Review
JONI MITCHELL: RIVER
Alberta Theatre Projects
Starring Onalea Gilbertson, Jeff Gladstone and Sharon Stearns
Songs by Joni Mitchell
Conceived by Allen MacInnis
Directed by Denise Clarke
Musical direction by Tim Williams
Runs until November 13
Martha Cohen Theatre (Epcor Centre)
I first became intimate with Joni Mitchell in the backseat of a car.
Wait – let me explain. I was 12 years old and my sisters, who were a few years younger, used to regale our family on long car trips with a song they’d learned from the radio. They didn’t know the artist, or even the title – they called it "Bows and Flows" – but they loved its childlike imagery of clouds as "ice cream castles" and "feather canyons." And so did I.
Of course, the lyric is actually "Rows and floes of angel hair" and the song is "Both Sides Now," Mitchell’s timeless ballad of innocence and experience and a young adult’s first glimmer of wisdom: "I really don’t know life at all." Few writers, let alone songwriters, have nailed so succinctly that moment of youthful realization, in words and images poised perfectly between childhood and adulthood.
Listening to the 28 songs that make up Joni Mitchell: River, the musical revue at Alberta Theatre Projects, I was reminded again of how, at her best, Mitchell is a lyricist-lepidopterist, able to catch an experience, an emotion, a truism, a historical movement or mood, and pin it down with such precision that it feels like the last word on the subject. And it’s not only true of the early songs that everyone knows – "Both Sides Now," "Help Me," "Woodstock," "Big Yellow Taxi" – but also her later work, particularly the heartbreakingly matter-of-fact "Magdalene Laundries" and the chilling, AIDS-era "Sex Kills," both from 1994’s Turbulent Indigo album.
In this revue, originally conceived by ATP alumnus Allen MacInnis for Winnipeg’s Prairie Theatre Exchange, Mitchell’s songs are grouped by themes ("Falling in Love," "War," "Big Business," etc.) and sung by three singer-actors in a cabaret style that recalls that seminal 1960s songwriter showcase Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. Of course, we know Joni is alive and well and accepting doctorates from McGill, among other things, but like that earlier show, River is a useful introduction to an impressive oeuvre.
ATP’s production, directed by Denise Clarke, features a Joni sound-alike (Onalea Gilbertson), a Joni look-alike (Sharon Stearns) and a token male singer (Jeff Gladstone) – perhaps to prove that Mitchell’s songs don’t come from an exclusively female perspective (certainly not "Free Man in Paris," one of her most popular, which is written from the viewpoint of record exec David Geffen).
But Gladstone is the weak link here. An undistinguished singer, he also adopts a fey folkie-flower child persona for some songs and brings lukewarm comic relief to others. Unfortunately, I was reminded of a certain Juicy Fruit gum commercial. But Stearns and, especially, Gilbertson, more than compensate, with enjoyable and at times excellent renditions of the songs.
Stearns, with long, straight blond hair and high cheekbones, can’t help but remind you of Mitchell and, at times, moving amid lighting designer Sandi Somers’ shadows and light, you’d swear that was Joni herself up there. A throaty, mezzo-range singer, Stearns captures the bluesy, smoky side of Mitchell on such songs as "A Case of You" and "Come in From the Cold."
It’s Gilbertson, however, who provides the closest proximity to Mitchell’s distinctive vocal style and most effectively taps into the drama of the lyrics. She has a fabulous voice and she knows how to make a song her own. Her breathy, sexy version of "Coyote" (the opening track on Mitchell’s 1976 road album Hejira, and also the tune she performed at The Band’s Last Waltz) is a delight, while she simmers with anger and disgust on "The Magdalene Laundries" and shimmers with transcendence on "Hejira" itself and "River" from Blue.
The accompanying band is impeccable. Musical director Tim Williams, armed with an arsenal of guitars, plus mandolin and pedal steel, leads a quartet that also includes Ron Casat on keyboards, John Hyde on bass and Brent van Dusen on drums. These guys (van Dusen excepted) are old enough to have been one of Mitchell’s original backing bands, and all four play with that kind of smooth experience, never detracting from the singers – although there are times, as when Hyde plays a Jaco Pastorius bass line, that you wish they were given more room to show their stuff.
Clarke’s staging, likewise, keeps the focus firmly on the songs, with just the occasional touch of theatrical gilding (most effectively on "Not to Blame," a song about domestic abuse) and the merest hint of her celebrated choreography. Complementing Somers’s simple lighting, Wes D. Pearce’s set is no more than a ramp painted to evoke the frozen river of the title song, while his costumes are content with suggesting Mitchell’s typical garb – a long winter coat for Gilbertson, spike-heeled boots for Stearns.
This isn’t a Mitchell retrospective; for one thing, her more challenging work (e.g. the jazz excursions of Mingus; the visionary, epic-length "Paprika Plains") isn’t represented. But neither is it a greatest hits package. Instead, MacInnis has crafted his own visions of Joni, as it were (to steal a line from one of her songwriting contemporaries) – Joni Mitchell: River is sort of a theatrical mixed CD, leaning heavily in favour of her early-’70s albums, particularly Blue. But that’s fine; that’s the Joni most fans love and there’s still enough here to suggest the diversity and complexity of one of popular music’s most adventurous artists. |
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