Joni Mitchell
Turbulent Indigo

Gone are the artistic photos of her previous albums; in 1994, the American artist returns to painting her own covers, this time even putting a frame around her frowning face, hung on an indigo wall (…indigo!). Who knows if it’s a photomontage or if she actually photographed one of her own paintings already at home, clearly inspired by Van Gogh. The painter also seems to have inspired the eponymous song, placed as the fourth track, so… we’re on the right track.

Jokes aside, the important thing is that this latest work by the Canadian artist, now a naturalized Californian, is as always well worth listening to and adding to your collection. Meanwhile, her long contract with the Geffen record label has ended, and at the same time, so has her marriage to Larry Klein, who, however, remains and will remain her producer, arranger, and bassist for life. The marital crisis is naturally lived through and recounted on the album, particularly in the track “Last Chance Lost.”

The fifty-year-old Mitchell of these years has long since perfected, and now fully masters, her unique compositional style, plucking her guitar while alternating a pair of sophisticated chords, her voice swimming freely above, doing as it pleases, enriched by choruses and counterpoints, always provided by her own vocal cords.

This does create a certain repetitiveness, but that plucking and that vocalizing are so exquisite that she remains far above average—in fact, she’s still at the top when it comes to “female singer-songwriters.” The usual lineup of classy Los Angeles musicians provides the album with sophisticated sonorities and finely tuned instrumental interventions—never crowding out the leading lady.

I’m intrigued by a cover of James Brown (!) entitled “How Do You Stop”—naturally transformed—and of course the aforementioned “Last Chance Lost,” built on the heavy chords of her guitar, dropped lower than ever before, seeking gloom and sadness, certainly a reflection of her current emotional state. Also masterful is the piano-driven “Not to Blame,” which bitingly narrates a certain male violence against women.

Yet it’s still the acoustic guitar that dominates the arrangements, just as it did in the previous “Night Ride Home.” But here, the songwriting is even stronger, despite the particular melancholy of the moment.

The extraordinary final track “The Sire of Sorrow”: great humanitarian words, Wayne Shorter’s stunning saxophone cutting through the high notes in ways that hurt, following the lyrics. Seven full minutes of a bitter and pessimistic Joni laying herself bare once again, letting her many voices converse for our reflection and our pleasure.

My gratitude for this artist is infinite, and I still find myself deeply moved, time and again, when I listen to these profound pieces of the highest inspiration, mastery, and human communication.