Travelogue [Enhanced]

What it is to grow old with grace. Joni Mitchell, who has always managed to marry emotional resonance with a puckish, mercurial quality, is not quite in the twilight of her years. Yet one senses that she knows that as a beacon for an intelligent, counter-culture, her days are done. And so to an affectionate and at times wistful look back to a career that has always seemed, both innovative and, as they say, 'fashionably late'. But having made classics, how can you possibly better them?

The rich orchestral tones of her last album, "Both Sides Now" caught many unawares. Here she follows the same formula, but applies it solely to her own back catalogue. Vince Mendoza's arrangements are a touch lighter and subtler than on "Both Sides..." and bring new depth to what was already a rich canon of songs.

I am not a die-hard Mitchellite, I slipped in for "Hissing..." and out after "Hejira", so I am coming fresh to songs that for many are, in their original versions, treasured classics. But the re-workings on the material I do know, are breathtaking. Strings and French horns turn "Woodstock" into a rich, graceful and epic lament. "God Must Be A Boogie Man" accompanied by a clarinet ensemble, strings and Wayne Shorter's soprano sax, dances in a darkly knowing way. A male voice choir unexpectedly pops up on "The Sire Of Sorrow" to add an edge of drama like the chorus in a Bach Mass. "Refuge of The Roads" opens with heavenly harp while "The Last Time I Saw Richard" features stunningly beautiful writing for a wind and strings ensemble. These versions may not better, but they are almost certainly deeper

Some may not take kindly to the slightly gruffer Mitchell voice, mellowed out and lacking an upper edge. Yet it has a gorgeous wispiness about, and frequently shot through with seeming lament for good-years-gone-by it has a kind of ever-present warmth.

Mitchell has given her select entourage of adoring fans much over the years. Reputedly this is her last-ever album. To close her career with a selection of her finest songs, lovingly and intelligently orchestrated and sung with a wistful tenderness, is a parting present almost beyond compare. "Nothing lasts for long" sings Joni on "Chinese Café before slipping seamlessly and briefly into "Unchained Melody". Pathos has seldom been so welcome.

"No one said to Van Gogh, 'hey, paint 'A Starry Night' again, man...'" was Joni Mitchell's recorded response to audience requests on her 1974 live album Miles of Aisles. The intended comparison between the roles of the musical and visual artists came out as slightly pompous and patronising, but Mitchell's latest release validates her earlier opinion of the sort of company she should be keeping; with Travelogue she has in some senses painted her 'Starry Night' again.
Over two hours long, the double CD comprises reworkings of songs from Mitchell's catalogue, all the way from her first album in 1968 up to 1992's Turbulent Indigo, which apart from 1998's Taming The Tiger seems to have been the end of her interest in composing albums of new songs. There is adequate representation of all the periods of her work and I'm particularly delighted with three songs from the great Hejira and four from the underrated and subsequently ignored Wild Things Run Fast. It's unusual in this context of inclusiveness that there's nothing from The Hissing Of Summer Lawns, which many consider a career best and I can imagine would be well-served by the Travelogue approach.
The temptation when approaching a project like this is simply to compare the new versions with the older ones; it's harmless sport and will happen anyway, as the audience for this will mostly be existing and knowledgeable fans. But that would ignore the fact that Travelogue is an engaging and enjoyable album on its own terms - it's not, as may be feared, a "Joni'n'strings" softening of her greatest hits (so to speak.) We are presented with the full dynamic and tonal range of a symphony orchestra, usually deployed in a classical rather than big band style, with tone-poem arrangements by Vince Mendoza. This pleasantly strange frame for pop music suits Mitchell's voice well, as that voice now has the character of grainy, soft suede rather than the glassy purity of old. Its phrasing is sweetly hesitant, sometimes to the point of syncopation; the line "your life becomes a travelogue" (from Amelia,) which gives the album its title is delivered behind the beat, contrasting with the urgency of flight, the "urge for going" of the Hejira version. As well as the orchestra and choir, there are fine performances from Herbie Hancock, Billy Preston, Brian Blades, Larry Klein (who is also credited as musical director) and especially Wayne Shorter.
Although the tone colours of these versions are necessarily different from the originals, if you take a slice through any track and consider it, harmonically the structure will be about the same. Mitchell and her collaborators have pulled off the trick of remaining true to her original intent and have transliterated the often sparse old arrangements into parts for upwards of seventy musicians. On The Last Time I Saw Richard, for example, the nuances of the original solo piano accompaniment are mirrored by the orchestral arrangement, with Mitchell's vocal, now in a much lower register, conveying a mood of resignation rather than the desperation of thirty years ago.
The major and striking exception to this harmonic fidelity is the new version of The Circle Game, first demoed in 1966, released in 1970. No longer is it set as a child's sing-along nursery rhyme, charming as it was in that form; here, in a querulous minor key, it's a lugubrious rumination, the experienced artist looking back rather than the innocent child looking forward. Its placing as the last track reinforces the feeling throughout that this album is intended as a heavy piece of work, that Mitchell is making a grand statement - while not po-faced there is a sense of weightiness to all these performances. Sometimes songs which were relatively light in their original settings are improved by this approach, other times pieces which were originally impenetrable or ambiguous are clarified; God Must Be A Boogie Man, for example, is much clearer in intent now than on the wilfully difficult Mingus album.
A major addition, then, to a major body of work which is strangely undervalued. Hopefully the attention this release and its attendant documentary film attract will remind people of Mitchell's contributions to music over the last thirty-six years; even better, those who enjoy this album may be inspired to dig further.

I came to Joni late, being of the punk generation who were supposed to sneer at old hippies. 'The Hissing of Summer Lawns' turned me around and this album sealed my love for her. It's just pure class from beginning to end - as simple as that. Lyrics that blindside you with their insight at 4am, married to music that makes you want to hug strangers.

Joni may not have the octave-spanning soprano of old anymore, but the older, wiser voice is just as seductive. You feel you can learn something from this person.

Highlights include the double emotional punch of 'Refuge of The Roads' closely followed by 'Hejira'; the heart-tugging child abuse drama of 'Cherokee Louise': the weary reflections on growing old that is 'Chinese Cafe' (which includes a seamless segue into 'Unchained Melody') and the lyrical masterclass of 'Amelia'.

To listen to this album is to remind yourself of the possibilities of popular music; to not accept the lazy and formulaic, but instead to embrace the visionary and poetic. Take the time to listen and absorb and it will stay with you.

If this is to be Joni's swansong, then there is no better way to go out. If only I was older.