ABSTRACT
On November 30, 1995, President Bill Clinton made a historic visit to Northern Ireland, the fi rst sitting U.S. president to do so. The Clinton administration had been heavily involved in the peace process negotiations, and the president’s visit signaled American interest in the future of Northern Ireland.1 He landed in Belfast, gave an address at Mackie International engineering plant, made stops on the Shankill and Falls roads, traveled to Derry for a speech at Guildhall Square, and ended the day back in Belfast for a Christmas tree lighting ceremony outside City Hall in front of a crowd estimated at 80,000. Clinton was preceded on stage by Van Morrison, who was dressed in the Blues Brothers outfi t he so often sported in the late 1990s, captured on the cover of his 1997 album The Healing Game: black fedora, sunglasses, suit coat, and tie. He played two songs from his most recent album, Days Like This, with his band, which included a three-piece horn section and the singer Brian Kennedy: “No Religion,” a remarkable choice given the setting (“there’s no religion here today”), “Days Like This,” a song that became an anthem of the peace process, and the set-closing “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You,” which he dedicated to “Bill and Hillary.” The crowd waved American fl ags as they watched Morrison and waited for the President. “Van the Man,” as he was introduced, was by this time one of the most recognizable Irishmen in the world, and certainly one of the most famous Belfast natives. But the Irishness Morrison had on display that night was different from his New Age Celticism or collaborations with the Chieftains. This was an Irishness deeply connected with America and black music: on the day when he represented hopes for new Northern Ireland identities to the world, Morrison’s soulful sound and awkward look signifi ed the profound and ambiguous impact of African-American music on Irish culture. Morrison’s singing demonstrated his lifelong facility with rhythm and blues and soul music. His look, though, couldn’t help but to evoke the politics of white appropriation of black music and black authenticity. One might be tempted to see him as one of Roddy Doyle’s Commitments, trying on soul music because the Irish are “the niggers of Europe,” and then moving on to country music when soul didn’t fi t. But Morrison has never been accused of such inauthenticity. The appearance with Clinton
signifi es the complex and sometimes contradictory interchange of Irishness and blackness in Morrison’s work: Morrison left Northern Ireland in the late 1960s and has always avoided Northern Irish politics but agreed to play at this important political event; he is considered quintessentially Irish, but he is recognized for playing “black” music; he considers fame antithetical to his traditionalist approach to Irish and black music but was one of Ireland’s biggest celebrities of the Celtic Tiger 1990s. To be sure, Van Morrison created a musical identity through black music-but can such an identity challenge sectarian Irishness? The kind of Irishness marketed by Guinness, Aer Lingus, and the Irish Tourist Board? Irishness as what Diane Negra calls “a reliable form of whiteness?” (“The Irish in Us” 1).
