Reckless Daughter
Joni Mitchell is dying. I think this to myself at least once a day, as if she were my aged mother or an old aunt that I worry about from a detached, guilty distance. It's not so odd, really, if you know about my childhood. I was a kid who spent a lot of time entertaining myself. My parents were young--not bad parents, but busy and probably overly confident in my capacity to deal with my child's life with a maturity they presumed in me that I did not have. Picture a five-year-old being treated like a small adult. There were parts of it that were amazing...being included in conversations about space, science, writing, art, politics...all sorts of things that my folks were interested in at the time. My brother and I never had a babysitter because that was me--the little mama from the start, being taken along to take care of him. We got to go to places and do things that were magical.
The downside was that when the fairly short attention span my young parents had for their daughter ran its course, I was simply an afterthought much of the time. I used to pretend to myself that Joni Mitchell was my mother. I would put her records on and listen to her voice for hours. I would sit and sing the words along with her, pretending we were riding in a car together or sitting in a cafe talking about important things. I can still sing almost every song she ever wrote. Her music became my reassurance. It made me feel soothed and excited all at once, hinting to me in language I was too young to really understand that there were adventures out there waiting for me. Even as a teenager and into young adulthood when I gravitated to much more punk and hardcore stuff, I would still listen to her just like I did when I was a little girl. Her voice was what I cried to when someone hurt me, or when I was simply longing for something better...something different than what I had. She raised me in ways that my own parents never did and I loved her as much as if she were a real member of my own family. I still love the idea of her with that deep imprinted little girl love that never leaves us.
I saw her in a hotel bar in Santa Fe years ago when I was probably twenty or so. I was too shy to bother her, fearful that she would be upset with me or shoo me away. I have no regrets at simply admiring her from afar...everything I've read about her over the years makes me worry that she would have broken my heart had I tried to speak to her. She seems like a very difficult person--with all sorts of unfortunate flaws that make me cringe when I read about them. Still, I find it sort of sweet that my pretend mom is now almost an embarrassment to me...that she has revealed herself to be imperfect and frail as she ages. I doubt that she'd give two shits to know how she had a hand in the person I became. That's okay too. She doesn't need to know for it to have mattered to me. I still listen to her music almost every day. I became brave enough long ago to set out for all those distant horizons that her music whispered of to me. Her songs are woven into the woman I am now.
My favorite album of hers is Don Juan's Reckless Daughter. I love everything about it and if I were to pick one of her albums that could easily be a soundtrack for my life, it would be this one. Even as the horrible blackface Joni on the album cover makes me shake my head and groan, I can never get enough of the music.
I am going to be sad when she dies. Another piece of my own existence falling away. I don't know that she's going anytime soon. She's had some serious health issues the last few years but I really don't keep up that closely. I hope that she has a soft, peaceful journey off the planet when that time comes. Even death seems not much more than another place to go when I think about it within the framework of this album...another place that I will eventually go to myself with my pretend mom's music in my head.
The downside was that when the fairly short attention span my young parents had for their daughter ran its course, I was simply an afterthought much of the time. I used to pretend to myself that Joni Mitchell was my mother. I would put her records on and listen to her voice for hours. I would sit and sing the words along with her, pretending we were riding in a car together or sitting in a cafe talking about important things. I can still sing almost every song she ever wrote. Her music became my reassurance. It made me feel soothed and excited all at once, hinting to me in language I was too young to really understand that there were adventures out there waiting for me. Even as a teenager and into young adulthood when I gravitated to much more punk and hardcore stuff, I would still listen to her just like I did when I was a little girl. Her voice was what I cried to when someone hurt me, or when I was simply longing for something better...something different than what I had. She raised me in ways that my own parents never did and I loved her as much as if she were a real member of my own family. I still love the idea of her with that deep imprinted little girl love that never leaves us.
I saw her in a hotel bar in Santa Fe years ago when I was probably twenty or so. I was too shy to bother her, fearful that she would be upset with me or shoo me away. I have no regrets at simply admiring her from afar...everything I've read about her over the years makes me worry that she would have broken my heart had I tried to speak to her. She seems like a very difficult person--with all sorts of unfortunate flaws that make me cringe when I read about them. Still, I find it sort of sweet that my pretend mom is now almost an embarrassment to me...that she has revealed herself to be imperfect and frail as she ages. I doubt that she'd give two shits to know how she had a hand in the person I became. That's okay too. She doesn't need to know for it to have mattered to me. I still listen to her music almost every day. I became brave enough long ago to set out for all those distant horizons that her music whispered of to me. Her songs are woven into the woman I am now.
My favorite album of hers is Don Juan's Reckless Daughter. I love everything about it and if I were to pick one of her albums that could easily be a soundtrack for my life, it would be this one. Even as the horrible blackface Joni on the album cover makes me shake my head and groan, I can never get enough of the music.
Click to viewI am going to be sad when she dies. Another piece of my own existence falling away. I don't know that she's going anytime soon. She's had some serious health issues the last few years but I really don't keep up that closely. I hope that she has a soft, peaceful journey off the planet when that time comes. Even death seems not much more than another place to go when I think about it within the framework of this album...another place that I will eventually go to myself with my pretend mom's music in my head.