I had got it into my head, as you know, that Blue was the only truly great Joni Mitchell album. I'd also found an interview she gave last year enlightening, fascinating but rather off-putting in its portrayal of a woman of extremely high self-regard. Even more off-putting was Alex James-esque bozo David Crosby's relentless "she's the best of all us" campaign, which felt rather self-serving, considering he was the one who "discovered" her.
I was, of course, deeply concerned when news of her hospitalisation initially emerged, especially with the haziness of her details. But it's only since the full seriousness began to emerge, including Crosby giving the (apparently false) information out that, after her brain aneurysm, she's no longer speaking, that I found that all I wanted to listen to was Joni Mitchell.
It's been more than a month now. It wasn't a task I set myself or a deliberate act of respect, it was just that every morning, as I settled for work, I'd put Joni Mitchell on and then not put anything else on all day.
There are specific circumstances. I've spent the rest of the year listening to as much new music as possible, usually a couple of new albums a week, trying to get to know them, assess them, feel them, before moving on to the next one. I expect I needed a change from that.
I also needed to work hard. I always work hard, but for the last couple of months, I've been sitting down to write questions in a way I really needed to concentrate, and to feel calm.
Joni Mitchell, above all, seemed right for the task. I reiterate, this wasn't a deliberate attempt at reassessment or an act of penance for previous judgement, it's just what happened.
I loved Blue so much, so instantly, when I first heard it 15 years ago, but dismissed several of her other works, in the following years, almost as instantly - Clouds and Ladies of the Canyon I'd found twee, living up to the cliche of what people think Joni Mitchell is. Court and Spark and The Hissing of Summer Lawns were acclaimed, but I'd found, respectively, poppy and self-satisfied, and obscure and self-satisfied.
So in the decade and a bit in between, I've listened to Blue hundreds of times, and the rest pretty rarely. However now, whether faced with the almost certain reality that there'll never be another Joni Mitchell album, it wasn't Blue I listened to. Blue's not really background music anyway. It's pretty unignorable. I wanted music which was stimulating, which was there, but which didn't regularly delay my work patterns.
So I've been listening to all of them, all the way through. In fact, currently I'm listening to her whole career in chronological order. I'm not actually here to reassess, to say "I was wrong, they're all classics". I don't even know what I think, I've just kept listening. Well, I can tell you Hejira's a really good album. That's my one piece of assessment.
I'm currently on the 80s albums. Not sure if I'll last all the way through those ... but who didn't sound rubbish in the 80s?
I'd recommend listening to a major career in order all the way through, actually. The gradual shifting, till you suddenly find yourself listening to a whole different voice (let alone sound) to the one you started with.
Anyway, like I say, I'm not going to review the albums as such. But I did get to thinking about the Joni Mitchell/Bob Dylan thing. Crosby should be applauded, really, for smashing the patriarchy of rock criticism and daring to suggest that Joni Mitchell isn't just the greatest "female" singer-songwriter but the greatest full stop. Perhaps the idea threatens me ...so many people have told me it's Bob Dylan, could I really cope with it not being?
Well, look, to use a slightly ghastly American sports term, I'm pretty satisfied that if you put the two résumés up next to each other, Bob still wins. I'm quite sure plenty of my reverence for Dylan was a learned reverence, but I do remember it went to a whole new level when I began to listen to all those songs, those matchless songs, better than anyone else had ever written, which didn't make it onto albums - Blind Willie McTell, Lay Down Your Weary Tune, Up to Me, She's Your Lover Now, Angelina, everything on the basement tapes, the list does actually go on and on. Dylan's got more songs, just way more songs, that strike you, that mean something to me and millions of others. Joni Mitchell herself, and David Crosby, and others, of course, are sniffy about Dylan's actual musicianship, and he's said himself he's no melodist like McCartney or Wilson, but it's incredible how many sounds and styles he conquered, or even created. Joni Mitchell's career has range, certainly, and I'd guess she is technically a better singer, guitarist, melodist, arranger, producer, but the range of Dylan's career is one of its most underplayed elements.
Oh look, I'm using a blog about Joni Mitchell to talk about Bob Dylan. How annoying! and it would, I presume, annoy the shit out of her. Little vignettes emerge of the sour personal competitiveness between them - Dylan falling asleep at a playback of Court and Spark, Mitchell affronted by having to open the Rolling Thunder Revue. Perhaps she was the only one he felt threatened by, perhaps she felt she deserved the blanket reverence he received. Just conjecture, really. That is a fly-on-the-wall I'd love to have been.
Anyway, "résumé" is just one way to compare, of course. I don't happen to think Bob Dylan, for all his great albums, ever absolutely perfected it. Blood on the Tracks is close, others might see Highway 61 in those terms, or Blonde on Blonde, but I would take Blue to the desert island above any one album he ever released. There's a song on 'Don Juan's Reckless Daughter' called Paprika Plains which is 16 minutes long. As yet, I don't have space for that on my desert island.
No comments:
Post a Comment