That idea of something “growing” on you is exactly what I was trying to reach. Some records don’t reveal themselves all at once; we have to live enough life to meet them properly.
And yes, Laurel Canyon fascinates me for the same reason. It was not just a scene, but a web of songs, friendships, breakups, ambition, and emotional weather. Joni sits right at the center of that, and Blue is where the mythology becomes painfully human.
My older sister had maybe a half dozen lps when I was a child (early 1970s) that she used to play loudly in the morning before leaving the house. Blue was one of them, and due to the 'problematic' nature of our relationship and the family dynamic, I disliked that record for a long time. But, it did have a strong impact on me, and like you I eventually came back to it as an adult. (Forever Changes was another one she had too).
I know exactly what you mean about albums becoming tangled up with family dynamics before we are old enough to separate the music from the room it came from. Blue carried some of that for me too.
The strange gift is that, years later, records like Blue and Forever Changes can come back to us differently — not free of those memories, but no longer trapped by them.
I don't really know how to react to this because it touched me in ways I cannot verbalise. You took me right there: to your childhood home, to the piano chords, to the music embedded in the soul before the child had the language for it. You made me *feel* it in ways that transcended the screen, my own experience with the record, and even, dare I say, your own. You made me feel it in ways that felt universal.
The way you unpack the record -- the tracks, the stories, the propositions, the intimacy and loneliness, the homesickness, the wounds given shape, and the resulting damaged openness -- is masterful not just because it operates on a highly advanced analytical level. Your wisdom and sensitivity -- to the music and to life itself -- carry a lot of weight here. And that is precisely what damaged openness should do to anyone who cares to love, live, listen, and keep on living.
One can tell, with very little anecdotal detail, and powered only by your shrewd analysis, your conclusions, and your evolution with the record, that you have captured and lived the very message the record conveys. I can't think of many other writers who do this as powerfully as you do: you embody the message. How lucky we are to have you, Howard. I'll never tire of saying it.
@Andres, I honestly don’t know how to respond to this except to say thank you, deeply.
This piece was difficult to write because it came from somewhere very old and very vulnerable. Blue has lived with me for most of my life, but not always in a way I fully understood. Writing about it meant going back into rooms, memories, and emotional weather I had not entirely revisited for years.
What means so much here is that you understood exactly what I was trying to do. This was never intended to be just an album review. It was an attempt to explain how a record can enter you before you have the language for it, stay there quietly, and then reveal itself decades later with almost frightening clarity.
Your words mean more than I can properly express. Thank you for reading it so closely, for feeling it so deeply, and for being such a generous friend and supporter.
You knocked it out of the park with this one, and trust me, the emotion really comes through. What’s fascinating is that you could have done what any other music writer (myself included) would have done: This is tough, it resonates deeply, this was my childhood, I’m now an adult, decades and thousands of miles apart, and life has shown me what this record is about.
No, you take it apart, you dissect it, you let it wash over you, with the precision of a scientist, the intuition of an artist, and the courage of a warrior.
Thank you for being such a generous friend and supporter too, and for being such an incredible writer.
I think what I am trying to achieve with each piece is not simply to review a record, but to bring it into a new light and give it a clearer direction. The value, at least for me, is not only in offering a different way of hearing the music, but in helping readers examine their own lives, memories, relationships, and connection to the world around them.
In a time when it is so easy to get an answer to almost anything with a simple search or prompt, I want the writing to do something different. I want it to slow the reader down, invite reflection, and help them weigh meaning and truth for themselves.
That is what makes your response so moving to me. You understood the deeper purpose behind the piece.
Fantastic post! I love the way you describe music waiting for us. I had it with Tapestry and a Stones greatest hits. Both lost on New Romantic me but now part of our home’s soundscape.
Tapestry is a perfect example of that for me as well. Some albums can feel completely out of step with who we think we are at one stage of life, only to return later and become part of the emotional furniture of the home. I think that is one of the quiet miracles of music: it does not always arrive when we first hear it. Sometimes it waits patiently until we have caught up with it.
Brilliantly put Howard. I really feel the title. There’s some things I used to hate and as time went by, it « grew » on me.
The Laurel Canyon scene is truly a fascinating music movement and Joni Mitchell is one big piece of the overall puzzle.
Love to read you!
Thank you so much — I really appreciate that.
That idea of something “growing” on you is exactly what I was trying to reach. Some records don’t reveal themselves all at once; we have to live enough life to meet them properly.
And yes, Laurel Canyon fascinates me for the same reason. It was not just a scene, but a web of songs, friendships, breakups, ambition, and emotional weather. Joni sits right at the center of that, and Blue is where the mythology becomes painfully human.
Really grateful you read it.
Yet another beautiful piece Howard, thank you.
My older sister had maybe a half dozen lps when I was a child (early 1970s) that she used to play loudly in the morning before leaving the house. Blue was one of them, and due to the 'problematic' nature of our relationship and the family dynamic, I disliked that record for a long time. But, it did have a strong impact on me, and like you I eventually came back to it as an adult. (Forever Changes was another one she had too).
AJ, thank you. This really moved me.
I know exactly what you mean about albums becoming tangled up with family dynamics before we are old enough to separate the music from the room it came from. Blue carried some of that for me too.
The strange gift is that, years later, records like Blue and Forever Changes can come back to us differently — not free of those memories, but no longer trapped by them.
I don't really know how to react to this because it touched me in ways I cannot verbalise. You took me right there: to your childhood home, to the piano chords, to the music embedded in the soul before the child had the language for it. You made me *feel* it in ways that transcended the screen, my own experience with the record, and even, dare I say, your own. You made me feel it in ways that felt universal.
The way you unpack the record -- the tracks, the stories, the propositions, the intimacy and loneliness, the homesickness, the wounds given shape, and the resulting damaged openness -- is masterful not just because it operates on a highly advanced analytical level. Your wisdom and sensitivity -- to the music and to life itself -- carry a lot of weight here. And that is precisely what damaged openness should do to anyone who cares to love, live, listen, and keep on living.
One can tell, with very little anecdotal detail, and powered only by your shrewd analysis, your conclusions, and your evolution with the record, that you have captured and lived the very message the record conveys. I can't think of many other writers who do this as powerfully as you do: you embody the message. How lucky we are to have you, Howard. I'll never tire of saying it.
@Andres, I honestly don’t know how to respond to this except to say thank you, deeply.
This piece was difficult to write because it came from somewhere very old and very vulnerable. Blue has lived with me for most of my life, but not always in a way I fully understood. Writing about it meant going back into rooms, memories, and emotional weather I had not entirely revisited for years.
What means so much here is that you understood exactly what I was trying to do. This was never intended to be just an album review. It was an attempt to explain how a record can enter you before you have the language for it, stay there quietly, and then reveal itself decades later with almost frightening clarity.
Your words mean more than I can properly express. Thank you for reading it so closely, for feeling it so deeply, and for being such a generous friend and supporter.
You knocked it out of the park with this one, and trust me, the emotion really comes through. What’s fascinating is that you could have done what any other music writer (myself included) would have done: This is tough, it resonates deeply, this was my childhood, I’m now an adult, decades and thousands of miles apart, and life has shown me what this record is about.
No, you take it apart, you dissect it, you let it wash over you, with the precision of a scientist, the intuition of an artist, and the courage of a warrior.
Thank you for being such a generous friend and supporter too, and for being such an incredible writer.
Thank you, Andres — that means a great deal.
I think what I am trying to achieve with each piece is not simply to review a record, but to bring it into a new light and give it a clearer direction. The value, at least for me, is not only in offering a different way of hearing the music, but in helping readers examine their own lives, memories, relationships, and connection to the world around them.
In a time when it is so easy to get an answer to almost anything with a simple search or prompt, I want the writing to do something different. I want it to slow the reader down, invite reflection, and help them weigh meaning and truth for themselves.
That is what makes your response so moving to me. You understood the deeper purpose behind the piece.
Keep doing what you’re doing, please. It’s so necessary. It rearranges my head every single time.
Fantastic post! I love the way you describe music waiting for us. I had it with Tapestry and a Stones greatest hits. Both lost on New Romantic me but now part of our home’s soundscape.
Thank you so much, Steven.
Tapestry is a perfect example of that for me as well. Some albums can feel completely out of step with who we think we are at one stage of life, only to return later and become part of the emotional furniture of the home. I think that is one of the quiet miracles of music: it does not always arrive when we first hear it. Sometimes it waits patiently until we have caught up with it.