Poetry and Paintbrushes

by Iain Blair
Rock Express
May 1988

Two muses tug at Joni Mitchell's sleeves. After 20 years devotion to one, the solitude of the painter's easel is beckoning strongly. Is retirement in the works?

The good news is that Joni Mitchell is back. After the less than enthusiastic response, from critics and public alike, to her last album, the bleak and caustic Dog Eat Dog, her latest album, Chalk Mark In A Rain Storm, looks certain to put the singer/songwriter back on top where she belongs.

The bad news is that Joni Mitchell may not be back for long. Now somewhere in her mid-40s, and after a 20-year career that has spawned such classics as Court And Spark, The Hissing Of Summer Lawns, Hejira and Mingus, she may be ready to call it a day.

Of course she's been fighting an uneasy battle with fame for most of those 20 years, and has been threatening to retire to her oils and brushes for most of the past decade. But it's been over five years since she last toured, and with no such plans in the works, she may indeed be serious this time.

Serious or not, Joni Mitchell - in her manager's office and looking stylish and relaxed—is more than happy to discuss her new record, the effects of criticism, the role of prophecy in her muse, and her (possible) future plans.

Rock Express: Chalk Mark In A Rain Storm is a beautifully crafted album that charts some familiar Mitchell territory while radiating as much optimism as angst. It sounds like your strongest album in a while. Would you agree? And do you see peaks and valleys in your own work?

Joni: Well, I'm pleased with the way it's turned out, and I do feel this album is easier for people to get into than any record I've made in a while, that it's more accessible. Why? I'm not sure. I don't view my work as some records being 'better' or 'worse' than others. I just see them as a natural fluid progression in my restless pursuit of perfection (laughs). It's more a case of correcting what I feel are my mistakes, not necessarily what was criticized by the press or whatever.

Are you referring to your last album, Dog Eat Dog, which wasn't very well received?

Yes, and a lot of the criticism of that record I just didn't share. It was definitely perceived as a largely negative LP —you only learn how the public reacts over a period of time, with people coming up to you in restaurants or wherever. What you do hear instantly, however, is the critical reaction, and you go from the enthusiasm of completing the project to being deluged by all that criticism. It can be brutal.

Do you pay much attention to critics?

Of course, because you put something out in the world and you want some feedback. But in the '80s, it's fashionable to be nasty and ignorant for its own sake, and I find that very depressing and exasperating, like watching your children get beaten up at school by thick-headed bullies.

A lot of criticism is incredibly irresponsible—those wounds and barbs can ruin an artist and make him impotent. The critics nearly killed Miles Davis, and Miles is a tough one. But he finally just had enough and retired from it. That's my impression, anyway. No matter what he did, however adventuresome he was, they kept comparing everything to his early work. They just couldn't get past it.

Do you feel the same pressure? That everyone wants another Court And Spark or Don Juan's Reckless Daughter?

Yes. They just wouldn't look at Dog Eat Dog or give it a fair chance. Ironically, there's a line in that album that comments exactly on that, "Nothing is savored long enough to understand it." The album was extremely prophetic in that sense. People always resent it when you leave the familiar behind, just when they're getting used to it.

And yet, Chalk Mark In A Rain Storm does seem closer to your earlier work, particularly in its sound.

Well, you're right in the sense that after recording Dog Eat Dog I couldn't face another project without seeing some real live musicians on the other side of the glass. I specifically set out to get a much more live rhythm section, and mix real instruments with electronic sounds instead of going all the way with programming synthesizers and drum machines.

Where did you record?

I started recording in England— more by accident than design—as my husband (Larry Klein) was over there producing Ben Orr from The Cars. I was busy with my painting, but then Peter Gabriel offered me the use of his home studio if I wanted to mess around, so I just began putting down ideas - that's how My Secret Place was done.

The Libyan bombing happened while we were in England, and the American fighters were launched from an airfield across the valley from Peter's studio. So, naturally, we began to feel that, if they were to retaliate, we might be a target - there was a lot of talk about war. All this happened at the same time as Chernobyl, so it was kind of spooky. Two other songs on the album came out of all that, The Beat Of Black Wings and The Tea Leaf Prophecy.

Despite such subject matter, the overall tone of this album seems lighter than that of Dog Eat Dog.

I suppose, in the sense that for that last album, the seeds of change were in the air and I could see them—and many other people could see them, not that they wanted to look at them or confront them. They thought, 'Maybe I'm just being paranoid,' and dismissed them. People were just not in the mood to look at America critically at the time Dog was released. But those seeds later exploded into major news items and issues, which two years later are common knowledge.

So artists and musicians have a responsibility to confront and examine change?

Absolutely. If they're doing their job well—being the antennae of the planet —they should be more sensitive to change, and by their very nature and predilection and interest should wade in where others fear to tread.

They should also be less fearful of depression. The average working person doesn't need depression—they've already got a tedious, mundane situation on their hands. But if I get depressed, I can still do my work. I know how to use depression. It's a matter of channeling your creative energy into your work.

Let's talk about some of the other songs on Chalk. What about Lakota, which features Don Henley on background vocals and a mesmerizing chant by Iron Eyes Cody?

From the first time I heard this track, I knew it was about Indians, though I wasn't sure why. I'm both romantic and realistic where Indians are concerned— not totally realistic as I didn't grow up on an reservation, but I'm well informed and romantically my heart goes out to them. Anyway, I wanted an Indian's approval that the chants in the background were somewhat authentic.

How I met Iron Eyes Cody is quite a strange story. I was in the studio, and I'd heard that there was going to be a pow-wow at the Santa Monica Civic Arena, and I just knew I had to go. That's unusual in itself, because I never leave a session. But fortuitously the machines went down. So I left, and when I got to the pow-wow I was introduced to Iron Eyes and ended up bringing him back to the studio.

The weird thing is that we arrived back really late—I'd promised I'd only be gone an hour—and as we walked in, the machines literally started up again! Naturally, I took all this as a very good omen. The other strange aspect is that in my enthusiasm, I just told him to sing the chant a cappella, completely forgetting about the key. But afterwards, it slotted in perfectly, so it really was meant to be.

What about the other songs on Side One?

Well, I think Number One and Dancing Clown speak for themselves. The Tea Leaf Prophecy is based on my parents' courtship, but I want to de-emphasize the inspiration for it in that I think it takes away from the theme, which is another mystery. The bombing of Libya made me think of war, my father in the service, my parents' courtship, and Hiroshima, that immense turning point in the history of the world. It's also linked to the Indian legends about a fourth world, and the fact that we stand on the brink of the end of that fourth world.

What about Side Two? You cover a couple of old songs, like Cool Water and the traditional Corrina, Corrina.

The last time I heard Cool Water I was about seven, and our neighbors were drunk, sitting on their back stoop singing it gleefully! I always liked it. Same with A Bird That Whistles, where I wrote some new lyrics.

As for the others, The Beat Of Black Wings is based on a true story; someone I'd met in the '60s was the catalyst. Snakes And Ladders is a duet between a couple, and The Reoccurring Dream is a black comedy about commercial seduction which is interesting to play for young people because they're horrified as they haven't thought about it like that before!

In addition to the usual generous helpings of (often overlooked) wry humor and uncompromising candor, the album also boasts some unlikely guest appearances by Billy Idol, Tom Petty, Peter Gabriel and Willie Nelson. How did that come about?

I just thought they'd be perfect on those songs - Billy on Dancin' Clown which is just pure fun, and Tom on the other cameo these, and later Willie Nelson on Cool Water. They were chosen for the sound of their voices.

People tend to confuse art with the artist, especially in the pop arena. So Billy is perceived as this rebellious bullying figure because that's his persona. But he's a doll and we had a great time together. I chose Tom as the other character, Jesse, because the texture of his voice is more vulnerable. And I wanted Willie because his voice is so warm and his phrasing is almost jazzy. They all worked out really well, don't you think?

You haven't toured since 1983. Have you any plans to go on the road for this album?

There's a lot of pressure and persuasion, but no commitment yet. The truth is I don't miss the road at all—I'm allergic to my own adrenaline. It's time to go some place and sit by a lake and keep myself calm.

Is painting still an important part of your life?

Very much so. I've got a new show in Tokyo coming up in late May and June which is exciting. But I don't think I'm as gifted as a painter as I am musically. The other thing is that painting is a very lonely pursuit, while music is by nature much more collaborative, even if you're a solo artist. Painters are very withholding from other painters and artists, while musicians share their enthusiasms much more openly, and we all need that. Painting is very solitary and fraught with self-doubt.

You talk about music in very visual terns. Do you ever find yourself painting a subject before turning it into a song?

In a sense, yes. Over the last few years I've been painting abstractly, so it's very like avant garde jazz. The subject matter comes after the fact in a visionary way.

Do you ever worry about your voice?

Only lately, but I think it's getting better in a way. I smoke too much, but that's given me vocal fiber, and I like my singing better on this album than almost any other I've done. I've got more grit and growl now, although I'm losing the clarity. But I don't miss it, you know.

Can you see a day when you might retire from the music business?

Funny you should ask! I've been thinking about it for a while, and I may, as soon as this contract with Geffen runs out. Seriously, why not? Nothing increases my sales—the same people buy my albums each time, whether I tour or do videos or whatever, I think I'm getting too old for the grind of touring, and my health is a bit frail.

You're probably one of these frail people who live to be 102!

Yes, and full of complaints and poking you with a cane! I'm actually looking forward to that and I already have a cane collection. As soon as I go lame, which is inevitable, I'm gonna start swinging it at people!