Cussing out an entire audience of City University of New York students and throwing a cat out for pissing on her canvases may not be what you think of when you consider Joni Mitchell. You might recall an idealistic, ditsy ’60s flower child, or an inflammatory iconoclast deriding her peers or even her surprising appearance at the Newport Folk Festival 53 years after last performing there. Or, like author Henry Alford in “I Dream of Joni: A Portrait of Joni Mitchell in 53 Snapshots,” you may consider all of the above.
In his episodic, anecdotal biography of the legendary folk singer, pulled from every avenue possible (except the woman herself), Alford unveils new insight into Mitchell’s private life. Through 53 chapters of non-chronological events, speculation and interviews, readers discover new insight into the interior life of one of the greatest living artists, revealing a woman who defies any categorization.
Alford tends to lean into and obey Mitchell’s greatness, meticulously piecing together the life of a figure who clearly holds immense importance to him. Yet, this biography never fully worships Mitchell, as the author tempers his respect for a complicated artist by discussing her own shortcomings and inadequacies. What could easily become 300 pages of gushing over his idol is instead a deeply enjoyable portrait of a contradictory genius.
The most interesting aspect of this book as a portrait of Mitchell is its structure. As far as portraits go, it is perhaps closest to a Pablo Picasso piece, one where we see 10 different angles of a face simultaneously. A chapter may begin in 1961, the next may start in 2003 and the following might discuss her troubles in the ’80s. Anecdotes will begin with people and events far from Mitchell, eventually tying back to her life to reveal a new way in which she interacts with the world. This porous structure creates a more holistic understanding of Mitchell beyond her music.
Chapters are often bolstered by the excitement of seeing names we know: James Taylor, Neil Young, David Crosby and so on. Depending on one’s appreciation of ’70s rock, these cameos may become repetitive. Alford certainly leans on hippie-era nostalgia, hung up on the legends and mythos around this zeitgeist. Still, this treatment of the subject matter is expected for any biographies of her contemporaries.
Mitchell naturally draws comparisons to other greats such as Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen as a morally unwavering artist who drastically changed the soundscape of popular music. However, this contrast is often brought up with the presumption that these men were the founding fathers of folk rather than mutual influences with Mitchell. In his book, Alford highlights one key exchange between Mitchell and Larry “Ratso” Sloman, a writer chronicling the Rolling Thunder Revue tour who echoed the misogynistic disregard she has faced throughout her career. When Ratso tells Mitchell that she is limited by the fact that she can only write from “a female’s perspective,” she retorts that he’s “missing the meat of what I do by putting me into a category.” This tension is the heart of the biography: that no one can ever truly grasp Joni Mitchell. We are looking at her through a cracked lens — cracked by bias, jealousy and awe.
Alford himself is guilty of the latter but balances this idolization with glimpses into Mitchell’s humility and earnestness. In one particularly striking anecdote, Mitchell tells a starry-eyed fan not to be romantic about the ’60s: “We failed.” It’s refreshing to read a musical biography that avoids the messianic role so often placed upon singer-songwriters. That being said, Alford never shies away from Mitchell’s reputation as a legend. It would be impossible not to address her timeless discography (which has earned her 12 Grammys), innovative genre-bending (from jazz to classical to African drumming) and deep cultural impact (inspiring a scene from “Love Actually,” Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “Our House” and Taylor Swift’s Red).
Alford excels in his exploration of her genius. He takes on many competing theories of why Mitchell appeals to us so deeply, sourcing everyone from researchers in neuroscience to his own experience as a closeted teen crying to Blue. The biography highlights a common feeling among Mitchell fans that she is singing directly to each listener, condensing and expressing our most complicated emotions so we don’t have to — as one fan put it: “Before Prozac, there was (Joni).” Alford proposes that due to her unrelenting candor and vulnerability, people are drawn to her cathartic music — yet this has led to her categorization as a weepy songstress, entirely missing the nuance of her works.
This biography constantly reminds the reader that Mitchell is fundamentally misunderstood by fans and critics alike. Alford admits that while this book may help to unravel the mystery, there is no solution to not knowing this woman. Even her lush, emotionally wrought albums about the abandonment of her daughter, bouts of extreme loneliness and lost loves fail to contain Mitchell’s multitudes. Thus, Alford turns to unconventional methods of storytelling to reveal her complexities. Chapters include tracking the punctuation of her songs, listing her estranged daughter’s Facebook posts and a chronological compilation of every time Judy Collins mentioned the creation of “Both Sides Now.” The effect of this is initially confusing but becomes an integral part of the tapestry being weaved as one reads on.
Here, Mitchell comes across not as another gargantuan folk star but as a multifaceted and flawed artist whose surprising wit and humor shine through the shadow of her monumental career. Alford’s “I Dream of Joni” is a winding exploration of an ever-changing woman constantly redefining herself. This unique look into the personal background of some of her highly publicized life reveals the paradox that is Joni Mitchell.
Daily Arts Contributor Lorenzo Norbis can be reached at lnorbis@umich.edu.
