What was going on in Southern Californian singer-songwriting in 1971? A big headache? Sobering maturity? Lack of post-1960s ideas? A bit of all. We start with David Crosby’s thoroughly weird and opaque psych-folk masterpiece If I Could Only Remember My Name – it’s not ‚out-there‘ weird, but on the contrary, very ‚in-there‘. The drug bend was just around the decade’s corner, clearly. We continue with Joni Mitchell’s defining classic, Blue, the confessional album to end all intimacy – it is nothing short of great for its specific design. And we head out with Stephen Stills second solo effort, Stephen Stills 2, which is, to be clear, not worth your while.
Text Lambrecht 