Joan Baez

Joan Baez's musical and political significance are so intertwined that it's hard to assess her impact solely on aesthetic grounds. A leading participant in the '60s cultural revolution, she lent intelligent credibility to radical ideas; and not only did her perfectly enunciated versions of Bob Dylan and Tim Hardin songs win highbrow listeners over to the new music, but her chaste -- if sometimes overbearing -- seriousness made the message of that music appear all the more critical and "legitimate." In the '70s, long after many of her peers had given up on the notion of music as message, Baez persevered. By the time of the U.S.A. for Africa revival of social consciousness a decade later, she had become a figure largely ignored, dismissed as unhip. The subsequent triumph of intelligent, strong female folk singers, however, testifies, no matter how indirectly, to Baez's spiritual influence -- Tracy Chapman and Sarah McLachlan are as certainly her psychic daughters as they are Joni Mitchell's.

Gathered together on a dizzying array of repackagings, Baez's early work is traditional folk ("Man of Constant Sorrow," "Streets of Laredo," "Silver Dagger") of the most pristine variety. Baez's high, resonant, vibrato delivery is sometimes more musically satisfying than interpretively acute; her acoustic guitar playing can be equally hyperprecise, and, too often, the songs sound like a folklorist's reverent guide to the form rather than a singer comfortably emoting. But Very Early and In Concert are strong collections of Scots/Irish traditionals; and Ballad Book, Lovesong Album, and Country Music Album remain admirable.

Joan Baez 5 found the singer branching out, delivering an impressive Villa-Lobos classical piece with light-operatic grace and crusading for contemporary songwriters by covering Richard Farina's "Birmingham Sunday," Phil Ochs' "There but for Fortune," and Bob Dylan's "It Ain't Me Babe." Paired romantically with Dylan during the early '60s as the "King and Queen of Folk," she concentrated throughout the decade on reverent readings of his songs. Championing his genius proves to be one of her most endearing gestures -- but as her Dylan collection, Any Day Now, attests, it's exactly by handling his lyrics as Holy Writ that Baez betrays her signal weakness. As a singer she triumphs when rendering dignified pathos; the ambivalence of Dylan eludes her. Baptism is mid-period Baez at her most ambitious. Having nearly exhausted standard folk music, she tries out sung and spoken readings of Welsh ballads, spirituals, and poems by Garcia Lorca, Yevtushenko, Whitman, and e. e. cummings. With orchestral arrangements by Peter Schickele (P.D.Q. Bach), the record has its gorgeous moments, but it's an effortful listen; like a PBS special, it's too apparently "good for you."

In the early '70s, Baez turned out artful covers of Kristofferson and Beatles songs, hit a high point with her version of the Band's "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down," and on Hits, Greatest and Others shows herself to be a creative, if not very revealing, interpreter of high-end pop. She begins, too, to write more of her own material -- and Gulf Winds, Come From the Shadows, and Diamonds and Rust are certainly smarter than most singer/songwriter albums of the time. But her best work (From Every Stage) remains her less obviously personal -- "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and "Joe Hill" are strong and effortless, betraying none of the fretful quality that sometimes weakens her autobiographical songs.

Generating no interest from record companies, Baez was absent from the scene in the early '80s. When she finally returned, however, her work had gained in assurance. Recently and Speaking of Dreams are graceful sets; working with the Gipsy Kings, Paul Simon, and a host of studio aces, her delivery more casual than in her heyday, she sings about old loves and current causes -- and she sounds not only wise but comfortable. Play Me Backwards won a deserved Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Recording; Gone from Danger emphasized her contemporary appeal, as she convincingly covered songs by younger writers (Indigo Girls, Mary Chapin Carpenter). In fact, her career and stature were significantly revived in the '90s, as a new audience came to appreciate not only the clarity of her voice but also the courage of her convictions. (PAUL EVANS)

From the 2004 The New Rolling Stone Album Guide