KVRX isn’t the only icon celebrating the big 3-0; Joni Mitchell’s ambient masterclass in activist music, Turbulent Indigo, also happens to be celebrating its birthday this year. Consisting of 10 tracks and lasting 43 minutes, this Grammy award-winning album is the perfect soundtrack for anyone looking to spend their autumn deep in thought.
Though I find myself more drawn to Mitchell’s earlier albums, Turbulent Indigo’s moody undercurrent coupled with Mitchell’s iconic voice and guitar has awakened something in me that I admittedly have trouble articulating. The opening track, “Sunny Sunday,” uses a pensive atmosphere and an occasional wailing saxophone to set the restless tone for the album.
Second on the album, and in my opinion the best, is the dismal “Sex Kills.” Mitchell touches on the AIDs epidemic, consumerism, and climate change all while a beating drum and brooding synth back her vocals. Possibly the most impactful part of the song is the repeated chorus: “And the gas leaks / And the oil spills / And sex sells everything / And sex kills.” These lines lament that the cruelty that has run the world “since Robespierre / slaughtered half of France” is always collecting and compounding. On top of everything, the gas still leaks! The oil still spills! It is obvious that Mitchell is exhausted and spiraling, and her mood is beautifully captured within the lines of the song.
Another impactful track is the titular “Turbulent Indigo.” Drawing inspiration from Van Gogh’s artwork, “Turbulent Indigo” makes me feel like I’m sitting on a bench in a museum, staring up at the swirling splendor his art is made of. Art is unrelenting, and Mitchell articulates this perfectly when she sings “no mercy sweet Jesus! / No mercy from Turbulent Indigo.” This track, with its experimental dark sounds and Mitchell’s natural lyricism, seems to transcend mediums, becoming a piece of visual art.
“The Magdalene Laundries” and “Not to Blame” both take on an activistic undertone. I am always afraid that the underlying issues in songs of protest may get lost in a desire for lyrical or musical greatness, but both these tracks do not fall prey to that trap. Mitchell takes this challenge on beautifully, addressing the subjects with intense delicacy. Though both songs are about seemingly specific events in the past, Mitchell is still able to tie them back to the wider, ongoing issues that women face.
Closing out with the seven-minute track, “The Sire of Sorrow (Job’s Sad Song),” Mitchell ties the album up with a melancholic bow. Joni Mitchell is a poet to be reckoned with, and this album cements her place as one of my all-time favorites. This is the kind of album you need to sit with. Pull up those lyrics, make a cup of coffee, and look out a moonlit window. Like Mitchell sings in her track “Yvette in English,” I offer you this album the same way I would offer you a cigarette: with outstretched arms, asking you to have a “little bit of instant bliss.”