It would not be overstatement to claim there had never been a record quite like ‘Blue‘ – and with only ‘Blood on the Tracks‘ or ‘The Pretender‘ (Jackson Browne, 1976), as the only workable exceptions, not one since to match it for biographical immediacy or personal poignancy.
27-years-old when it was released in June 1971, on ‘Blue‘ Joni Mitchell explored the human condition relating to relationships and romantic dilemmas in such a poetic, revelatory way, she later described it as ‘probably the purest emotional record that I will ever make in my life’ – that comment alone setting her fourth album apart from just about every other in creation.
Comprising of ten self-written songs, composed by the artist on either piano or acoustic guitar, these pieces are remarkable for their emotional resonance be they achingly sad or astounding in terms of vivid impressionism – closing track ‘The Last Time I Saw Richard‘ breathtaking in its evocation – Mitchell throughout exposing her soul in the name of artistic honesty.
While ‘Blue‘ climbed high on the U.K. (3) and U.S. (15) charts in constituting her commercial breakthrough, the ensuing wealth, not to mention critical reaction encompassing every superlative in the book, also had the effect of creating a sense of disconnect in aspects of Mitchell’s life.
Love affairs collapsed (Joni dating and subsequently breaking with fellow songsmiths James Taylor and Jackson Browne within the space of 12 months), the often disconcerting nature of public adulation, combined with the exploitative nature of the business she was in, served to make Mitchell wary of the industrial process of creating an album, then playing concerts to expose the work even further – something to which she alluded in a late-80s interview with Timothy White:
‘Many a night I would be on stage and the intimacy of those (‘Blue‘) songs, against the raucousness of this huge beast that is the audience felt very weird‘ remarked Mitchell, adding, ‘I was not David to that Goliath.‘
She went further in the 2003 biographical documentary ‘A Woman of Heart and Mind,’ in recalling:
‘The idea of people at my knees was just horrifying. Fame made me really nervous and uncomfortable. So I isolated myself. I was going down and with that came a tremendous sense of knowing nothing.’
The isolation referred to manifested in selling her home in the L.A. singer-songwriter enclave of Laurel Canyon and retreating to the sunshine coast of British Columbia in her native Canada. Taking a ten-month sabbatical that consisted of ‘reading nearly every psychology book I could get my hands on, then throwing them all against the wall‘, this period was also spent formulating a musical response to the widespread attention ‘Blue‘ had thrust upon her.
Mitchell set about airing misgivings at the machinations of the music business, particularly in the title track among the dozen songs that would constitute her fifth album, ‘FOR THE ROSES‘ (November 1972).
Which is not to say the record does not contain some deeply resonant ruminations on love lost to incompatibility or need for independence, in this regard ‘Lesson in Survival‘ and ‘Woman of Heart and Mind’, stand among the most striking songs Mitchell has ever written, which is saying something. But as a recurring theme Joni wants to be judged by what is heard in the grooves rather than the office of a record company executive or concert hall in Chicago.
Her often barbed observations, frequently of a questioning nature are immediately to the fore, opening track ‘Banquet‘ a forceful piece that bristles with indignation. To the accompaniment of strident piano chords she plays with decisive intent, Mitchell uses the title as metaphor for an actual seaside feast to which she has been invited, (‘I took my share down by the sea/Paper plates and Javex bottles on the tide/Seagulls come down and they squawk at me/Down where the water skiers glide’), but also an allusion to the world at large, ruminating on how there can still be have and have nots with so much to go around:
‘Some get the gravy/And some get the gristle/Some get the marrow bone and some get nothing/Though there’s plenty to spare.’
In making a point about social inequality, (‘Who let the greedy in/And who left the needy out‘), she also takes a broad swipe at the shallow nature of the L.A. music scene, other guests at the banquet perhaps, (‘Some turn to Jesus/And some turn to heroin‘), whose number may include Taylor who was addicted to the drug during the course of their love affair – something she conjures with graphic detail in the haunting ‘Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire.’
Built upon a shuffling acoustic guitar motif and decorated with the tenor saxophone of Tom Scott, the engaging melody cannot disguise the disconcerting scenes witnessed by one in close proximity to a user.
Into the narrative are inserted instances of dodging police on the beat, padlocked pawnshops and clandestine fire escape purchases, the act itself depicted as ‘Sparks fly up from Sweet Fire/Black soot of Lady Release,’ while the aftermath brings the chilling vision of ‘Red water in the bathroom sink/Fever and the scum brown bowl.’
Writing from a similar perspective as she had done on the captivating ‘For Free‘ from ‘Ladies of the Canyon’ (1970), Mitchell creates imagery from an episode while touring on the evocative ‘Barangrill.’
With its light jazz inflections, she observes ‘Three waitresses all wearing black diamond earrings/Talking about zombies and Singapore slings,’ their simple preoccupations contrasting with her conflicted outlook, ‘No trouble in their faces, not one anxious voice/None of the crazy you get from too much choice.’
At times Mitchell appears envious of the seemingly straightforward nature of their existence, reading the thoughts of one waitress as ‘Ah, her mind’s on her boyfriend.’ She also takes note of ‘The guy at the gas pumps’ who ‘Makes up his own tune right on the spot/About whitewalls and windshields/And the job he’s got‘, this perceived normalcy in how they appear to live, juxtaposed against how self-absorbed Mitchell feels she has become.
With the deeply moving ‘Let the Wind Carry Me‘ the writer shifts her focus to reflect upon differing relationships with each of her parents, this affecting piano ballad enhanced by subtle strings and delicate tenor sax refrain.
The difference in their approach to parenting is evident in the couplet, ‘Mama thinks she spoilt me/Papa knows somehow he set me free‘, their respective roles evoked in contrasting terms:
‘She don’t like my kick pleat skirt/She don’t like my eyelids painted green/She don’t like me staying up late/In my high-heeled shoes/Living for that rock ‘n’ roll dancing scene/Papa says “Leave the girl alone, mother/She’s looking like a movie queen.’
There is a strong sense, however, that rather than compiling a list of criticisms aimed at her mother, Mitchell is acknowledging the generational differences that exist between them. On occasion the composer considers living a more conventional life akin to the one she was raised in (‘Sometimes I get that feeling/And I want to settle/And raise a child up with somebody’), only for wanderlust to again take hold, (‘But it passes like the summer/I’m a wild seed again/Let the wind carry me‘).
Mitchell brings a bittersweet tone bear on ‘Blonde in the Bleachers‘ where she contemplates relationships in the rock world be they with male artists or between the (male) star and audience, the naïve – such as her – inhabiting a twilight zone in either.
Against the melodic, jazz-folk tones, led by Mitchell on piano, she sounds neither condescending or vindicative, just resigned to the vanity involved:
‘The bands and the roadies/Lovin’ ’em and leavin’ ’em/It’s pleasure to try ’em/It’s trouble to keep ’em/’Cause it seems like you’ve gotta give up/Such a piece of your soul/When you give up the chase.’
As the track draws to a conclusion she refuses to be judgmental about those seeking attention from members of rock bands, in fact offers words of caution to any perspective blonde in bleachers, (‘You can’t hold the hand/Of a rock ‘n’ roll man/Very long’), just as one high profile member of their set makes his entrance – Stephen Stills offering up some sinewy electric guitar lines as Mitchell makes further cautionary comments aimed at those with designs on entering the fray:
‘(You can’t) count on your plans/With a rock ‘n’ roll man/Very long/Compete with the fans/For your rock ‘n’ roll man/For very long/The girls and the bands/And the rock ‘n’ roll man.’
Punctuating ‘For the Roses’ are songs where Mitchell is found in a self-analytical frame of mind, ‘Lesson in Survival’ and ‘Woman of Heart and Mind’ having the effect of allowing those listening to eavesdrop into a conversation about a relationship (possibly the same one), that for one reason or another has fallen by the wayside.
On the former Joni takes to the piano as she dissects the means that brought things to an end, (‘Your friends protect you/Scrutinize me/I get so damn timid/Not at all the spirit/That’s inside of me’). The narrator goes on to recall an episode when she arrived home late after spending time with a friend, her explanation for the late hour return ‘seemed to darken him‘, the listener taken into confidence as Mitchell explains:
‘I came in as bright/As a neon light/And I burned out/Right there before him/I told him these things/I’m telling you now/Watched them buckle up/In his brow.’
With the latter she gently strums an acoustic guitar and with understated percussion for support sifts through the debris (no pun intended, this being the song where she drops an F-bomb), of a romance now in ruinous condition.
The lyric leaves little room for doubt she is attuned to his contrivances, ‘I am a woman of heart and mind/With time on her hands/No child to raise/You come to me like a little boy/And I give you my scorn and my praise,’ and also condescension, ‘You criticize and you flatter/You imitate the best/And the rest you memorize.’ Yet in the final lines she does at least find a redeeming feature, ‘You know the times you impress me most/Are the times when you don’t try.’
The reflective mood continues on ‘See You Sometime‘, a touching if unsentimental glance back at a romantic entanglement, Mitchell balancing the present against the past (‘Where are you now/Are you in some hotel room/Does it have a view?/Are you caught in a crowd/Or holding some honey/Who came on to you?)
Laying out her reminisces from the piano, she states her current mindset with no trace of regret, (‘I’m not ready to/Change my name again/But you know I’m not after/A piece of your fortune/And your fame’), speculation the song was about former beau Graham Nash increasing when three years later he contributed a song entitled ‘Mama Lion‘ to his 1975 ‘Wind on the Water‘ duet album with David Crosby – this after Joni had here written the line, ‘I spring from the boulders like a mama lion.’
Drawing a parallel between the power force and emotional interaction of men and women, ‘Electricity‘ finds Mitchell on acoustic guitar, casting light, so to speak, on how both are subject to positive and negative charges:
‘We once loved together/And we floodlit that time/Input output electricity/But the lines overloaded/And the sparks started flying/And the loose wires’/Were lashing out at me.’
Intriguing rather than inspirational, it is quite likely a song Rolling Stone magazine were alluding to in their review of the album, describing her lyricism as ‘occasionally ponderous’ the ‘electric’ analogy at times stretched too far for its own good.
Aside from the self-help manuals Mitchell had digested during near year-long withdrawal from prominence, she also read a biography of Beethoven which subsequently provided inspiration for ‘Judgement of the Moon and Stars‘ (Ludwig’s Tune). The closing cut and at just over five minutes the longest on the record, in his struggles with insecurity (exacerbated by deafness), Mitchell recognised similar issues of self-doubt that confronted her. The piano-based eulogy is an illuminating piece of writing, the candid lines, ‘They’re going to aim the hoses on you/Show ’em you won’t expire/Not till you burn up every passion’, having resonance for the lives of both composers.
Despite ‘Blue‘ being a resounding success on every level, it had increased her disenchantment with Reprise records, moving Mitchell to relinquish ties with them in order to sign for Asylum, a fledging company (Jackson Browne and the Eagles already finding a home there), recently founded by her former agent David Geffen.
It was his wish Mitchell’s first release on the label should incorporate a hit single (‘Blue‘ not containing any), she taking the hint and aware airplay was the name of the game, came up with the charming ‘You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio.’
An altogether cheery affair, she takes delight in amusing herself, as much as anyone, with the jocular word play, Joni taking the role of transistor in transmitting affection to her lover, ‘I’m a broadcasting tower/Waving for you/And I’m sending you out/This signal here/I hope you can pick it up/Loud and clear.’
Recorded initially with input from an all-star cast, the guitar parts of Neil Young and David Crosby failed to make the final edit of producer Henry Lewy, who retained the harmonica part of the aforementioned Nash to emphasise the folk-rock tone. While Joni has gentle fun at the expense of DJ’s everywhere, ‘Call me at the station/The lines are open,’ the record still reached number 25 on the U.S. singles chart.
There is however, no such joviality on the title track. Sequenced at the end of side one, this a stark appraisal of what is gained – and more pertinently lost – in attaining fame.
Literally and metaphorically speaking, Mitchell and her acoustic guitar have journeyed a great distance, years that encompass long ago times of innocence, (‘Remember the days when you used to sit/And make up your tunes for love/And pour your simple sorrow/To the sound hole and your knee‘), through to her current disaffected outlook:
‘Now you’re seen/On giant screens/And at parties for the press/And for people who have slices of you/From the company/They toss around your latest golden egg.‘
Mitchell was equally forthright when giving a brief explanation of the title on once introducing the song in concert, ‘For the Roses‘ referring to the Kentucky Derby horse race.
‘You take this horse and he comes charging to the finish line and they throw a wreath around his neck. Then one day they take him out and shoot him.‘
Solemn stuff.
But rather than take a headfirst plunge into a pool of cynicism and self-pity, she remains rueful about the nature of stardom, conscious there is a fine line between gratitude and grumbling, ‘I guess I seem ungrateful/With my teeth sunk in the hand/That brings me things/I really can’t give up just yet – also aware acclaim and attention can be fleeting bedfellows anyway, ‘Just when you’re getting a taste for worship/ They start bringing out the hammers/And the boards/And the nails.’
By way of irony and despite a slew of complimentary reviews, ‘For the Roses‘ failed to chart in the U.K., the British record buying public collectively respecting her wish to remain out of the spotlight by avoiding the album in droves, this a peculiar turn of events in the wake of ‘Blue‘ generating such vast interest.
It was, however, a different story in the U.S. (where overall it was also rapturously received), a high position of 11 on Stateside listings, the best showing of any of her five albums to date.
Indeed, ‘For the Roses‘ duly became looked upon as the last page in the first chapter of her recording career. Mitchell, while maintaining a sublime turn of phrase, moved toward jazz orientations, (playing with musicians versed in the form), on her next set, the audacious ‘Court and Spark‘ (1974). It proved exceptional and experimental at the same time, but honed in different territory than her proceeding records.
All of which just left the question of the inner sleeve of ‘For the Roses‘ where Joni is photographed naked, from the rear. Was it a statement to somebody or sign off to Reprise? Or was Mitchell now bearing her body as well as her soul in the name of art?
Shot from a distance it was tastefully done – appropriate therefore for the album contained within.
JONI MITCHELL – FOR THE ROSES (Released November 21 1972):
Banquet/Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire/Barangrill/Lesson in Survival/Let the Wind Carry Me/For the Roses/See You Sometime/Electricity/You Turn Me On, I’m A Radio/Women of Heart and Mind/Judgement of the Moon and Stars (Ludwig’s Tune);
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