"Rock poet" has become almost a dirty word in critical parlance, invoking Moody Blues florid gush or worse. Matching verse to music is still a valid activity, however, provided the words aren't intended primarily for the printed page and the resulting song is strong on record.

At his best, Van Morrison achieves this synthesis. Though barely coherent on paper, his lyrics take on a brooding power when sung, seeming like great wisdom even if they border on nonsense. On Astral Weeks, Morrison set gloriously elusive images to a baroque jazz blend, proving himself a true rock poet—a versifier who was also a skilled musician.

Common One, to be up-front, isn't Astral Weeks; the spark of melancholic abandoned genius which graced the earlier record is only present sporadically. Morrison's latest is a mannered, thoroughly professional effort, slick even when the singer attempts to cut loose and dive headlong into the mystic. In this respect the LP resembles 1974's Veedon Fleece in its collection of vaguely evocative but still polished tunes. After 16-plus years in pop music, Morrison has too many artistic tics and trademarks to go as wild as he did on Astral Weeks. Still, nobody can do quite what Morrison does, even when he's a bit stiff at it….

Morrison's words are best absorbed as part of the overall mix. Rather than making linear sense, the verse functions best as incantations, taking on a certain glow when chanted and whispered. Intellectually, the album has little to offer. There's an ode to the relics of England ("Haunts of Ancient Peace"), a toast to a lady-love ("Wild Honey") and a funkified Buddhist rap ("Satisfied"). When Morrison works himself into a near-trance, toying with and reworking a number to fit a flash of emotion, ordinary concerns about meanings aren't important anymore. The very sound of his voice communicates everything.

"When Heart Is Open" is Morrison's most successful extended song-poem since "Almost Independence Day." Simmering with the fire of a dark Scottish ballad, the cut's droning qualities lace the singer in bold relief. The imagery is almost cosmically weary …, ineffably sad yet tranquil and content….

Where does Common One fit in the Van Morrison catalogue? Near the top, I'd say, though rankings of any kind are probably unfair. This work is meant to be appreciated on its own merits as a spiritual testimonial, a mature pop exercise—and, yes, an example of musical poetry.