The Interview Where Van Said “I Write Songs To Stay Sane — Not To Be Understood”

April 1, 2025

In the dim light of an old recording studio, with its walls plastered in faded posters of rock legends, Van Morrison sat nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt. It was the mid-1970s, a few years after he had broken through with his iconic album “Astral Weeks.” He had become a household name, but the fame felt like a heavy coat he had to wear. Everyone wanted to know him, to understand the deep emotions woven into his songs. But how could he explain a feeling that was too complex for words? That day, he was sitting across from a journalist, a young woman with eager eyes and a notepad ready to capture every word.

As the interview began, she asked the typical questions: “What inspires your music?” and “What do you hope people take away from your songs?” Van sighed, feeling a rush of confusion. Yes, there were moments that sparked his creativity—sunsets, lost love, the streets of Belfast—but those inspirations were only the surface. He began to speak, choosing his words carefully. “I write songs to stay sane,” he finally said, pausing as the weight of the statement settled in the room. “Not to be understood.” The journalist stared, processing the depth of that truth. It was a raw admission, revealing how music was not just his career, but a lifeline, a way to navigate the ups and downs of life.

The truth was that Van often felt misunderstood, both by the world and by himself. Music was his escape from a chaotic reality, a place to pour his confusion and despair. As a child, he had faced difficult times, growing up in a working-class neighborhood in Belfast. His parents had separated when he was young, leaving behind a sense of abandonment. He often turned to music, finding solace in the sounds that floated through the air and wrapped around his heart. With every chord he played, he found a way to express emotions he couldn’t vocalize in conversation.

As the interview continued, the conversation shifted. The journalist, sensing the vulnerability behind his words, asked him if he ever worried about how people interpreted his songs. Van shook his head, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “What matters is how the music makes me feel.” In that moment, both musician and journalist shared a connection. They understood that the essence of art wasn’t about pleasing others but rather about exploring the depths of one’s soul. It was a beautiful realization, one that would not only guide Van’s creative journey but also inspire countless artists who felt the same way.

Years later, when Van released albums like “Moondance” and “Tupelo Honey,” it became clear that he had found his voice. Each song was a reflection of his innermost thoughts, capturing feelings of love, longing, and freedom. His unique style blended jazz, blues, and folk, creating something that resonated deeply with listeners around the world. People began to appreciate the raw honesty in his work, and while they might not fully grasp every nuance, they could feel the emotion behind the music.

Van’s journey through despair and self-discovery taught him a valuable lesson: it’s okay to be misunderstood. Like a wild river carving its path through a rocky landscape, he learned to embrace his uniqueness, letting his music flow freely. Each time he stepped onto the stage, he no longer felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders. Instead, he felt liberated, knowing that his songs were not just for others, but a powerful form of expression for himself. Through his art, Van Morrison found sanity in the storm, and in turn, he became a beacon of inspiration for others searching for their own ways to stay sane in an often confusing world.