Review |  ‘Moondance’ Combines Rock ’n’ Roll and Orchestral Melodies for One Night on Van Morrison’s Wavelength

For Santa Barbara–based dad band Doublewide Kings, The Granada Theatre will now be remembered as the “fanciest garage” they ever played in. The Santa Barbara Symphony welcomed the middle-aged rock band into their home for one mystical night on Van Morrison’s wavelength on Saturday, November 11. 

Moondance — named after Morrison’s soul-filled 1970 album and its title track — was a fantabulous event combining orchestral sound and rock ’n’ roll to celebrate Rock & Roll Hall of Famer Sir Van Morrison and his extensive catalog of music. 

It was a night of respectfully restraining any dancing to the confines of your seat. The band-symphony covered songs from all nine of the legendary Irish singer-songwriter’s albums, which were tailored to the blend of orchestral and electric instruments by musical director Brett Strader in a feat of melodic craftsmanship like no other. 

After an opening performance of “Cleaning Windows,” featuring beautiful harmonies between the band and vocalists Miriam Dance and Jamie Green — as well as some ripping harmonica riffs from lead vocalist John Simpson, who sported bright-red Nikes for the evening — executive producer Palmer Jackson explained how Moondance came to be.  

He recounted a certain Santa Barbara Symphony board meeting in which they discussed new ways to bring in audiences. Playfully mimicking Italo-Israeli conductor Nir Kabaretti’s accent, he explained that Kabaretti looked at him and asked, “Palmer, why don’t we play a concert with your band?” 

“Nir, I’m flattered,” Jackson said, “But we are a midlife crisis rock band.” 

Nevertheless, they dreamed up some artists they could spotlight for one night, and before long, Morrison won out. During a serendipitous meeting with Strader in San Francisco, Jackson explained the “crazy idea” of collaborating with the symphony to play the music of Van Morrison, to which Strader replied simply, “I can help you with that.”

Strader, who also played piano for the performance, wrote all the scores himself. “And he is a very patient guy,” Jackson chuckled. “Because we don’t really read music.” But while the band may not have been completely prepared for the classical crossover, the symphony, in the words of Kabaretti, can master everything “from Baroque to rock ’n’ roll.” 

Following Jackson’s introduction, they segwayed into “Warm Love,” in which vocalist Dance — who is also the visual and performing arts director at the Riviera Ridge School — stole the show. 

The beginning was soft, with the strumming of an acoustic guitar, twinkling piano notes, and the elegant whisper of ascending strings for the opening verse, sung by Jackson in a reedy, light tone, “Look at the ivy on the old clinging wall / Look at the flowers and the green grass so tall / It’s not a matter of when push comes to shove / It’s just the hour on the wings of a dove.”

But the song gradually took on a deep, warm, and jaunty cadence. Shining in a twinkling, black knee-length dress, Dance showed off her incredible, passion-filled range in the lovestruck chorus, “And it’s ever-present everywhere / And it’s ever-present everywhere / Warm love.” Her resounding voice filled the theater, accompanied by the symphony’s rich, vibrant melodies that followed the band’s electric rhythm. 

It was highbrow garage rock, masterfully blended to create mellifluous and playful renditions of Morrison’s discography. In a way, too, it was a world premiere: It was the first time some of Morrison’s songs were performed live by a symphony orchestra.  

Both parts of the whole got the chance to flaunt their individual specialties, as well. Doublewide Kings played one of their original songs — “American Dirt,” a patriotic, bluesy Americana tune that exuded a fun, twangy energy, accompanied by visuals of horses galloping through windswept wheat fields. 

The Symphony, coming from the complete and utter opposite end of the musical spectrum, gave a breathtaking, brings-tears-to-your-eyes and simultaneously breaks-and-mends-your-heart performance of “Clair de Lune,” which then flowed and echoed into the jazzy melodies of “Moondance,” introduced by sonorous saxophone and the “tss, tss, tss” of percussionist Charlie Crisafulli’s cymbals.  

At one point, Crisafulli acknowledged that Morrison was “one of the grumpier rock ’n’ roll artists,” and that it was “probably better” that Morrison was unaware of their tribute concert. 

But while writing the lyrics to “Moondance,” Morrison was “supposedly in a good enough mood to use the word ‘fantabulous,’” the night’s program read, “a superlative that doesn’t turn up often in pop songs or in everyday conversation.” The program promised an evening of “fantabulousness” for the audience, so they may leave with “a soul-deep smile, a buzz of joyfulness, and some marvelous memories.” I’d go as far as to say that they achieved it. 

Once the band bowed and exited the stage, however, my fellow audience members and I were left perplexed and somewhat disappointed. “They didn’t play ‘Brown Eyed Girl’?” I thought to myself. “How could they not play ‘Brown Eyed Girl’?” 

But it was all a ruse. Only moments later, the band came back on stage, announcing they had one more song to perform. “Any green-eyed girls in the audience?” Simpson asked, to the crowd’s amusement. 

Everyone stood for the final performance of Morrison’s most popular song, and the audience was permitted to cut loose and belt out the “shalalalala”s and “la di da”s alongside the musicians on stage, who were spotlighted against a technicolored outline of Morrison surrounded by stardust.