Baez, 76, loves to play against her image
as the serene, hyperserious matriarch of
folk music. Resting her chin on her hand,
sheflashesherrecentmetal-chicktattoo:
aseriesofcirclesandarrowsthatrings
herrightwrist,fromarecentvisittoNew
Zealandwithherson,Gabe.“Mostmoth-
ers would say, ‘Oh, honey, really?’” she says
proudly. “But I said, ‘Ooh,can I get one
too?’” In 2010, when she was invited to per-
form at a White House celebration of music
fromthecivil-rightsera,Baezrefusedare-
quest, from Michelle Obama, to sing “If I
HadaHammer”.“Thatisthemostannoy-
ingsong,”Baezsays.“Itoldthem,‘IfIhada
hammer–I’dhitmyselfonthehead.Ain’t
gonnadoit.’”
“Joan has that rock & roll attitude to-
wardlifeandfreedomandlove,”sayssing-
er-songwriter Bob Neuwirth, who has
known Baez since her folk-club days in
Cambridge, Massachusetts, in the Sixties.
“Shehasakindofbraverythatcouldjust
kick down the doors.” Baez was a fixture at
marches and protests, especially in the Six-
ties, preaching a philosophy of nonviolence.
“Ittookalotofcouragetobenonviolent,”
says Neuwirth, “especially when people
hadclubs,dogs,handcuffsandallthatshit.”
OnApril7th,Baezwasinductedinto
the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The tim-
ingcouldn’tbemorefitting.WithDonald
TrumpintheWhiteHouse,rockisenter-
inganewprotestera,andBaezishelping
leadtheway.Lastyear,sheperformedat
StandingRockinNorthDakotaaspartof
theprotestagainsttheDakotaPipeline.In
January,sheparticipatedintwoWomen’s
Marches on the same day, one in Redwood
City and another in San Francisco, and
she’shelpingtoplanashowtobenefitil-
legal immigrants (her father was born in
Mexico and came to the U.S. at age two).
“Somanypeoplehavesaidtome,outofthe
blue,‘WeneedJoanBaezrightnow’,”says
JoeHenry,who’sproducingBaez’snextLP.
“She’s been fiercely standing where she is
herwholelife.”WhenHenrytoldhissister-
in-lawMadonnahewasworkingwithBaez,
he says, she texted him: “She’s a fucking
warrior hero.”
Until the 2016 presidential race, Baez
hadn’twrittenasongin25years.Butwith
Trump in office, she’s cranked out five-and-
counting verses of a tune somewhat in his
honour. Sitting in her kitchen, she grabs a
guitar and begins fingerpicking a Guthrie-
esquemelody.Shestartssinging–about
awall,lies,amissingwife.“Here’swhat
Ithink/Youbettertalktoashrink,”she
sings. “You’ve got some serious psychologi-
cal disorders.”
When she finishes, Baez grins sheep-
ishly. She’s not sure she wants to release
it–“It’snotagoodsong,butitwillmake
people laugh, so I’ll probably just put it on
YouTube”–butitsmereexistenceis,for
her, a hopeful sign after a decade or more
of psychic turmoil. “Whatever it has been
in the past has lifted,” Baez says. “Maybe
I’mgratefulforTrump,becauseotherwise
itwouldseemverybland.I’mnotagitating
enough people. When I got respectable, I
got creeped out.”B
aezhaslivedinher
house, a rambling place hid-
denbehindagate,for45
years.Awooddeck–aroof-
less treehouse – rests atop a
tree in her front yard; chick-
enssquawkincoopsinthebackyard.With
itscosyroomsandmazeofhallways,the
interior feels like a lived-in but comfort-
able ship. On her refrigerator, along with
threePeanutsmagnets, is a photo of Baez
when she received a Lifetime Achievement
AwardattheGrammysin2007.“That’sthe
sign they’re getting ready to get rid of you,”
shesayswithadevilishsmile.
Baez has been famous for nearly six dec-
ades. Born on Staten Island, the daughter
of a physicist who rejected defence work for
education and pacifism, she grew up in this
area of California, moved with her family
toaBostonsuburbinthelateFifties,and
began singing in local coffee shops. In 1960,
whenshewas19,shereleased
her first album,Joan Baez.A
collection of traditional bal-
lads sung in a pristine sopra-
no,itbecameoneoftheleast-
likely albums to crash the Top
20.Baezbecameaniconand
influenced a generation of ris-
ing singers. “That album was
the reason I picked up the
guitar and the reason I’m a
singer,” says Emmylou Har-
ris. “There she was, alone on-
stage, completely composed
and in control. She emerged
fully formed.”
Baez stayed on the same
folk-purist path for her first
half-dozen records – so pure
she refused to take part in
a photo shoot for an album
cover until 1965’sFarewell,
Angelina.By then, she had
moved into modern protest
songs, introducing the world
to the music of Phil Ochs, her
brother-in-law Richard Fariña, and Bob
Dylan,withwhomshehadaromanticrela-
tionship in the mid-Sixties. “Dylan’s songs
blew people’s minds, and when Joan start-
ed interpreting them, it went to another
level,” says Neuwirth. “They should giveher
the [Nobel] Prize!”
Baez’s importance was more than just
musical. She became the moral centre of
theanti-warandsocial-justicemovementsthat rose up in the Sixties. She sang at the
1963MarchonWashington;openedthe
Institute for the Study of Nonviolence, in
Northern California; visited Vietnam dur-
ingthewar;andwenttojailfor11days
forparticipatinginasit-inatamilitary
induction centre. But by the more apoliti-
cal1980s,Baezhitthefirstofmanyrough
patches, finding herself adrift without a
record deal. She tried cutting an album
with members of the Grateful Dead (she
wasdatingMickeyHartatthetime),but
it didn’t work out, partly because Jerry
Garcia was deep into heroin at the time.
“Hecouldn’tplaycomfortablybecausehe
wasn’t sitting close enough to the bath-
room,” she recalls. “He wanted access. I
didn’t realise why.”
During that time, Baez tried her best
to go rock & roll in other ways. She had
usedquaaludesinthe1970s(sheblames
that phase for the silly cover of her 1977
albumBlowin’ Away,which pictured her
inaflightjacketandaviatorgoggles).Dur-
ing her time with the Dead, she took “a
little tiny line” of cocaine. Anything else?
“Stuffed some opium up my ass,” she says,
then pauses quizzically. “Is that possible?”
The memories crack her up. “I wasn’t ready
formybadassperiod.Itwasatotalfailure.”
When she met Tina Turner, then in the
midst of her comeback, Turner exclaimed,
“Girl,whatyouneedisawig!”
But a resurrection wouldn’t be so
easyforBaez,whohadcometo
be seen as a humourless scold – to
the point of being parodied more
than once onSaturday Night
Live, such as the 1986 fake game
showMake Joan Baez Laugh.
“Mynamewaslikeajinx,”she
says. “It took years to get past
that.” Never a prolific writer, she
found herself unable to compose
new material. “When it stopped,
thespigotwent...,”shesayscalm-
ly.“SoIletitgo.”
In1990,shedivedintodeep
therapy. “I couldn’t stand my life,”
shesays.“Itwasseriouslydark
and painful.” From her earliest
performing days, she had been
paralysed by a variety of phobias,
likeafearofthrowingup.For
twoyears,shewouldn’tfly,opting
for trains instead. “I’d be balled
up in a corner in the dressing
room, shaking and nauseated.
Nobody knew. I would walk out there with
that little placid whatever-you-want-to-
call-it thing.”
Slowly,Baezbeganworkingonrebuild-
inghercareer.In2003,shecutDark
Chords on a Big Guitar,a scrappy collec-
tion of covers of songs by Ryan Adams,
Natalie Merchant and other alt-rock-ish
writers.Hernextstudioalbum,2008’s
folkierDay After Tomorrow,earned herContributing editorDavid Brow ne
interviewed Jimmy Kimmel in February.
My
name
was like
ajinx,”
she says.
“It took
years to
get past
that.
64 | Rolling Stone | RollingStoneAus.com Ju ne, 2017
Joan Baez
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