Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter is an album of unbridled auteurism, and its miles-wide baroque sweep acts as easy confirmation of Joni Mitchell as a progressive pop visionary worthy of mentioning in the same breath as Brian Wilson. But it’s as exhilarating for its freedom as it is frustrating in the way it chooses to express it, and listeners are required to grapple with its racism, Mitchell’s infantilizing and colonial mindset, and her desire to leech legitimacy from elsewhere besides her own whiteness and femininity.

It was and remains exceedingly difficult for a female pop genius to be taken seriously, and though Mitchell had a few masterworks under her belt by the mid-‘70s, she was frustrated to find herself valued mostly for her gender. Obscene advertising that declared her “90% virgin,” a model of pristine white femininity, might have been the final straw. She began to identify deeply with “black classical music,” as she termed it—particularly the art of Miles Davis, deep in his electric fusion period at the time.

Her response was to create a blackface persona termed “Art Nouveau” and hide under it as a cover for legitimacy; we can see him on the cover art as an undisguised Mitchell looks on in the background (the back cover portrays her as a Native American chief). The record’s not sung in character as a black pimp, but her dalliances in jazz throughout the ‘70s and early ‘80s could be seen as an extension of that desire to wrap herself in blackness, reaping its artistic cool without the legal and societal oppressions that come along with it.

Mitchell might have seen the “ethnic references” throughout Don Juan as a shortcut to the canon adulation she desired and of which she still sadly falls a hair short. But they’re the fly in the ointment of what might have been one of her greatest works. World music might have been novel in 1977, but “The Tenth World” sounds like nothing so much as Mitchell sitting in on a community Latin drum class. “Dreamland,” likewise pillaged from global odds and ends, has us longing for some semblance of an average pop production.

It’s a long way from Canada,” Mitchell whispers as “Dreamland” commences, but it’s not nearly as good a thesis statement for the album as the one that starts the next verse. On vacation in an unnamed Caribbean island, she imagines Columbus and Raleigh sailing to shore to claim the land. “I wrapped that flag around me/ Like a Dorothy Lamour sarong,” she sings, embracing what she has the luxury of seeing as the romance of the age of exploration. She still has the flag around her as she reclines her seat on the plane home.

If you don’t know who Dorothy Lamour is, she was the star of a series of Road to… pictures, tongue-in-cheek travel comedies from the ‘40s and ‘50s that invariably infantilized the natives of whatever places Lamour chose to plant her feet. Just like here. “Paprika Plains” laments the Native Americans’ loss of their “connection with nature,” as if that’s all they had to lose. These are natives made of feathers, braids and war drums—the kind of image Mitchell must have had in mind when she posed for the back cover.

The great irony of “Paprika Plains” is that it succeeds for reasons that would endear it to the white canon, the same reason Sgt. Pepper changed the conversation on pop as high art. It’s a marvel of aesthetics, a grandiose fusion of pop and classical music, 16-minutes long and sprawling placidly all the while. Don Juan’s distinction within the Mitchell catalog has little to do with the Dionysian clichés of “ethnic” music and every bit to do with the Apollonian tradition of the self-indulgent studio wizard.

This is a marvelously produced album. So was Court and Spark, of course. But while that album existed in the weary little world of three-minute pop songs, this one’s anything but subtle, appealing to the part of our brain that craves grandiosity, the school of thought that associates 10-minute odysseys with artistic bravery. It’s not the first album most Mitchell neophytes will be drawn to. Instead, it’s a crossroads for fans—both a confirmation of her stature as an auteur and a revelation of the ugliest aspects of her art.


  1. Chris Newall

    September 15, 2018 at 10:43 pm

    In a review of this album I was amazed that you didn’t mention Jericho.
    This is (I believe) the standout track on this album. It had not appeared on a studio album prior to Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter.
    It was on “Miles of Aisles”, a live album released in 1974. The album was compiled from live performances recorded documenting her concerts in support of “Court and Spark” an album with her backing band for the tour, the L.A. Express.
    This song speaks to her struggles (life long) with relationships and love. A theme that she has revisited often during her artistic career with many of her songs (This could be a future “Joni Mitchell’s 50 Best Songs About Relationships”).
    Personally I love this song. It says so much about maintaining a long term relationship.
    Every time I hear it, I think about my own relationship. I try to reflect on its state and try not to be complacent.
    Our love of Joni was a point of contact early on. It has remained a strong feature throughout our relationship and the lyrics in Jericho typify why this is such an important song in Joni’s discography.

    Jericho – lyrics by Joni Mitchell (Jericho lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Crazy Crow Music / Siquomb Music Publishing)

    I’ll try to keep myself open up to you
    That’s a promise that I made to love
    When it was new
    “Just like Jericho” I said
    “Let these walls come tumbling down”
    I said it like I finally found the way
    To keep the good feelings alive
    I said it like it was something to strive for

    I’ll try to keep myself open up to you
    And approve your self expression
    I need that, too
    I need your confidence, baby
    And the gift of your extra time
    In turn I’ll give you mine
    Sweet darling, it’s a rich exchange
    It seems to me
    It’s a warm arrangement!

    Anyone will tell you
    Just how hard it is to make and keep a friend
    Maybe they’ll short sell you
    Or maybe it’s you
    Judas, in the end
    When you just can no longer pretend
    That you’re getting what you need
    Or you’re giving out anything for them to grow and feed on

    I’ll try to keep myself open up to you
    It gets easier and easier to do
    Just like Jericho
    Let these walls come tumbling down now
    Let them fall right on the ground
    Let all these dogs go running free
    The wild and the gentle dogs
    Kenneled in me


  2. jimpynyc

    August 13, 2020 at 12:51 pm

    I like your review. I need to dive deeper into the album and all the lyrics before I can really contribute RE: the racism and/or naiveté on display.

    Regarding the music, I really dig it. I think the album got short shift on its release because of sexism and genre pigeon holing. We have to remember this comes out at the height of both progressive rock and Miles fusion period and is contemporaneous with Weather Report taking over the jazz charts. I feel like a lot of reviews I’ve read — Rolling Stone; the one currently up on All Music — lament that Joni isn’t singing folk or pop any longer while refusing to take it and judge it on its own terms as a fusion of her unique brand of pop phrasing and timing with jazz. She might extend the groove on “Paprika Plains”, but it plays far less self-indulgently or flat to me than much of “Bitches Brew,” for example.


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