She knew about sleepless, second-guessed yearnings for domesticity, and she knew about grandmothers kicking the doors off the hinges. Though she was just 27 when it came out, Mitchell had already done more than enough living to know how much suffering and sacrifice is required for a woman to rip up the traditional script and pursue freedom on her own terms. It is the story of a restless young woman questioning everything - love, sex, happiness, independence, drugs, America, idealism, motherhood, rock ’n’ roll - accompanied by the rootless and idiosyncratically tuned sounds she so aptly called her “chords of inquiry.” ![]() It is archetypal: The heroine’s journey that Joseph Campbell forgot to map out. Half a century later, Mitchell’s “Blue” exists in that rarefied space beyond the influential or even the canonical. “It’s like, I’d better not,” she concluded.Īnd so she left the loving comfort of her domestic life with fellow musician Graham Nash in Los Angeles’s Laurel Canyon neighborhood, booked a single plane ticket abroad and plunged into the uncharted blue - the cerulean melancholy of the album’s title track, the aquamarine shimmer of “Carey,” the frozen-over lazuline of “River” - all the while staining her hands with the indigo ink of poetic observation and relentless self-examination. ![]() “And I thought,” Mitchell continued, “maybe I am the one that got the gene that has to make it happen for these two women.” If she stayed put, she might end up kicking the door off the hinges, too.
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