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.