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Пишет mahamih (![[info]](http://lj.rossia.org/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mahamih)@ 2007-09-29 05:04:00 |
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Доброе утро! Джони Митчелл выпустила "Shine"!
Joni Mitchell - Shine (2007)
Продолжается череда "женских" музыкальных новинок. Вслед за Siouxsie Sioux и-Blondie- Debbie Harry новый долгожданный альбом выпустила и Джони Митчелл. Митчелл сама продюсировала альбом, играла на фоно и гитаре, сама делала инструментовки и аранжировки, программировала драм-машину... В записи принимали участие Bob Sheppard на саксофонах, Greg Leisz на стил-гитаре, Brian Blade кое-где на ударных, и Larry Klein на басу.
Впрочем, прочтите англоязычные рецензии и кое-что еще, в самом конце...
Shine, recorded and released in 2007, is the sign from the heavens that Joni Mitchell has come out of retirement. She left in the early part of the century, railing against a music industry that only cared about "golf and rappers," accusing it of virtually every artistic crime under the sun. So the irony that she signed to Hear Music, Starbucks' music imprint, is pronounced. The company has been embroiled in controversy over its labor and trade practices, and has been accused of union-busting and spying on its employees and union members. It's especially ironic given the nature of the music on this set, which is political, environmental, and social in its commentary. Hear Music has also issued recordings by Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan, so she's in great company. But it's music that we're after here, and Mitchell doesn't disappoint on this score. She doesn't have the same reach vocally that she used to. A lifetime of cigarette smoking will do that to you. But given the deeply reflective and uncomfortably contemplative nature of some of these songs, it hardly matters. Mitchell produced this set herself, and with the exception of guest performances: saxophones by Bob Sheppard, steel guitar by Greg Leisz, some drum spots by Brian Blade, and bass by Larry Klein, all selectively featured. Mitchell plays piano, guitar, and does all the other instrumentation and arrangements herself. The drum machine she uses is so antiquated, it's corny, but it's also charming in the way she employs it. The songs carry the same weight they always have. Her off-kilter acoustic guitar playing is as rhythmically complex as ever, and her commentary is biting, sartorial, and poetic.
The set begins with a five-minute instrumental that would be perfect to accompany the images of the ballet dancers on the cover. "This Place," where her acoustic guitar, a synth, and the pedal steel are kissed by Shepard's soprano saxophone, follows it. Its a statement of place, and the knowledge that its natural beauty is heavenly, but will not remain that way: "You see those lovely hills/They won't be there for long/They're gonna tear 'em down/And sell 'em to California...when this place looks like a moonscape/Don't say I didn't warn ya." She ends it with a prayer for the "courage and the grace/To make genius of this tragedy/The genius to save this place." It's hardly the standard pontificating of rock stars. Thank God. The next tune, "If I Had a Heart," with Blade, Klein, and Leisz, offers this confession: "Holy war/Genocide/Suicide/Hate and cruelty...How can this be holy?/If I had a heart, I'd cry." It's the acceptance of the dehumanization of the culture as well as the increasing uninhabitability of the planet, this resignation that's so startling even as these melodies take you to the places in Mitchell's songwriting we've always loved. The massive drum loops, didgeridoo samples, and bass throbs -- with additional percussion by Paulinho da Costa -- is a story-song that is meant to be a backbone, hands dirty working and improving things. It's haunting, as it hovers inside its groove with startling electric guitar distortion and effects. But only two songs later we move to "Big Yellow Taxi (2007 Version)." It's radically revisioned and reshaped. It's full of darker tones, soundscapes, an accordion sample, and a tougher acoustic guitar strum. What used to be a hummable if biting indictment of the powers that be, who wanted to develop every last inch of natural space, has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The exhortation to farmers is still there, but it's more a bitter reminder of the refrain. It's the only song here, and followed by the most beautiful cut on the entire set in "Night of the Iguana," a big, elegant, polyrhythmic allegory that features some of the greatest guitar playing Mitchell has ever done -- those leads actually sear, though she employs them as Brian Eno would. In this tune, the storyteller is at the height of her powers, examining the contradictions in being human in a morality tale. With her poetic powers at a peak, she sings, "The jasmine is so mercilessly sweet/Night of the iguana/Can you hear the castanets?/It's the widow and her lover boys/Down on the beach." She suspends all judgment of the protagonist. She merely lets it all come in and sort itself out. "Strong and Wrong" reasserts with Blade and Leisz, and Mitchell's beautifully articulate piano and warm, watery sonic textural backdrops, her feminism, and the story of war is because men love it and that's what history is for, "a mass-murder mystery/His story." Right. Chrissie Hynde and Madonna may have trouble with Mitchell's old-school feminism, her politics, and her view, but she indicts not only men but all of us for "still worshipping/Our own ego." Shine is an unsettling album, full of lean, articulate statements that are not meant to make you feel good. She doesn't have to finger-wag like Bono, who foolishly tries to use the power of guilt on the people he's playing with -- they've been at this game for far longer and seen it all -- or Thom Yorke's own contemptuous anguish that pleads as much as it professes. Mitchell doesn't have to do anything but lay it down in song, play the generalities and ambiguities as part and parcel of human existence as it has "evolved" and wandered off the path to paradise, through the seduction of power and money. She's an artist; it's her job to report what she sees. "Shine," a relatively simple, mantra-like song, is the other side of the coin and provides that glimmer of Beckett-ian hope we need more than she does, but it seems she's holding out for it too. It's hunger. Musically it's imaginative, fresh, full of a more studied elegance and a leaner kind of pomp that we heard during her Geffen years (a period of her career that's still criminally underappreciated). In addition to her truly iconoclastic songwriting ability, she has proved herself to be a worthy producer of her own work. She's picked up tips from many others from Klein to Daniel Lanois to Jon Brion, and by employing excess at all the seemingly wrong moments, while stripping away the drama from her truly forceful lines and letting them hang out there nearly naked, she offers a view inside her music we haven't heard before but still sounds familiar. Shine isn't a coffee table record. It's an intuitive one; it won't attract record execs looking for the next fading star to resurrect. Mitchell doesn't need them, because there is little to resurrect in the life of a singular artist, especially this one. Her spirit is as unbowed, aesthetically curious and restless as it has ever been -- thankfully.
Rating: 4 stars
source: allmusic.com
Joni Mitchell's 2002 retirement may be the greatest flounce-out in rock history. She announced her decision to stop making records with a series of impressively bitter interviews. The music industry was "repugnant", "a cesspool" populated by "pornographic pigs" who cared only about "golf and rappers". Furthermore she had "come to hate music" itself. "I hope it all goes down the crapper," she added, cheerily.
It was a spectacular way to hand in your resignation - so spectacular that it seems a shame to spoil it by asking for your job back. Or, worse, going to work for Starbucks: Mitchell's comeback album arrives courtesy of the coffee chain's label Hear Music. Mitchell would probably argue, with some reason, that there's not much difference between a major record label and a fast-food multinational these days, but there's still something a little odd about a woman who complained long and hard about the exploitative nature of the music business (she recently complained of being paid "n-word wages") throwing in her lot with Starbucks, a company that has, over the years, faced a series of charges of unfair labour practice and is currently defending itself against accusations that it engaged in unfair sackings, union-busting and a campaign of surveillance waged by managers on union members. Still, she's not doing anything that peers, including Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan, haven't already done. It makes you wonder which redoubtable 1960s legend will be next to take the Starbucks buck. Van Morrison? Leonard Cohen? Perhaps Neil Young will sign up and offer a version of his anti-corporate anthem This Note's For You, with lyrics amended to suit changing times: "I ain't singin' for Pepsi, I ain't singin' for Coke - in fact, I'm singin' for the deliciously chocolatey Double Mocha Macchiato, handcrafted for you with specially selected ingredients. And can I interest you in a cheese and Marmite panini?"
On the evidence of Shine, what Hear Music offered was artistic freedom. While it certainly isn't "difficult" in the latterday Scott Walker punching-a-side-of-pork-while-screaming-a
Meditative, graceful and becalmed are surprising adjectives, given the prevailing subject matter. Mitchell has said she was provoked out of retirement by the war on terror and looming ecological catastrophe, and a sense of impending doom is never far away. She's hardly the first artist in recent times to make with the End Is Nigh sign, but her response is the diametric opposite of the Arcade Fire's sturm-und-drang or Thom Yorke's anguished finger-pointing. In Hana she suggests we "tackle the beast alone with its tenacious teeth", and there's a sense of fight about the closing rewrite of Rudyard Kipling's If, but more often the tone is not so much one of defiance as a disquieting acceptance of fate. You hear it in the beautiful ballad If I Had A Heart in its chilling refrain of "bad dreams are good in the great plan", and in the echoing drift of the title track, which comes up with a litany of modern-day ills, but never raises its voice in anger.
The sense of an artist roused by the fear that we're all going to hell in a handcart, only to discover that it may be too late and there's nothing we can do to avert disaster, gives much of Shine its emotional heft.
Sanctimony is a condition to which the musical denizens of Laurel Canyon were always prone - in his twenties, Graham Nash was already loftily instructing the world how to Teach their Children - but the urge to wag fingers arises only once. There's a hint of I-told-you-so smugness about revisiting her 1970 eco-anthem Big Yellow Taxi, but that's not the reason the re-recording backfires. Listening to it, you notice there's a sparkiness about the lyric - "they took all the trees, put 'em in a tree museum" - noticeably absent elsewhere: This Place's "money makes the trees come down" suddenly sounds a bit clunky and laboured.
Ultimately, that's a minor quibble in the face of a strange, intoxicating and unsettling album, idiosyncratic enough to make you glad Joni Mitchell put her retirement on hold. Shine is an album worth spoiling the greatest flounce-out in rock history for.
Rating: 4 stars
source: Guardian Unlimited
'Shine' is inspired but angry
By Sarah Rodman, Globe Staff | September 25, 2007
Joni Mitchell has long made her disgust for the music industry plain. For nearly a decade, she was content to mostly sit it out and express her creativity through her paintings and fine art and collaborations with a ballet company. Occasionally, she would venture into the recording studio for an album of standards or one of re-imaginings of her own vast catalog of classics.
With the release today of the beautiful yet angry "Shine," the incredibly influential and doggedly individual singer-songwriter is announcing that her musical muse has returned and that it admirably remains loyal only to Mitchell's own instincts.
Mitchell credits her return to her piano, guitar, and notepad to Starbucks. The company asked her to create a compilation for its series highlighting the influences of seminal musicians, and she was inspired to write again after listening once more to her heroes. "Shine" is the latest release on the Starbucks-affiliated label Hear Music, following Paul McCartney's "Memory Almost Full."
Mitchell has recruited an impeccable combo to augment her own elegant yet quirky piano and guitar work on 10 sumptuous compositions that meander pleasantly from smoky Latin-flavored jazz to folk both contemplative and electro.
Regrettably, her muse didn't pack as much lyrical inspiration in her care package. So while the music always beckons, the words sometimes repel.
Take, for instance, "This Place." One minute Mitchell is extolling the virtues of her heavenly natural surroundings with near tropical steel guitar and lilting piano lines adding to the dreamy sense of belonging. The next she complains that this idyllic environment will doubtlessly soon be sullied by toxic spills since "money makes the trees come down." And when that does happen, she reminds you, "don't say I didn't warn ya."
It's not that these doomy lyrics are simply a bummer or even that variations of her anger and sadness about the state of the world and the evil that men do - specifically men - repeat throughout the album. It's that whether she's complaining about the bloodshed in holy wars ("If I Had a Heart") or the poor traffic etiquette ("Shine") that has arisen in the wake of these newfangled cellphones, she only sometimes sounds like a poetic, righteous protester and more often sounds like a grumpy old scold wagging her finger and pining for the good old days.
Except, as the update of her own "Big Yellow Taxi" included here makes clear, she wants us to remember that she knew the good old days weren't so good, either. (The perfectly fine but unnecessary remake also invites unwelcome comparisons to the younger Mitchell's peerless soprano and unintentionally serves as an excellent anti-smoking campaign.)
There's something about her consistent lament about the encroachment of shopping malls that feels a little rich now that she records for a coffee chain whose outposts proliferate like weeds.
There are many bright spots amid the stern tongue lashings, however.
The exquisite instrumental that opens the album, "One Week Last Summer," is a perfect evocation of a pensive, hazy day. The love letter to one tough broad named "Hana" sizzles with a bop 'n' roll rhythm and a snaky sax line. And the steamy "Night of the Iguana" is Mitchell at her best, combining the linear narrative and the impressionist abstract.
On "Shine," Mitchell sometimes sounds like a beloved older relative, embittered and interesting but sometimes tough to listen to without feeling like you're being lectured.
source: boston.com
Artist: Joni Mitchell
Album: Shine
Date Of Release: September 25, 2007
Genre: Folk, Rock, Jazz
Bitrate: VBR --alt-preset standard
(Взять здесь)
Joni Mitchell - Shine (2007)
Продолжается череда "женских" музыкальных новинок. Вслед за Siouxsie Sioux и
Впрочем, прочтите англоязычные рецензии и кое-что еще, в самом конце...
Shine, recorded and released in 2007, is the sign from the heavens that Joni Mitchell has come out of retirement. She left in the early part of the century, railing against a music industry that only cared about "golf and rappers," accusing it of virtually every artistic crime under the sun. So the irony that she signed to Hear Music, Starbucks' music imprint, is pronounced. The company has been embroiled in controversy over its labor and trade practices, and has been accused of union-busting and spying on its employees and union members. It's especially ironic given the nature of the music on this set, which is political, environmental, and social in its commentary. Hear Music has also issued recordings by Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan, so she's in great company. But it's music that we're after here, and Mitchell doesn't disappoint on this score. She doesn't have the same reach vocally that she used to. A lifetime of cigarette smoking will do that to you. But given the deeply reflective and uncomfortably contemplative nature of some of these songs, it hardly matters. Mitchell produced this set herself, and with the exception of guest performances: saxophones by Bob Sheppard, steel guitar by Greg Leisz, some drum spots by Brian Blade, and bass by Larry Klein, all selectively featured. Mitchell plays piano, guitar, and does all the other instrumentation and arrangements herself. The drum machine she uses is so antiquated, it's corny, but it's also charming in the way she employs it. The songs carry the same weight they always have. Her off-kilter acoustic guitar playing is as rhythmically complex as ever, and her commentary is biting, sartorial, and poetic.
The set begins with a five-minute instrumental that would be perfect to accompany the images of the ballet dancers on the cover. "This Place," where her acoustic guitar, a synth, and the pedal steel are kissed by Shepard's soprano saxophone, follows it. Its a statement of place, and the knowledge that its natural beauty is heavenly, but will not remain that way: "You see those lovely hills/They won't be there for long/They're gonna tear 'em down/And sell 'em to California...when this place looks like a moonscape/Don't say I didn't warn ya." She ends it with a prayer for the "courage and the grace/To make genius of this tragedy/The genius to save this place." It's hardly the standard pontificating of rock stars. Thank God. The next tune, "If I Had a Heart," with Blade, Klein, and Leisz, offers this confession: "Holy war/Genocide/Suicide/Hate and cruelty...How can this be holy?/If I had a heart, I'd cry." It's the acceptance of the dehumanization of the culture as well as the increasing uninhabitability of the planet, this resignation that's so startling even as these melodies take you to the places in Mitchell's songwriting we've always loved. The massive drum loops, didgeridoo samples, and bass throbs -- with additional percussion by Paulinho da Costa -- is a story-song that is meant to be a backbone, hands dirty working and improving things. It's haunting, as it hovers inside its groove with startling electric guitar distortion and effects. But only two songs later we move to "Big Yellow Taxi (2007 Version)." It's radically revisioned and reshaped. It's full of darker tones, soundscapes, an accordion sample, and a tougher acoustic guitar strum. What used to be a hummable if biting indictment of the powers that be, who wanted to develop every last inch of natural space, has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The exhortation to farmers is still there, but it's more a bitter reminder of the refrain. It's the only song here, and followed by the most beautiful cut on the entire set in "Night of the Iguana," a big, elegant, polyrhythmic allegory that features some of the greatest guitar playing Mitchell has ever done -- those leads actually sear, though she employs them as Brian Eno would. In this tune, the storyteller is at the height of her powers, examining the contradictions in being human in a morality tale. With her poetic powers at a peak, she sings, "The jasmine is so mercilessly sweet/Night of the iguana/Can you hear the castanets?/It's the widow and her lover boys/Down on the beach." She suspends all judgment of the protagonist. She merely lets it all come in and sort itself out. "Strong and Wrong" reasserts with Blade and Leisz, and Mitchell's beautifully articulate piano and warm, watery sonic textural backdrops, her feminism, and the story of war is because men love it and that's what history is for, "a mass-murder mystery/His story." Right. Chrissie Hynde and Madonna may have trouble with Mitchell's old-school feminism, her politics, and her view, but she indicts not only men but all of us for "still worshipping/Our own ego." Shine is an unsettling album, full of lean, articulate statements that are not meant to make you feel good. She doesn't have to finger-wag like Bono, who foolishly tries to use the power of guilt on the people he's playing with -- they've been at this game for far longer and seen it all -- or Thom Yorke's own contemptuous anguish that pleads as much as it professes. Mitchell doesn't have to do anything but lay it down in song, play the generalities and ambiguities as part and parcel of human existence as it has "evolved" and wandered off the path to paradise, through the seduction of power and money. She's an artist; it's her job to report what she sees. "Shine," a relatively simple, mantra-like song, is the other side of the coin and provides that glimmer of Beckett-ian hope we need more than she does, but it seems she's holding out for it too. It's hunger. Musically it's imaginative, fresh, full of a more studied elegance and a leaner kind of pomp that we heard during her Geffen years (a period of her career that's still criminally underappreciated). In addition to her truly iconoclastic songwriting ability, she has proved herself to be a worthy producer of her own work. She's picked up tips from many others from Klein to Daniel Lanois to Jon Brion, and by employing excess at all the seemingly wrong moments, while stripping away the drama from her truly forceful lines and letting them hang out there nearly naked, she offers a view inside her music we haven't heard before but still sounds familiar. Shine isn't a coffee table record. It's an intuitive one; it won't attract record execs looking for the next fading star to resurrect. Mitchell doesn't need them, because there is little to resurrect in the life of a singular artist, especially this one. Her spirit is as unbowed, aesthetically curious and restless as it has ever been -- thankfully.
Rating: 4 stars
source: allmusic.com
Joni Mitchell's 2002 retirement may be the greatest flounce-out in rock history. She announced her decision to stop making records with a series of impressively bitter interviews. The music industry was "repugnant", "a cesspool" populated by "pornographic pigs" who cared only about "golf and rappers". Furthermore she had "come to hate music" itself. "I hope it all goes down the crapper," she added, cheerily.
It was a spectacular way to hand in your resignation - so spectacular that it seems a shame to spoil it by asking for your job back. Or, worse, going to work for Starbucks: Mitchell's comeback album arrives courtesy of the coffee chain's label Hear Music. Mitchell would probably argue, with some reason, that there's not much difference between a major record label and a fast-food multinational these days, but there's still something a little odd about a woman who complained long and hard about the exploitative nature of the music business (she recently complained of being paid "n-word wages") throwing in her lot with Starbucks, a company that has, over the years, faced a series of charges of unfair labour practice and is currently defending itself against accusations that it engaged in unfair sackings, union-busting and a campaign of surveillance waged by managers on union members. Still, she's not doing anything that peers, including Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan, haven't already done. It makes you wonder which redoubtable 1960s legend will be next to take the Starbucks buck. Van Morrison? Leonard Cohen? Perhaps Neil Young will sign up and offer a version of his anti-corporate anthem This Note's For You, with lyrics amended to suit changing times: "I ain't singin' for Pepsi, I ain't singin' for Coke - in fact, I'm singin' for the deliciously chocolatey Double Mocha Macchiato, handcrafted for you with specially selected ingredients. And can I interest you in a cheese and Marmite panini?"
On the evidence of Shine, what Hear Music offered was artistic freedom. While it certainly isn't "difficult" in the latterday Scott Walker punching-a-side-of-pork-while-screaming-a
Meditative, graceful and becalmed are surprising adjectives, given the prevailing subject matter. Mitchell has said she was provoked out of retirement by the war on terror and looming ecological catastrophe, and a sense of impending doom is never far away. She's hardly the first artist in recent times to make with the End Is Nigh sign, but her response is the diametric opposite of the Arcade Fire's sturm-und-drang or Thom Yorke's anguished finger-pointing. In Hana she suggests we "tackle the beast alone with its tenacious teeth", and there's a sense of fight about the closing rewrite of Rudyard Kipling's If, but more often the tone is not so much one of defiance as a disquieting acceptance of fate. You hear it in the beautiful ballad If I Had A Heart in its chilling refrain of "bad dreams are good in the great plan", and in the echoing drift of the title track, which comes up with a litany of modern-day ills, but never raises its voice in anger.
The sense of an artist roused by the fear that we're all going to hell in a handcart, only to discover that it may be too late and there's nothing we can do to avert disaster, gives much of Shine its emotional heft.
Sanctimony is a condition to which the musical denizens of Laurel Canyon were always prone - in his twenties, Graham Nash was already loftily instructing the world how to Teach their Children - but the urge to wag fingers arises only once. There's a hint of I-told-you-so smugness about revisiting her 1970 eco-anthem Big Yellow Taxi, but that's not the reason the re-recording backfires. Listening to it, you notice there's a sparkiness about the lyric - "they took all the trees, put 'em in a tree museum" - noticeably absent elsewhere: This Place's "money makes the trees come down" suddenly sounds a bit clunky and laboured.
Ultimately, that's a minor quibble in the face of a strange, intoxicating and unsettling album, idiosyncratic enough to make you glad Joni Mitchell put her retirement on hold. Shine is an album worth spoiling the greatest flounce-out in rock history for.
Rating: 4 stars
source: Guardian Unlimited
'Shine' is inspired but angry
By Sarah Rodman, Globe Staff | September 25, 2007
Joni Mitchell has long made her disgust for the music industry plain. For nearly a decade, she was content to mostly sit it out and express her creativity through her paintings and fine art and collaborations with a ballet company. Occasionally, she would venture into the recording studio for an album of standards or one of re-imaginings of her own vast catalog of classics.
With the release today of the beautiful yet angry "Shine," the incredibly influential and doggedly individual singer-songwriter is announcing that her musical muse has returned and that it admirably remains loyal only to Mitchell's own instincts.
Mitchell credits her return to her piano, guitar, and notepad to Starbucks. The company asked her to create a compilation for its series highlighting the influences of seminal musicians, and she was inspired to write again after listening once more to her heroes. "Shine" is the latest release on the Starbucks-affiliated label Hear Music, following Paul McCartney's "Memory Almost Full."
Mitchell has recruited an impeccable combo to augment her own elegant yet quirky piano and guitar work on 10 sumptuous compositions that meander pleasantly from smoky Latin-flavored jazz to folk both contemplative and electro.
Regrettably, her muse didn't pack as much lyrical inspiration in her care package. So while the music always beckons, the words sometimes repel.
Take, for instance, "This Place." One minute Mitchell is extolling the virtues of her heavenly natural surroundings with near tropical steel guitar and lilting piano lines adding to the dreamy sense of belonging. The next she complains that this idyllic environment will doubtlessly soon be sullied by toxic spills since "money makes the trees come down." And when that does happen, she reminds you, "don't say I didn't warn ya."
It's not that these doomy lyrics are simply a bummer or even that variations of her anger and sadness about the state of the world and the evil that men do - specifically men - repeat throughout the album. It's that whether she's complaining about the bloodshed in holy wars ("If I Had a Heart") or the poor traffic etiquette ("Shine") that has arisen in the wake of these newfangled cellphones, she only sometimes sounds like a poetic, righteous protester and more often sounds like a grumpy old scold wagging her finger and pining for the good old days.
Except, as the update of her own "Big Yellow Taxi" included here makes clear, she wants us to remember that she knew the good old days weren't so good, either. (The perfectly fine but unnecessary remake also invites unwelcome comparisons to the younger Mitchell's peerless soprano and unintentionally serves as an excellent anti-smoking campaign.)
There's something about her consistent lament about the encroachment of shopping malls that feels a little rich now that she records for a coffee chain whose outposts proliferate like weeds.
There are many bright spots amid the stern tongue lashings, however.
The exquisite instrumental that opens the album, "One Week Last Summer," is a perfect evocation of a pensive, hazy day. The love letter to one tough broad named "Hana" sizzles with a bop 'n' roll rhythm and a snaky sax line. And the steamy "Night of the Iguana" is Mitchell at her best, combining the linear narrative and the impressionist abstract.
On "Shine," Mitchell sometimes sounds like a beloved older relative, embittered and interesting but sometimes tough to listen to without feeling like you're being lectured.
source: boston.com
Artist: Joni Mitchell
Album: Shine
Date Of Release: September 25, 2007
Genre: Folk, Rock, Jazz
Bitrate: VBR --alt-preset standard
(Взять здесь)
