Pick the Cat's Eyes Out

As the years accumulate, Astral Weeks becomes less and less of a leisure grab. It's not for a lack of appreciation; it's for the crushing sense of nostalgia. Morrison wrote "Ballerina" after meeting his first wife following a gig at the Fillmore. After first meeting -- this is crucial. The song focuses upon her physical sorcery, which Morrison deftly conveys with his reoccurring image of an elegant, graceful ballerina. Celebrating the allurement of a Helen is an ancient songwriting trick, but Morrison isn't doing this because it's custom. Really, he's got nothing else to latch onto -- he has yet to discover her vices, her quirks, her charms. He only knows her face. And this is what pains. Years from now, that striking physical beauty -- which sent Morrison into a sort of "hallicunatory ecstasy" (not my words; two of Lester Bangs' 3,700 from his legendary Astral Weeks review) -- will have fled, with only aged photographs and words to venerate it. So pay homage while it still exists, while it still enchants, while it still forces you to pen the following couplet: "And I'm standing in your doorway / And I'm mumbling and I can't remember the last thing that ran through my head."