Catharted listener, just leave it to Joni. She rides shotgun with the muse growing closer to him the older she gets. Wisdom grows on Joni like ivy. Their distinction, however, is one of altitude. Where Newman is the social mole, dissecting the earth's underbelly, Mitchell has already clambered below.
Pleasure moves on too early and trouble leaves too slow.
The elliptic complexity of some of the lyrics on Spark speaks incisively, while her music's fresher sense may attract new converts. A visceral attraction to the sounds alone defies any discussion of art and complex lyricism. That jazz-tinted contralto swoops like feathers floating in stillness, like thick honey in your gut. When there's so much sweetness in the dark. All the familiar characteristics her continued exploration of emotional terrain and her heralded vocal dexterity form a solid base from which this album works changes.