‘Shadows And Light’: Behind Joni Mitchell’s Many-Hued Live Album

The band: “I loved those records of Joni’s”

The band, comprising of jazz musicians at the top of their game, was assembled by Jaco Pastorius, the incomparable fretless bassist who had worked with Mitchell since Hejira. “I was on tour in Berlin and Jaco called me,” the guitarist Pat Metheny said. “He said it was going to be a quartet of Joni, he, me, and the drummer Don Alias. I loved those records of Joni’s and so I said to keep me posted on it.” Metheny accepted the gig and soon ended up taking over from Pastorius as musical director, too. This core quartet was augmented by Lyle Mays on keyboards, Michael Brecker on sax, and doo-wop group The Persuasions (also the tour’s opening act) on supporting vocals.

The album: “Staying the same is boring”

Beginning her Shadows And Light-era shows with snippets of dialogue from Rebel Without A Cause and Frankie Lymon’s I’m Not A Juvenile Delinquent, with imagery projected onto large screens, Mitchell immediately set a mood of a scrabbled past in an unsettled present. The sound of the samples is retained on the Shadows And Light album, a smart trick to get that visual sense of the concert deep into a listener’s head. Mitchell then segues into In France They Kiss On Main Street, itself a lyrical tribute to the rock’n’roll era.

There are plenty of highlights on the first half of Shadows And Light, which was recorded live on 9 September 1979, at Santa Barbara County Bowl, in Santa Barbara, California, and issued as a double album a year later. Three tracks from Hejira (Coyote, Amelia and Hejira itself) rub up against The Hissing Of Summer Lawns’ Edith And The Kingpin and two tracks from Mingus. A highlight from that album, The Dry Cleaner From Des Moines is particularly special in its Shadows And Light arrangement: Mitchell and Don Alias skitter deliciously across the first verse, before the rest of the band come in, with perfect feel.

The power only increases across Shadows And Light’s second half. Mitchell’s voice has rarely sounded more assured. Her register has dropped from her earliest days, yet she has gained a wealth of control and wisdom. Her storytelling, particularly on Furry Sings The Blues, is nuanced and self-searching. She reflects on her status as a moneyed singer, visiting Furry, an older blues musician, and how she knows she’s disliked by him. She’s only tolerated for the “smoke and drink” she brings.

Each song Mitchell chooses for the setlist has a similar adult tone to it. Songs about love, which dominated her earlier albums, are largely absent. In their place come considerations of power, from Edith And The Kingpin to Free Man In Paris and Dreamland. Throughout Shadows And Light, Mitchell revels in ambiguity, her songs eschewing easy answers. The musical arrangements match this complexity, while still retaining a jam-band aura.

It is the final quarter of Shadows And Light that is most blazing of all. Covering Why Do Fools Fall In Love, with The Persuasions, Mitchell offers bubbly-yet-smudged nostalgia leading into a transcendent version of the album’s title track (taken from The Hissing Of Summer Lawns). Again singing with The Persuasions, Mitchell creates a hymnal tour-de-force, reconstructing the original album version into a hypnotic chant.

Closing the show – and the album – are two killers. First up is a mighty version of God Must Be A Boogie Man, from Mingus (accompanied by enthusiastic audience participation). And, for her final hurrah, the only pre-1974 song of Mitchell’s to appear on Shadows And Light: Woodstock. Now inflected with jazz and strut, this countercultural anthem, originally recorded by Mitchell for her 1970 album, Ladies Of The Canyon, is altogether more muted then before, Mitchell rejecting the easy applause available had she played a more rousing version of the song. Mitchell, of course, gets the acclaim anyway from her knowledgeable audience. The album fades out with crowd rapture and quietening guitar twangs.

The legacy: “I’d rather he crucified for changing”

“You have two options,” Joni Mitchell told Rolling Stone in 1979, just as she was about to embark on her tour. “You can stay the same and protect the formula that gave you your initial success. They’re going to crucify you for staying the same. If you change, they’re going to crucify you for changing. But staying the same is boring. And change is interesting. So, of the two options, I’d rather he crucified for changing.”

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