Who's frail and blonde and rocks like a bitch?

by Peter Crescenti
Sounds Magazine
March 20, 1976

JONI MITCHELL has come a long way from Laurel Canyon and the sixties. Her audience at her Nassau Coliseum show ran the gamut from her old loyalists of the early sixties -- some now married, with children, others just burned out and reaching to Joni to re-establish some contact with the good old days -- to their moms and dads, and little brothers and sisters too.

In between there somewhere sat some glittering gay trendies, who absolutely flipped over Joni's gangster black suit and wide-brim hat, and some everyday teeny-boppers who somewhere along the road to rock 'n' roll got pointed toward the likes of Joni, James Taylor and Cat Stevens, instead of Mott, Kiss, or BTO.

The show had been declared a sell-out the day of the concert, but it was no more than three-quarters full, with a huge, drooping curtain straining to conceal the empty seats which weren't sold behind the stage.

Because my tickets arrived late at the Coliseum, I saw only about twenty minutes of the L.A. Express' show-opening set. This jazz-rocking quintet are like a good, slick "B" movie -- entertaining, engaging, easily-digestible, but not overly challenging artistically.

That's not to say the band's set lacked energy or the musicians desire. The soloists -- guitarists [sic] Robben Ford, keyboardist/percussionist Victor Feldman, drummer Jon Guerin, and saxaphonist David Luell -- were ever ambitious in the spotlight, never hedging, always sharp and quick, in tune with their instruments.

Damn it if Joni didn't resemble Bowie, sliding cooly on stage in her baggy black stage gear. She looked a cross between the Young American and the "Pin-Ups" Bowie, super-slender with her padded shoulders and blonde hair tucked neatly and completely away under her sinister black hat.

A monstrosity like the Coliseum must be fed an enormous amount of amplification if the folks in the back rows are going to hear anything, and that excessive wattage unfortunately stole that tender, smooth, soothing edge from Joni's tour-weary voice, and too often blurred many of her lyrics.

Joni and the Express were several seconds into "Free Man In Paris" when she suddenly froze and stopped the entire band with her. She wasn't happy with the tone of her guitar, and the audience appreciated her gesture of wanting to get it just right for them.

Joni in kind offered up an undeniably spirited version of her most popular song this night. Her knock-out rocker, "Raised On Robbery," drew second money in crowd-rousing honours.

The predominately youngish crowd was slightly partial to Joni's electric numbers played with the Express, but acoustic (guitar and piano) numbers like "Shades Of Scarlet Conquering" and "Playing Real Good For Free" were equally appreciated. When the show did bog down on occasion, it was usually during one of the acoustic sessions.

Then she donned a Yellow Taxi cap she'd gotten from that cab company down Memphis way, and of course, crooned "Big Yellow Taxi," which had the smiling, dancing audience clapping and singing along without any request from the stage.

"Furry Sings The Blues" was one of Joni's new tunes, written about the Beale Street area of urban Memphis which is currently undergoing renovation at the expense of its musical history and culture.

The exotic frenzy of "Jungle Line" climaxed the show, a super show for Joni fanatics, and a further introduction to Joni's exclusively acoustic past for her more recent, electrified converts.