar is the main fabric. Organ adds a quiet sheen. Bass writes gentle curves that support without calling attention. The backing singers arrive like trusted friends who know the house rules. Their harmonies do not decorate. They affirm. The recording favors intimacy. You can hear wood and human air, which makes the room in front of the speakers feel closer. There is no dramatic bridge or towering solo. The structure trusts verse and chorus to do the work through placement and tone. That humility is why the song continues to land at weddings and late night kitchens with equal grace. It feels like love described by someone who has learned that steadiness is a thrill of its own. When it ends, silence feels like a blanket, not a void.
6. And It Stoned Me
A harmonica sigh opens the scene, then the band steps into a rolling cadence that suggests rain on a country road and boots that do not mind getting wet. And It Stoned Me is memory shaped into a small gospel of everyday wonder. The story is simple. A day out, a sudden storm, shelter, kindness, the taste of water that somehow feels holy. Van Morrison sings with the calm awe of someone who knows the moment is bigger than the words he has for it. Saxophone and piano trade comments like old friends. The rhythm section keeps a walking tempo that feels like time well spent. What makes the track glow is its gratitude. Every musical choice says thank you. The chorus does not aim to explode. It tilts its face toward light and lets the listener do the rest. The recording breathes, leaving little pockets of air around voice and instruments so the images in the lyric can land. By the last pass you are not thinking about genre labels. You are thinking about that one ordinary day that changed shape in your memory because someone handed you exactly what you needed. Songs like this teach us how to notice.
7. Tupelo Honey
Tupelo Honey moves with the grace of a slow dance where two people already know the steps. Guitar shimmers, piano lays soft pathways, and Van Morrison sings as if speaking a blessing. He builds the melody from simple arcs, then lets certain notes bloom until they hang in the air like lanterns. The title itself is a metaphor you can taste and the lyric keeps faith with that sweetness without ever getting sticky. The band is patient. Drums whisper time. Bass breathes under the chords with long lines that never crowd. A brief saxophone visit adds a ribbon of color then steps aside. The secret here is restraint. Everyone plays less so that each gesture means more. The arrangement opens when the voice opens and folds back when the verse returns. That conversation between singer and players gives the performance its rare poise. The chorus does not try to lift the roof. It opens a window and lets a better breeze in. This is not a song that shows off love as a triumph. It shows love as a daily vow, honored with attention and ease. By the end you feel taller and somehow calmer, as if the tune has tidied the room.
8. Wild Night
Here is the city at a friendly clip. Wild Night starts with a bright guitar figure that feels like a green light. The rhythm section falls in behind it with a bounce that is impossible to ignore. Van Morrison becomes a tour guide of the evening, pointing out small delights and quick decisions. He does not shout. He lets the cadence and the smile do the work. The chorus is a simple command and a welcome all at once and the band frames it with crisp horn flashes and piano that walks like good shoes on clean pavement. The joy is in the tightness of the parts. Drums tuck accents close to the snare. Bass is melodic without a single wasted note. Guitar strums are clipped and exact which leaves plenty of room for the vocal to glide. This is not a long night of wildness. It is three minutes and change of everything clicking at the right angle. The bridge loosens just enough to make the final chorus feel like a reunion. Play it when you need to flip a room from polite to lively. It will do the job with zero fuss because it was built by players who understand elegance in motion.
9. Have I Told You Lately
A gentle piano line opens like curtain lace and the voice arrives with the softness of a note tucked under a plate. Have I Told You Lately is gratitude set to melody. Van Morrison sings with clear humility, placing each word with care so that the sentiment feels handcrafted. The band surrounds him in a mild glow. Organ adds a churchly comfort. Bass moves in long strokes. Drums keep time like a heartbeat in a quiet room. The lyric is both prayer and promise, making room for love that steadies without drama. There is no need to prove anything. The song simply names what is good and asks that we keep naming it. The payoff is in the tone. His phrasing is neither coy nor grand. It is direct, which makes the chorus land like something important finally said aloud. Small dynamic swells keep the track from ever turning static. A brief instrumental turn places a ribbon on the message and then returns the focus to the voice. By the final refrain you understand why this one lives across generations. It is not tied to fashion. It is a daily practice written in major keys.
10. Days Like This
This tune feels like the first good morning after a long stretch of rain. Piano rolls out a welcome mat. A horn section smiles from the doorway. The rhythm section sways at a pace that makes the shoulders of the day settle lower. Van Morrison sings as a fond observer, noting that luck and grace sometimes show up without asking permission. The verses tick off everyday obstacles that decide to behave for once. No traffic. No missed calls. No storms. The chorus turns the observation into a little creed. There will be days like this and remembering that fact is its own kind of courage. The arrangement is a model of light touch. Horns frame the hook without blare. Backing voices arrive like neighbors who know the words. Guitar stays tidy and bright. Nothing overreaches and that restraint becomes joy because it leaves room for the listener to feel included. This is not triumph music. It is renewal music. A few minutes where ordinary life sits up straight and smiles back. When the last chord lands the room feels easier. You have not been lectured. You have been reminded, which is a rarer and sometimes more useful gift.
David Morrison is a frequent contributor to Singers Room. Since 2005, Singersroom has been the voice of R&B around the world. Connect with us via social media below.
