Joni Mitchell is the Best…Again
When I was fourteen, I fell in love with Joni Mitchell’s Blue album. I had never before heard anything so true. She told the story about giving her baby up for adoption. She said the words acid, blues and ass. She made her voice go in directions that were unexpected. She held notes as long as she wanted to, just as long as was needed. At fourteen I too was on the lonely road that she sang about. I too wished I had a river I could skate away on.
Actually, it felt like I was on that lonely road for the next fifty years. At times it felt that I loved so hard that my lovers too were in my blood like holy wine. I too believed that someday I’d get my gorgeous wings and fly away.
I had a ritual of playing the Blue album on my turn table and later CD player whenever I moved to a new home. I liked remembering how it first felt to realize how wonderful art and words could be. Like lighting incense, it made my new space holy. I told my daughter about my ritual, and she has kept the tradition going.
I knew Joni Mitchell was a true artist when she took her music in new directions without seeming to care if her songs were hits that made it to the top of the charts. She explored jazz and collaborated with jazz musicians who intrigued her. She seemed to do her art for art’s sake, and for her sake, to explore, to fearlessly venture out to the edges.
