A growler and a howler

'It's all one song," Neil Young once famously said in response to a heckler who accused him of making music that all sounded alike. The same could be said of the songs of Van Morrison, the Irish singer with a reputation as an uneven live performer.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

For more than 40 years, Morrison, 62, who played the Tower Theater on Thursday and concludes his current six-date North American tour at the Borgata Hotel & Casino in Atlantic City tonight, has been blending American rhythm and blues, jazz, and country into a Celtic soul stew.

The blend simmered satisfyingly for an hour and 40 minutes in Upper Darby on Thursday.

Wearing a buttoned-up suit jacket and a fedora that looked as if it had been pounded down with a mallet, Morrison came on stage blowing a harmonica on "Wild Night." He commenced to lead the nine-person ensemble, whose members he never introduced by name - it included singers Katie Kissoon and Vanessa Haynes, steel guitarist Sarah Jory, and keyboard-trumpet player Paul Moran - into an efficient and proficient no-nonsense evening that featured a smattering of hits and a few left-field surprises.

The biggest surprise was "Comfortably Numb," Morrison's version of the Pink Floyd song that turned up in

The Departed

and

The Sopranos

. Morrison rendered the number in stately fashion, trading off vocals with Kissoon.

Equally warmly received by a house packed mostly with Morrison's contemporaries were "Tupelo Honey" and "Gloria," whose raucous spelling lesson brought the crowd to its feet for a thumping, if somewhat hurried, encore. (No luck on "Moondance" or "Domino," but there's always tonight.)

Morrison enunciated poorly and emoted soulfully, played guitar, and tooted on a saxophone. He shouted out the names of heroes such as Muddy Waters and Big Joe Turner as if they were holy men, and evoked 19th-century French poet Arthur Rimbaud in asking his muse for inspiration in a spirited, brassy "Tore Down a la Rimbaud."

During "Ancient Highway," part of a medley that also included "In the Afternoon" and "Raincheck," Morrison muttered something about a store on the side of the road "that sells garden gnomes." Other than that, and stopping before a stirring "Madame George" to ask if anyone had heard his classic 1968 album

Astral Weeks

, the inscrutable Morrison kept his thoughts to himself and the music moving forward.

"Well it's out on the highway, and on with the show/Always telling people things they're too lazy to know," he sang grumpily early on, in "Why Must I Always Explain?"

Morrison can often make it seem as if performing is a chore, a necessary evil to be endured to reach the sanctified place where blues and R&B and jazz and gospel and country come together, and words get in the way on the road to pure expression.

At the Tower, he found that place, stayed a while, and then was gone.