What Makes Joni Mitchell’s ‘Blue’ So Special?
In celebration of Joni Mitchell’s first-ever Grammys performance, revisit her 1971 masterpiece ‘Blue.’
Joni Mitchell is regarded as one of the greatest songwriters of all time, revered by generations of poets and bar-light philosophers, with a sound that transcends that of folk and 1960s soft rock. And Blue is arguably Joni Mithcell’s greatest.
From the first acoustic strums and droning hand drums of opening track “All I Want,” the album transports the listener to a total time and place. Blue is soaked in the lazy sun melodies of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s; Mitchell’s conversational lyrics steeped in the parlance of hippie wanderlust. Jaunty standout “California” reads like a friendly postcard, a litany of travel tales and homesick musings any traveler can relate to. Mitchell’s storytelling is unpretentious and yet so obviously skilled, the kind of plain poetry that makes prophets out of train hoppers.
The title Blue evokes Miles Davis, and the album lives up to that jazzy legacy with lots of surprising melodic riffs. Six of the 10 songs include “blue” in the lyrics, and even when she doesn’t bring it up directly, the stories drip with some soulful poignancy.
Subtle and strong, most of these songs are recorded with just a piano, an acoustic guitar, a fretted string instrument known as an Appalachian dulcimer, and of course Mitchell’s indescribable, preternatural voice. Mitchell’s singing lilts and prances across her breathy tri-octave range like a little bird hops between tree branches. Her voice is funny and sad, bold and fragile, sarcastic and innocent, and everything in between.
Alanis Morrissette, Jewel, and Sheryl Crow Owe So Much to Blue
Mitchell’s pain is evident in the Christmas-tinged “River,” a sorrowful holiday song for those who just want to escape the year and leave it in the past already — and yet, there’s still something confident about her remorse. Alanis Morrissette, Jewel, Sheryl Crow, and all those ‘90s icons owe so much to Blue’s open-hearted humor and honesty. In one verse, Mitchell’s singing doe-eyed about her lover’s magical magnetism, then curling her lips into an exhausted sigh to note that he ripped off her camera.
There is a lot of conflicted love in these verses. “A Case of You” is sweet and easy to love, but — like drinking a whole case of wine — the object of this song’s adoration can leave one sick. The double entendre does apply.
Most striking of all, though, is the story she tells on “Little Green.” Imagine getting pregnant at such a young age, only to have the man run off to another country chasing a dream, and to have to give the baby up for adoption. All the love in this song is directed at the guiltless child, in as beautiful a depiction of this dilemma as likely exists. “You’re sad, but you’re not ashamed,” she sings of herself. “Have a happy ending.” She lets the last note hang in the air for what feels like forever, like her eyes that can’t bear to tear away as the new parents make off with her kid. Happily, Mitchell and her daughter reconnected in 1997.
It’s true that Mitchell made the most of that freedom, though. A lot of this record was written during a fanciful romp through Europe, and it feels like it plays almost chronologically through that adventure. “Carey” is downright fun — a bop.
She isn’t afraid to get a little wild, either. “This Flight Tonight” is one John Paul Jones bass riff away from Led Zeppelin’s heavy rock — and the way she plays with the production to make it sound like her song is coming through her headphones? That’s ahead of its time experimentation even by today’s standards.
“That Last Time I Saw Richard” sums it all up. It’s an interesting place to end an album. It’s an unresolved ending, other than the fact she’s resolved to keep running down this human path of beauty and trust. Is any life ever resolved? We spend most of our time in emotional limbo, riding the roller coaster of life, becoming little Richards sometimes who wanna give up, needing a little Joni to come round and tell them to snap out of it.
Joni Mitchell’s Blue Is Music For Forgetting And Remembering
Maybe that’s why this record persists. It’s the voice you need sometimes to light the way, to let you know you aren’t the first fool to stumble down a bohemian beach in search of some sweet grandeur or even just a party. It’s music for forgetting and remembering. Lyrics from a friend, a non-pretentious poet who’s telling it like it is. That sort of wisdom is truly timeless.
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