Eggs are cooking in the kitchen of our grubby college rental. Always over hard, but still runny to a fault. It’s winter quarter, school is getting tough and the gray of the sky hasn’t cleared up in weeks. I make my way downstairs, pimple cream on, curlers in my ratty hair and a mostly empty pack of Marlboro Southern Cuts in the pocket of my robe. “Malena’s having her breakfast,”my housemates joke as I grab my outdoor record player and a box of matches, walking right past them without a word.

A friend is waiting for me outside: the same friend I meet up with every morning — my copy of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue.” I’m happy to see her, and I like to think she’s happy to see me too. Today, on June 22, 2021, this confidant of mine turns 50 years old. To celebrate the best companion I’ve ever had in an album, here are some words on the 1971 magnum opus. 

“I felt like I had absolutely no secrets from the world, and I couldn’t pretend in my life to be strong. Or to be happy. But the advantage of it in the music was that there were no defenses there either,” Mitchell said to Cameron Crowe in a Los Angeles Times interview –– eight years after the album’s release.

“Blue” is the fourth studio album Mitchell released, and the work came out of a really pivotal time in her life. Mitchell gave up performing in late 1970, drained from the unwanted attention that came with the success of “Ladies of the Canyon,” and hopped on a plane to Greece. Once there, she sent her boyfriend, folk artist Graham Nash, a telegram that broke things off despite the love they shared. It said nothing except: “If you hold sand too tightly in your hand, it’ll slip through your fingers.” The theme in this phase of Mitchell’s life was escape and a longing for a home — in a place or in a person — and that comes across so transparently on “Blue.”

The album was recorded at A&M Studios in Hollywood; the place was buzzing with an energy that couldn’t be denied. While Mitchell recorded in Studio C, the Carpenters were just down the hall making their new LP, and Carole King shared a wall with Mitchell, recording “Tapestry” in Studio B. In ten tracks, the album is a personal exchange of difficulties with oneself, insecurity and longing for the whole world to hear.

Track 3 – “Little Green”

“You’re sad and you’re sorry, but you’re not ashamed / Little Green have a happy ending”

Most of the tracks on “Blue” unpack the whirlwind of Mitchell’s present, but “Little Green” is a look into her past. In 1964, Mitchell was 21 years old and broke, living in the attic of a rooming house in Toronto –– a folk singer, but with no name and no future for her career in sight. Her then boyfriend, Brad MacMath, got her pregnant and then left Mitchell to fend for herself as a single mother, after the first trimester of her pregnancy.

In her scramble for support, she fell into an unhappy and short-lived marriage with Chuck Mitchell because she couldn’t bear to tell her parents back in Saskatchewan that she was pregnant. She named the baby Kelly Dale Anderson, after the color of kelly green; she put her up for adoption, and the track “Little Green” was born. As transparent as Mitchell was throughout this whole album — and as blatantly as the story is laid out to a listener who knows the secret — in 1971 when this album was released, this child and story was kept under wraps. It wasn’t until an ex-roommate released her story in 1993 that it became common knowledge, and the track made sense from an outside perspective. 

Track 4 – “Carey”

“Oh, you’re a mean old Daddy, but I like you”

Opening with the lovely light strums of an Appalachian dulcimer, “Carey” is the most lighthearted track on the album and plays as a great story of a sincere, but carefree affair. This track was written as a birthday gift to a short-lived cosmic partner that passed through Mitchell’s life: Cary Raditz. Mitchell escaped to Greece and found herself in a fishing village called Matala, where hippies lived in seaside caves and embraced a rugged lifestyle. She met American chef Raditz there, who she immediately became intrigued by. After meeting Raditz for drinks at the Mermaid Cafe, as mentioned in the song, she woke up in Raditz’s cave with broken high heel shoes from the climb and no recollection of the adventures from the night before.

They carried on and did everything together in the little town. He even gets mentioned again in track 6 “California” as “the red red rogue” who gave her back her smile, but took her camera to sell. She wrote “Carey” for him during their time in Matala. When he wouldn’t join her on outings, she’d pencil down lyrics of their time together. This little Grecian love affair was fun — and clearly impacted Mitchell enough for her to write about it — but she ultimately left him, heading to Athens. This was partly because she “missed her clean white linen and her fancy french cologne,” as mentioned in the song. But, it’s speculated that it was also because she realized she still loved Graham Nash. From Athens, she hopped on a plane to Paris — where she would finish out the Raditz story and write  “California.”

Track 9 – “A Case of You”

“You said, ‘Love is touching souls’ / Surely you touched mine

‘Cause part of you pours out of me / In these lines from time to time”

Regularly regarded as the masterpiece of the masterpiece, “A Case of You” is expert in every sense of the word. Take the opening lines inspired by Shakspeare’s “Julius Caesar:” “Just before our love got lost you said / I am as constant as a northern star / And I said, Constantly in the darkness / Where’s that at? / If you want me I’ll be in the bar.” Right off the bat, it’s cynical while still being playful, planned out and candid. This song spells out a love that has been through the wringer; it’s no longer a happy union, but a union that has grown connected in its toxicity.

“I could drink a case of you, and I would still be on my feet” implies a tolerance has been built for the aforementioned lover. It’s not just love anymore. It’s life and time, hate and dependence. It’s the kind of attachment that you have to painfully detox when you drop it. The muse behind “A Case of You” is unclear, but that doesn’t matter half as much as the feeling it spells out so clearly.

It’s speculated that this album tells the story of Mitchell’s relationship with Graham Nash where “My Old Man” is the beginning of their love, “A Case of You” comes about right before the breaking point when things are crumbling and “River” is a final reflection after everything is finished. While this theory hasn’t been confirmed by Mitchell, these tracks are still golden

In 35 minutes total, we listen to “Blue” not to learn about Mitchell, but to spell out the feelings we can’t dare to speak. She goes into these dark places bravely and invites us inside for a smoke and a cup of coffee. I’ve learned more about love and loss in these ten tracks than I have from any person who has come and gone from my life. Cheers to “Blue;” happy 50th.