The crown jewel of 1974’s hitless Veedon Fleece–definitely his weirdest record since Astral Weeks–“Masked Man” is mid-period Van in peak form, just under 30 years of age and wailing with a most specific strain of weird Celtic passion: it’s transcendental acoustic R&B. He is REACHING for those notes and nailing them. It’s a petrified, isolated tune (”Oh ain’t it lonely / When you’re livin’ with a gun / Well you can’t slow down and you can’t turn ’round / And you can’t trust anyone / You just sit there like a butterfly / And you’re all encased in glass / You’re so fragile you just may break / And you don’t know who to ask”), that somehow feels hopeful through the sheer force of vocal will. From his thick Irish chest he forces a gale through his pipes and out his mouth. It’s astonishing how much sound he forces out that small hole, like an ancient balloon mouth being squeaked by a sphinx.

And it sounds incredible with the windows down.

Ed. Note: Chris Swanson comes to us from the deepest reaches of Dead Oceans/Jagjaguwar/Secretly Canadian HQ in lovely Bloomington, Indiana. Chris will be presenting a song of the month here for the foreseeable future. Welcome.