#801: joni mitchell, mama cass, and mary travers - i shall be released (1969)
whoa.


#801: joni mitchell, mama cass, and mary travers - i shall be released (1969)
whoa.
#754: joni mitchell - my old man (live, 1970)
i’ve been feeling a lot feelings about joni mitchell’s feelings lately.
even her monosyllabic lyrics are dandelions: the way she sings the my in my old man the second time around is the best pronunciation of the word in live music history.
joni mitchell in 1968: i cropped out a smiling and mustachioed david crosby from this photograph, out of respect for his bandmate graham nash’s pretty song about her, our house, and, more importantly, for what his other bandmate stephen stills does to the second half of her song blonde in the bleachers.
any woman who could stand next to good old rick danko with arms akimbo and pursed lips is either joni mitchell or a very cold lady or both.
update: i am sitting here at the otherwise empty roy’s pizza on eighth avenue, where, i kid you not, beethoven’s late quartets are playing on the radio, and it’s dawning on me that joni mitchell’s arms are crossed and not on her hips, and therefore are not “arms akimbo.” we regret the error and our umbudswoman will be looking into the matter immediately.
update 2: well, someone named scott rafer noticed the error as well and is none too pleased. unless his twitter photo is a gag, mr. rafer seems to like sitting with his hands folded near his chin into one of those hand bridges so that he can better concentrate on criticizing the nouns that other people plunk into captions of nice mid-70s photos.
#53: the band (with neil young) - helpless (1976)
wouldn’t you know it, martin scorsese made this film while handling a serious cocaine addiction. and was the band using with him? actually, backstage there was a room painted white, decorated with noses from plastic masks. an audio tape of sniffing sounds played on a tape. seriously. really. truly.
when neil young came out to sing helpless, he had the most famous glob of cocaine in rock history hanging from his nostrils (which was erased by scorsese in post-production). that didn’t stop mr. young from being as gorgeously delicate as always, singing a velvet canadian harmony with joni mitchell, who has hidden off-stage behind a curtain.
legend has it that the band kept her hidden because her complex romantic dalliances with the musicians were bumming everyone out. but the band has since claimed that it was only so that her later appearance in the show, singing three songs solo, would be more exciting. all things considered, it’s probably because she was a wildwoman.
good band picture #6: before cat power’s bangs there were joni mitchell’s bangs… and all joni mitchell ever wanted to do was knit you a sweater and make you feel better, to talk to you and shampoo you and renew you. because you’re her cause, and when she thinks of your kisses her mind see-saws.
#32: joni mitchell - california (1970)
today i’m in a serious joni mitchell mood. and that might be a problem if you, the viewer, don’t happen to be. what if you see this and think, “pffmmmph, joni mitchell?” if that’s the case, then shame on you, sir, shame on you.
maybe she comes up in my mind today because herbie hancock’s “river: the joni letters” was named album of the year last night at the grammys—or maybe it’s because of this romantic week? or maybe it’s because today is the coldest, sharpest, most melancholy day of the year so far.
in any case, joni mitchell’s long hair, pink dress, appalachian dulcimer and hippy falsetto is enough to make you believe in holiness, at least the holiness of the state of california, which seems very far away right now.
#16: joanna newsom - clam, crab, cockle, cowrie (2007)
last night i saw one of the most ecstatic, lovely shows of my life. this is what i wrote for the new york observer:
The hummingbird-voiced harpist Joanna Newsom played the first of two shows with the Brooklyn Philharmonic at BAM last night, and it wasn’t cutesy or quirky or kitschy.
It was glorious.
But four years ago, when she was 22 years and two months old, Ms. Newsom’s debut, The Milk Eyed Mender, an album of squeaky folk yarns about bridges, balloons, beans, books, peaches and plums, came awfully close to irritating. Here, the whimsical top-of-her-range squeals (“But ships! are fallible, I say/ And the naut!ical, like all things, fades”) were gone, and her soprano and harp glistened together.
Her album Ys, a five-song epic named for a flooded mythical city, was huge and pristine onstage: violins, voices, the harp, horns and harmonies shook and bent and swelled together until everything bulged and burst, and bubbled up again.
Whimsey is out, grandeur is in. The orchestra, arranged by the pop maestro Van Dyke Parks (he collaborated with Brian Wilson, produced Ry Cooder’s debut, and once declined to join the Byrds), has turned Ms. Newsom’s music around. She now sounds less like Joni Mitchell and more like Duke Ellington.
And, oh, did the beautiful Brooklyn audience like it. There were three standing ovations from the swooning young crowd. In the span of five rows, Amy Poehler and Seth Meyers sat with Andy Samberg (rumored to be dating Ms. Newsom); David Byrne was dressed in white with a yellow helmet, and was that Francis Ford Coppola filling out a BAM questionnaire alone?
The orchestra left for the second half, when her band—a drummer and a violinist who both sang, plus a banjo player that sometimes switched to a tambura—played old songs and two new ones. It was even prettier: “Inflammatory Writ,” the most irritating song on Milk Eyed Mender, had a honky-tonk lull; “Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie” became a Tom Waits-worthy lullaby.
Even the banter was good. In the second set, the barefoot drummer held up an Obama shirt: “He has a more liberal voting record, more progressive, than Kucinich, even!” Ms. Newsom said. “My friend Jamie went to Nevada. We really love Barack Obama.”
“If anyone wants to talk,” the drummer said, “if you’re leaning in the other direction, just give me 30 seconds. I went door to door in Iowa!”
The world tour for Ys, backed by different local orchestras, ends tonight at BAM’s Howard Gilman Opera House.