Joni Mitchell almost quit the music indus­try in 1996, two years after releas­ing what crit­ics called her best album since the 70s, 1994’s Tur­bu­lent Indi­go. “I was in a los­ing fight with a busi­ness that basi­cal­ly, you know, was treat­ing me like an also-ran or a has-been, even though I was still doing good work,” she told an inter­view­er at the time. “Every­thing about the busi­ness dis­gust­ed me.”

But show busi­ness has nev­er real­ly been about the show or the busi­ness for Mitchell. From her deeply per­son­al song­writ­ing to her vocal vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty, she imbues her music with the deep­est parts of her­self. Then there’s her bril­liant­ly idio­syn­crat­ic gui­tar play­ing. “Her gui­tar does­n’t real­ly sound like a gui­tar,” Jef­frey Pep­per Rodgers writes at Acoustic Gui­tar. “The tre­ble strings become a cool-jazz horn sec­tion; the bass snaps out of syn­co­pa­tions like a snare drum; the notes ring out in clus­ters that sim­ply don’t come out of a nor­mal six-string.”

Mitchell “mas­tered the idea that she could tune the gui­tar any way she want­ed,” says David Cros­by. She tuned to “the num­bers in a date… a piece of music that I liked on the radio,” she says. “I’d tune to bird­songs and the land­scape I was sit­ting in.” Try­ing to dupli­cate Mitchel­l’s tun­ings is typ­i­cal­ly a fool’s errand; even she for­gets them. But “Joni’s weird chords,” as she says, are indis­pens­able to her sound. (She also says she’s only writ­ten two songs — one of them her first — in stan­dard tun­ing.)

In 1996, a dig­i­tal gui­tar ped­al that emu­lat­ed her tun­ings and allowed a greater range of sym­phon­ic tones brought her back to the stage. Or, to put it anoth­er way — what brought her back to music was the gui­tar, which is exact­ly what brought her back to the stage at this year’s New­port Folk Fes­ti­val — play­ing her first live set in 20 years after suf­fer­ing a brain aneurysm in 2015. (She last played New­port 53 years ago in 1969.) Noth­ing keeps Joni down for long.

In this case, how­ev­er, Mitchell did­n’t just for­get her tun­ings after her ill­ness. She for­got how to play the gui­tar alto­geth­er. She had to teach her­self again by watch­ing videos of her play­ing online. “I’m learn­ing,” she says in the CBS inter­view at the top. “I’m look­ing at videos that are on the net, to see where to put my fin­gers. It’s amaz­ing… when you have an aneurysm, you don’t know how to get into a chair. You don’t know how to get out of bed. You have to learn all these things again. You’re going back to infan­cy, almost.”

She’s come a long way since 2015, when she could nei­ther speak nor walk, “much less play the gui­tar,” notes NPR. “To be able to recov­er to the point of being able to per­form as a musi­cian is real­ly incred­i­ble,” says Dr. Antho­ny Wang, a neu­ro­sur­geon at Ronald Regan UCLA Hos­pi­tal. “Play­ing an instru­ment and vocal cord coor­di­na­tion, those sort of things are real­ly, super com­plex fine move­ments that would take a long time to relearn.” Mitchel­l’s com­mit­ment to mas­ter­ing her instru­ment again was unflag­ging.

See her above pluck out “Joni’s weird chords” on one of her Park­er Fly gui­tars in a solo sec­tion from the song “Just Like This Train” from Court & Spark. As we not­ed in an ear­li­er post, she was joined at New­port by a host of celebri­ty friends, includ­ing Bran­di Carlile, who sits with her in the CBS inter­view and con­firms the amount of “will and grit” she applied to her recov­ery. She’s sur­vived polio, per­son­al tragedy, the 60s, chain smok­ing, and a debil­i­tat­ing aneurysm: the 78-year-old liv­ing leg­end won’t be with us for­ev­er, but we might expect she’ll have a gui­tar in her hand when she final­ly makes her exit from the music busi­ness for the last time.

via NPR

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Joni Mitchell Sings “Both Sides Now” at the New­port Folk Fes­ti­val: Watch Clips from Her First Full Con­cert Since 2002

Hear Demos & Out­takes of Joni Mitchell’s Blue on the 50th Anniver­sary of the Clas­sic Album

How Joni Mitchell Wrote “Wood­stock,” the Song that Defined the Leg­endary Music Fes­ti­val, Even Though She Wasn’t There (1969)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

This week­end, the New­port Folk Fes­ti­val made head­lines when it brought out of retire­ment two music leg­ends. Paul Simon returned to the stage and per­formed “Grace­land,” “The Box­er” and “oth­er clas­sics.” But Joni Mitchell stole the show when she per­formed (with a lit­tle help from Bran­di Carlile) “Both Sides Now,” “Big Yel­low Taxi,” “Just Like This Train” and 10 oth­er songs. Mitchell suf­fered a brain aneurysm in 2015, and had­n’t per­formed a full con­cert since 2002. Hence why the show was a big deal.

Get the full back­sto­ry on the New­port per­for­mance over at NPR.

Just Like This Train

Sum­mer­time

Cir­cle Game

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Relat­ed Con­tent 

Joni Mitchell Pub­lish­es a Book of Her Rarely Seen Paint­ings & Poet­ry

Joni Mitchell Sings an Aching­ly Pret­ty Ver­sion of “Both Sides Now” on the Mama Cass TV Show (1969)

See Clas­sic Per­for­mances of Joni Mitchell from the Very Ear­ly Years–Before She Was Even Named Joni Mitchell (1965/66)

How Joni Mitchell Wrote “Wood­stock,” the Song that Defined the Leg­endary Music Fes­ti­val, Even Though She Wasn’t There (1969)

Songs by Joni Mitchell Re-Imag­ined as Pulp Fic­tion Book Cov­ers & Vin­tage Movie Posters

For Gen X’ers who spent their twen­ties scout­ing the cities young peo­ple go to retire, and Mil­len­ni­als who spent their youth danc­ing to N’Sync, TLC, and the Spice Girls, nos­tal­gia for sim­pler times just makes psy­cho­log­i­cal sense. The 1990s was the last decade in which we had a shared set of ref­er­ences, “before the inter­net splin­tered mass cul­ture,” Sadie Dingfelder writes at The Wash­ing­ton Post. “In the 90s, every­one lis­tened to the same one or two radio sta­tions in their city that played all the Top 40 hits, span­ning all kinds of gen­res,” says DJ Matt Bail­er.

This means that every­one who heard “No Scrubs” enough times to sing each note also heard the Smash­ing Pump­kins’ biggest hits, and learned to love them equal­ly. It means that we could love the music of Bil­ly Cor­gan with­out being sub­ject­ed to the ter­ri­ble opin­ions of Bil­ly Cor­gan. As the baby-faced singer/songwriter aged, he has become, in his own words, a “bit­ter con­trar­i­an,” “car­ni­val bark­er,” and “class‑A heel,” he says, ref­er­enc­ing his lat­er career in pro­fes­sion­al wrestling.

The assess­ment may seem mild con­sid­er­ing Cor­gan’s appear­ances on Alex Jones’ Infowars and his embrace of con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries. Behav­ior he calls schtick has actu­al con­se­quences in the world. Has it hurt his career? “If I kept my mouth shut,” he admits in dis­cussing the band’s 2018 reunion, “we’d be play­ing a lot big­ger venues and we would be a lot more suc­cess­ful, and we’d be in some­body’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.” Love or hate Cor­gan, Smash­ing Pump­kins as a unit earned their place in rock and roll his­to­ry.

The Pump­kins exud­ed mys­tery from the start, with their sub­lime, fuzzed-out psy­che­del­ic melodies and huge, dis­tort­ed cho­rus­es. Lat­er came the dream­like videos and opaque, impas­sive rock star egos. They did­n’t just make it big in the 90s, they were essen­tial to its sound, one they invent­ed even before the decade dawned. See a young, cheru­bic Cor­gan and band debut above on The Pulse, a Chica­go pub­lic access music show, in 1988, in a video and audio upscal­ing and remas­ter.

It was their first tele­vised appear­ance, drum­mer Jim­my Cham­ber­lain had just joined, and they were booked for a seg­ment for local bands called “The Base­ment Jam” after send­ing in their demo tape. The show’s pro­duc­er Lou Hinkhouse intro­duces the TV gig, sum­ming up his feel­ings at that time: “None of us that day real­ly knew for sure, but we knew they were on to some­thing.… they’re about to define a new sound for a new gen­er­a­tion.” How right he was. See the track­list for the most­ly-unfa­mil­iar songs in the set just below.

1. There lt Goes 1:54 2. She-7:37 3. Under Your Spell -11:47 4. My Eter­ni­ty -17:06 5. Bleed 26:44 6. Noth­ing And Every­thing — 32:10 7. Jen­nifer Ever 42:14 8. Death Of A Mind (Sun) — 49:03 9. Spite­face — 55:44

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Watch Nir­vana Per­form as an Open­ing Band, Two Years Before Their Break­out Album Nev­er­mind (1989)

Bil­ly Cor­gan Per­forms an 8+ Hour Ambi­ent Inter­pre­ta­tion of Her­man Hesse’s Sid­dhartha

The 120 Min­utes Archive Com­piles Clips & Playlists from 956 Episodes of MTV’s Alter­na­tive Music Show (1986–2013)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

It’s near­ly impos­si­ble to com­mu­ni­cate musi­cian­ship in words, though there are rare, suc­cess­ful lit­er­ary attempts by greats like James Bald­win, Jack Ker­ouac, and jazz crit­ic Ira Gitler, whose phrase “sheets of sound” so well cap­tured the expe­ri­ence of Coltrane’s impro­vi­sa­tion­al style in the late 50s. Maybe the free move­ments of jazz are eas­i­er to write about than oth­er forms.…

When it comes to recent­ly depart­ed funk/pop/rock/R&B great Prince, it feels like there’s enough writ­ten about his prodi­gious tal­ent that it begins to sound like over­praise. The most inter­est­ing trib­utes come from fel­low musi­cians. Yet even their com­ments seem exag­ger­at­ed.

Prince “played every­thing,” said Ste­vie Won­der soon after the Pur­ple One’s sud­den death – every style, every instru­ment – which seems like an impos­si­ble feat until you read the notes for his debut album and real­ize that, yes, he did play every­thing, before he hit 20… and lis­ten to the full range of his out­put to see that, yes, he “could play clas­si­cal music if he want­ed to,” as Won­der said. “He could play jazz if he want­ed to….”

Prince’s drum­mer Han­nah Wel­ton, who joined him in 2012, had sim­i­lar­ly overblow-sound­ing praise, say­ing in a recent drum instruc­tion video, “I don’t know that I ever heard an off note.” Every­one has an off day some­time, right? Too lit­tle sleep, a head cold, too much to drink… or what­ev­er…. No musi­cian could always be a hun­dred per­cent on, could they?

Lis­ten­ing to the funk/jazz jam ses­sions above record­ed in 1977, when Prince was only 19 and on the thresh­old of releas­ing his first stu­dio album, I’m inclined to cast off any remain­ing doubt that he was as untouch­ably dis­ci­plined and tal­ent­ed a musi­cian as they say all of the time, even in behind-the-scenes rehearsals and jam ses­sions when, as Wel­ton jokes, he seemed more inter­est­ed in play­ing ping pong. If any­one embod­ied genius…

But there is a prob­lem with that word (a word leg­endary music teacher Nadia Boulanger and one­time Quin­cy Jones men­tor dis­liked). Prince might agree. Musi­cal greats come out of great musi­cal com­mu­ni­ties. Prince may have been the most pro­fi­cient mul­ti-instru­men­tal­ist of his time, but he con­sis­tent­ly played with those who had no trou­ble keep­ing up with him, includ­ing ear­ly bass play­er André Cymone and long­time Rev­o­lu­tion drum­mer Bob­by Z.

Cymone and Z joined Prince in the Lor­ing Park rehearsal room of Owen Hus­ney, Prince’s first man­ag­er, to record these impromp­tu ses­sions. They are indeed “a must-lis­ten for any fan!,” as Live for Live Music writes, and any­one else. “These eight instru­men­tal tracks sound more like well-craft­ed com­po­si­tions rather than the impro­vised jams that they are.” Prince, of course, switch­es up instru­ments, play­ing keys, gui­tar and bass and drums at times.

That it’s hard to tell when he’s play­ing what speaks not only to his own prowess but to that of his fel­low musi­cians. As Bob­by Z says in an inter­view for the Gram­mys, the biggest mis­un­der­stand­ing about Prince is “that he wasn’t human. That he was this myth­i­cal, immor­tal char­ac­ter. In the ear­ly days, he was a band mem­ber. He was the leader, of course, but he had to be in a band.” He was vocal in inter­views about how play­ing with the hottest musi­cians in Min­neapo­lis as a teenag­er gave him his ear­ly train­ing.

Prince learned as much from oth­ers as they learned from him, says Z, soak­ing up every­thing he heard. “He was a fan. He loved being impressed by songs. He loved music. He loved oth­er people’s tal­ent.” But at the same time, he was still Prince, a rare tal­ent with­out real equal. The Lor­ing Park ses­sions may fea­ture “instru­men­tals only,” notes Okay­play­er, glanc­ing at Prince’s com­po­si­tion­al bril­liance and show­ing off none of his vocal chops. Nonethe­less, “it’s an inti­mate and ter­ri­bly funky lens into P’s pro­fi­cien­cy on damn-near every instru­ment,” before he’d even begun “his path to bonafide star­dom.”

via Live for Live Music

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch a New Director’s Cut of Prince’s Blis­ter­ing “While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps” Gui­tar Solo (2004)

The Lit­tle Prince: Footage Gets Unearthed Of the Pop Star at Age 11

What’s It Like Drum­ming For Prince?: Drum­mer Han­nah Wel­ton Describes the Genius of His Musi­cian­ship

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness