February 20,1974 THE DELPHIAN Pace Fifteen

Joni MHchell: Three Yean laterBYKENWIEDER

You should have seen the lookson their faces! The peoplewalking down 50th Street onWednesday, February 6, couldnot understand why there wassuch a sea of smiling facessurrounding Radio City MusicHall at one o'clock in the af-ternoon. Their inquiries wereanswered by "Joni Mitchell isplaying tonight/1 but that wasn'tenough to purge the puzzled looksfrom their faces. After all, theconcert would ot be starting untileight in the evening, and it was 20degrees outside!

My feet numbed and my legs

Jone Mitchell (Photo by K.Wieder)

fatigued from the six hour wait, Ihurried down the aisles todiscover the second row seats myfriends had found. Gazing up atthe huge domed celling above myhead, I could feel that this wouldbe like no other concert before it;as it turned out I was right.

The show started with a groupcalled "The L.A. Express." Thegroup featured Tommy Scott onsax with John Guerin on drums,Max Bennett on bass, plus apianist and a guitar player, all ofwhom play on Joni's new album.They played some really nicejazz and then Introduced JoniMitchell.

She came on stage in a dazzlinglow cut dress and started with"This Flight Tonite" from thealbum "Blue." It started off herset nicely, but then she let thecrowd down with a few new songsand d isappoin t ing version of"Woodstock" and "You Turn MeOn, I'm a Radio." She did "JustLike This Train" from her newalbum "Court and Spark" andthen left the stage for an in-termission.

At this point I was a littledisappointed. It was like a newJoni Mitchell with all her sadnessand joy turned to bitterness andindifference looking down fromthe stage with an almost evilexpression on her face.

Joni returned 30 minutes later,this time alone and wearing ad i f f e r e n t dress. Star t ing w i t h

Warm expectations eased the wait. (Photo by K. Wieder)

"Big Yellow Taxi" and "PeoplesParties," the concert went uphillall the way . She playedbeautiful ly "All I Want" and "ACase of You" on her dulcimer,then spoke about the time shebought some land and decided toget back to nature. Her story was

a prelude to "For the Roses" inwhich she sings about the conflictshe goes th rough — f a m e andfortune and living her own life inpeace and solitude. Next she did abig city song also from "For theHoses." It's called "Cold BlueSteel and Sweet Fire" and is

Big Mama Thornton Earns NameBY ALAN INGBER

A name can sometimes be quiteh e a v y . A g u n f i g h t e r tagged"quick-draw" must be ever alertlo the possibility of a challenge. Achamp must constantly defendhis t i t le . |Vnci a blues belternamed Big Mama must reallyknow how To sing. < I once knew ahigh school girl who carried thesame name; but her reputationhad to be altogether different lymainta ined. )

"Look k i d s , we're naked,"cried Big Mama's band as they

but looking beaut i ful . With just apiano, upright bass and drums,the band ran through two bluest h a t were so un -g immicka l lyb e a u t i f u l they were almostpa in fu l . Come on, step frombehind that fuzz tone and fight

the Brooklyn

HUESftMZZ

seriespreceded her onto the BrooklynAcademy of Music's stage to around of respectful applause

A Big Mama Thornton concertis anything but a happening, andusually only true devotees arepresent, cons t i t u t i ng a q u i e t l yf r i e n d l y but apprec ia t iveaudience. Un l ike most rockconcerts, the artist was notbarraged with song titles theaudience wanted to hear per-formed f a gross injustice to anyentertainer with a preconceivedidea of what she or he is preparedto communicate). Big Mama andfriends were simply allowed to dotheir thing, which they did,beautifully.

Getting back to Big Mama'snaked band, it is quite easy to seewhat is meant. Most musiciansdress their music as one wouldhide an ugly naked body, behindlayers of clothing: in this caseblaring electronic instrumentsraving at ear piercing an-noyance. Big Mama's boys werethe Charles Atlases of the musicworld, barely wearing a stitch,

l ike a man. Flawless! Great God,even Charles Atlas must have apimple.

Big is Beautiful! Enter theQueen, dressed in robes socomically outlandish that only asovereign could make them fitwith dignity. Big Mama is trulystunning, for even weight whencarried with pride can be abeautiful thing. And her face,shrouded by bushels of silvergray hair and a floppy felt hatwns str ikingly thin and chiseledby comparison. As she began heropening monologue. I seriouslywondered why she never con-sidered the field of stand-upcomedy. With a sense of timingattributed to any great comedicgenius, she had us rolling in theaisle. However, as her mouthharp wailed the introductorynotes to her opening blues, it wasobvious why she chose Ihlsparticular road to travel.

"Rock me all night long." wasthe purred Invitation as her voiceoozed through the speakers in fitsof orgasmic ecstasy. Toying withher words, her harp respondedwith pleasured squeals. Severalcouples, answering the call, doveuncontrollably to the floor inviolent fits of passion. The restlistened in awe. Rumpelstiltskln,move over. This awkward lyarranged frame of nearly 200pounds was singing and blowingthe sweetest blues I've everheard. Big Mama, spinning strawinto gold.

She sang them all. Ball andChain, which she originally wrote

for the late great Janis. HoundDog, which Elvis so royallyripped off. And Red Rooster, aWillie Dixon tune that Big Mamaso sk i l l fu l ly adapts, it becomesher own personal statement, asshe humorously imita tes thed i f f e r e n t barnyard noisesdescribed in the song. Even herattempts at sentimentality arenot embarrassing, as so manyperformer's are. Her dedicationof Stormy Monday to T-BoneWalker who lies very sick in somehospital, was not self-consciouslyover-indulgent, but a soothinglyb e a u t i f u l t r i bu te . Even herdedication of Sweet Angel to acripple named Ralph who "hadenough spunk to come out andenjoy himself even though he ishandicapped" was rather welldone. It should have been, for BigMama only sings the "nat'chelblues."

F ina l ly , her mannerisms arethe ribbons of this bu lky butb e a u t i f u l b lurs package. Herplastersene face molds into athousand different expressions asshe uses them to punctuate thelyr ics . Exaggerated f rownsbreak into quizzical stares thatmelt into cheek to cheek semi-toothless grins In a moment'st w i n k l i n g . Grunts , moans andhigh-pitched cackling trail off theend of one verse and startanother, collecting the lyrics in asometimes inaudible but alwaysunders tandable net. And kids,can she boogie! hike a dancingbear she g race fu l l y lumbersacross stage with gyrations sovivid that it would make anyfrequenter of O.B.I. West drool inenvy. Sidesteps followed bysporadic halts, as If giving herbody a chance to catch up withher movements. The total effectis devastating, like watching ajerky movie camera that seemsto stop at all the right moments.

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Bravo, Joni! (Photo byWieder)

K.

about a junkie.

Joni went over to the piano andplayed a version of "Blue" thatbrought tears to my eyes. Thiswas the sad, s ens i t i ve JoniMitchell that i had waited so longto see. She followed with "ForFree" w i t h Tommy Scot Isounding in with his clarinet tofinish off the song. The rest of theband followed him on as Joni didher classic "Both Sides Now"emphasizing the fact that she haschanged. She then picked up thetempo with "Help Me," "FreeMan in Paris, I'rouble Child,"ami f ina l ly , "Raised on Rob-bery." before walking off stage;but not for long.

Amid the shower of roses andapplause she returned for hergrand f ina le of "Blonde in theBleachers" and "Twisted." A.sshe left the stage for the last andf ina l time a frantic girl yelledout, "(Mease don't make us waitthree more years, Joni!" I,et'shope that she doesn't.

Dylan MagnetismFills Coliseum

B Y J K A N N K R O U Z AI was brought up in the

mystique of Bob Dylan. Havingan older sister of the "hipbeatnik" generat ion, I soonleared to sing along with Dylanand know his songs as done byJoan Baez and Peter, Paul andMary. His effect of the followingyears of my generation of rockmusic and protest cannot beunder-estimated.

Although I was too young to seeDylan in concert, when he wasstill on tour and appearing atcoffee houses, I always kept thefuture in mind for "when I'molder!" But eight years ago, thatdream seemed to have becomean impossibility with Dylan'sInvolvement in a seriousmotorcycle accident and theresulting cancellation of allfuture concert tours. However, afew months ago, Dylan an-nounced a "comeback" concerttour to Include four shows In theNew York City area. To my joyand surprise, one was at theNassau Coliseum.

I arrived around 8 o'clock onJanuary 28, 1974 for the firstscheduled concert featuring BobDylan in the New York area ineight years, to find the parkingarea of the Coliseum already halffull. While waiting with greatanticipation for the concert tobegin, I had the opportunity toobserve the crowd and to absorbthe atmosphere. Neither theprelude to the concert, nor theend, were as positive as theconcert itself. The Coliseummanaged very adeptly to create acircus-type atmosphere throughthe continual cries of the foodhawkers throughout the show. Ireally do think that the Coliseumcould have done just as wellwithout the continual in-terruptions of adolescent foodsellers. But whatever negativeaspects existed that night wereoverpowered by the magnetismof Bob Dylan. .

Casually walking on stageamid the cheers and claps of anadoring audience, he started the

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