“I think the first time I ever became aware of Joni Mitchell’s outstanding 1971 album ‘Blue’ was in 2020, when Rolling Stone published its list of ‘The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.’”

That’s the opening line of a 2000-word article I wrote senior year for my high school newspaper, the Calabasas Courier, detailing my journey into discovering Mitchell’s music. I consider it to be my favorite thing I’ve ever professionally written. 

Growing up, my family was never incredibly into music. My mom loves Depeche Mode, Modern Talking and Coldplay, and not much else. My dad was the closest thing I had to an eternal fountain of music recommendations, and I credit him with jump-starting my love for the auditory art. His love for ’70s rock, house music and ’90s hip-hop was my gateway into many genres of music. One of my earliest memories is him blasting Kid Cudi’s “Day ‘n’ Nite” before I could walk.

Through the years, I slowly began to find my taste, though only hip-hop stuck with me from my dad’s trifecta. I began to expand my listening habits: first, through mainstream stars like Kanye West and Eminem, then members of the Odd Future collective, and then to more comparatively underground artists like MIKE and JPEGMAFIA. 

Many concerts and seven Spotify Wrappeds later, I’m now someone who prides myself on my music taste. Even back then, when I knew much less, there was a passionate fire burning, always driving me to listen to more music.

But even in my consistent progression from hip-hop to different styles of pop and rock, something had always felt missing. Some of my friends had extensive music tastes, spanning from the most radio-ready pop to the most obscure music of decades past. But my taste was largely confined to the last 30 years, and the fact that I didn’t listen to much dating before Björk’s 1995 classic “Post” disappointed me.

I had never listened to Mitchell, Carole King, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Patti Smith or a slew of other artists before last year. Even with popular artists whose big hits I had heard, like Talking Heads or Creedence Clearwater Revival, I had never dived into a full album.

But getting into oldies showed me that digging into even just one studio album paints a much more detailed picture of the artist’s sound. I’m sure that I had heard King’s chart-topper, “It’s Too Late,” in a movie or commercial before, but with the ability to meaningfully connect it to the sound of an all-timer like “Tapestry,” it became 10 times better. 

It’s now been a year and three days to the date that I listened to “Blue” for the first time, and I love it as much as I did then. Mitchell’s lyrics are still as effective at cutting right through me, making me dance, cry and contemplate, sometimes at the same time. 

I appreciate “Blue” for a myriad of reasons, like how her piano is front and center, with in-the-moment, often despondent subject matter, like on the title track and “A Case of You.” Happiness, optimism and guitars take center stage on tracks like “All I Want,” “California” and “Carey,” as she seeks to return to her home, whether that be a person or a place.

Her 1976 masterpiece “Hejira” flips this on its head — she is in a constant state of conflict of wanting to settle down and find love, but she admits by the end that her solace comes through travel. Her desire to settle down and be comfortable can’t exist if she’s in one place for too long, and the album’s vast, neo-Western instrumentals only supplement that theme.

However influential Mitchell’s music has been on me as I develop my taste, becoming a fan has forced me to confront her decades-long history of using blackface, one that she has continued to defend in her old age. In 1988, she also used the n-word in an interview with Q Magazine, when she was old enough and popular enough to know the consequences of such using racial slurs.

It’s a part of her history, and the general nature of great art being made by someone who has done terrible things is something that I’ve had to be aware of with artists like her and West. 

Whether she saw this as an act of artistic expression and not one that has racist intentions doesn’t matter. Ken Padgett, author of black-face.com, noted in a 2016 BBC interview that, “even in 1976 [Mitchell’s blackface] was outrageous and offensive.”

It’s especially odd considering that Mitchell directly addresses cultural appropriation of Black music on “Furry Sings the Blues,” a highlight on “Hejira,” but did blackface for her album cover “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter” the following year. Hypocritically, she is distinctly aware of that racism, especially in her sector of music, but seems to think that she doesn’t practice it.

Mitchell’s racism is absolutely unacceptable. While her music may inspire me, it is important that I recognize that she is in no way someone to look up to. 

Still, discovering old music opens up worlds beyond which I have ever known, albeit ones with controversy, often forcing me and other modern listeners to distinguish between incredible art and its artist. 

To quote me from all that time ago, “I hope that, on some chance day, you will join me on this train” of getting into — and loving old music. If you have 36 minutes, “Blue” is a good start. 

“Jam Journal” is a rotating column featuring a new Daily Trojan editor in each installment, commenting on the music most important to them. Kai Assad is a Sports editor at the Daily Trojan.