by Victoria Vilton ’26
I first heard of Joan Baez through a friend of a friend. They had mentioned her in passing and I, attempting to avoid looking like an uncultured idiot, nodded along and pretended I knew all about her various contributions to the folk art scene. Truly I’d had no way of knowing who she was. I was a
staunch British invasion listener mixed in with 60s Motown and just a little bit of 90s rock. Joan Baez seemed as foreign to me as the traditional music of a miscellaneous central European country. Immediately after the interaction ended I went to my phone and searched her up on Google. I was greeted by the face of a beautiful woman, with a gentle smile and long dark hair, never too far away from her guitar. I also immediately noticed her close association with Bob Dylan, someone I recognize yet willfully ignore (I’ve found that outspoken fans of his are a bit too pretentious for me- they are entirely too convinced that their music taste is the music taste of the ages).
I could feel myself falling down the rabbit hole, clicking through various articles and videos highlighting not just Baez’s musical ability, or her rather tumultuous relationship with Dylan (perhaps a case of the right person, but the wrong time?), but also her outspoken activism for causes spanning generations, including the Vietnam War, prison reform, and even joining Martin Luther King Jr. on his March on Washington to perform).
Despite Bob Dylan’s standing reputation as a living legend, Baez stands out as an artist of their generation. Building off a collection of songs from both before and during her time (more on this later!), Baez was able to develop a repertoire that established her as a living legend in her own right. Amongst the 30 studio albums she has released and been consistently performing, Diamonds and Rust is an album that stands out in its simplicity. There is no overwhelming orchestration or ostentation, rather the focus remains on Baez’s tremendous vocal, guitar, and perhaps most notably, lyrical skill.
Often lyrics are drowned out by the performance (which is valuable in its own right), but the legacy of Joan Baez lies in the poetry of her lyrics and her ability to translate that poetry into sound. As just words, her songs are lovely. They make the reader yearn for lost loves and languish in the passage of time. But with music, they become works of art. They could just as soon be performed with a guitar as they could be performed on a dark, quiet stage. In any case, what Baez manages to do is expertly balance melody and lyricism. As I listened to this album I wondered how she was able to so accurately capture the breadth of her emotion and experience, and how, I seemed to be experiencing that emotion with her.
Her music tells stories. Often there is no clear hook or chorus, but rather some saga that she takes the listener down. In “Diamonds and Rust”, she gets a phone call from an old lover, forcing her to reckon with a barrage of old memories. “Wind of The Old Days” is a painfully nostalgic ode to youth and days past.
Of the 11 songs on the album, 4 are original compositions. It was a common practice in the 60s and 70s for artists to include covers on studio albums. This seems rather unbelievable today when people are shocked if performers are “too” inspired by other artists (one controversy that comes to mind is Olivia Rodrigo and Paramore). Often studios would request that the artist include a few cover songs to help sell the album. Customers were more likely to purchase physical copies if they were guaranteed a hit. It was also tradition, including in the folk art space, for artists to record covers of
songs they themselves enjoyed and respected. “Never Dreamed You’d Leave in Summer” and “Simple Twist of Fate”, written by Stevie Wonder and Bob Dylan respectively, were two songs on the album that Baez covered. Though not original pieces, covering these popular songs displayed Baez’s creativity. In focusing on a body of work that already existed, Baez could make the songs her own, infusing them with her own unique emotion. As someone who does not enjoy Dylan nearly as much as they likely should, I even found her version of “Simple Twist of Fate” even better. There is a haunting, lingering
quality to Baez’s voice. She does not leave you. And you don’t want her to. One song leads you to three more and suddenly you have listened to her entire discography while surreptitiously scrolling through her Wikipedia page.
What stands out most in this album, however, is the title track, “Diamonds and Rust”. In less than five minutes, Baez tells the story of her love affair with Bob Dylan, an “unwashed phenomenon,” calling her and reminding her of a time that brings diamonds and rust, beauty, and pain. Here, Baez rejects conventional songwriting. Usually what makes a song a hit is the inclusion of some memorable bridge and chorus. But “Diamonds and Rust” is a story set to music. There is no need for a catchy tune to make this song remarkable, instead, it relies on the genius of its lyrics and the heartrending guitar
backing it up. Her voice pierces the heart and the listener feels her emotion with her, reminiscing over some relationship that burned and burned out. She has a conversation, both with the man in the song, and the listener, and you follow this emotional journey with her, as she confronts her past with a
person who filled her life with joy and sorrow. This is by far my favorite song by Joan Baez, a sentiment that is not unique. Listening to this song is like watching a forlorn autumnal leaf slowly drift to the ground.
I listened through the entire album a few times, walking to class, eating breakfast, doing a physics pset. There is something delightfully soothing about this album for the quotidian. Joan elicits this feeling of parasocial companionship. I found myself coming back if only to see my own sentiments of love and loss and memory reflected in someone else’s words.
The album Diamonds and Rust serves to display a brilliantly eloquent and feeling person. An artist willing to share her emotions, however tender and heartbreaking. She is a reminder to all who listen that art is something we do for ourselves and she is truly a writer for the ages. To be remembered in the shadow of another is a fate that Joan Baez seems to narrowly avoid and I am glad to revel in the shine of her work.