Dog Eat Dog

In a world of disposable pop, artists whose work deserves time, perseverance and fine attention to detail are few and far between. The substantial majority of songs present few fundamental problems of understanding. Joni Mitchells on the other hand are complex, elusive, poetic and – at times – profoundly philosophical. She is perhaps, rock music’s finest lyricist.

Dog Eat Dog finds Joni in customary reflective mood and as the title of the album suggests, her conclusions about the human condition are far from comforting. But Joni’s despair is no mere adolescent angst, the self indulgent posturing of someone who has yet to come to grips with harsh reality. Seldom has the pervasive character of human rapacity and greed been so penetratingly and eloquently stated on record.

On the surface, ‘Good Friends’ explores the thin line between a platonic and a sexual relationship. The lyrical mood develops from the contentment to bitter frustration, while the melody remains light, catchy and “poppy”. It’s an unusual and effective juxtaposition which mocks at our capacity for self-pity. But that’s precisely the point. In ‘Fiction’ Joni details the plastic and material aspects of the world, questioning uneasily whether our lives reflect “truth” or “fiction. There is no room here for false reassurance. The song title demonstrates the rhetorical nature of such questions. The tentacles of deceit are impossible to escape. In ‘The Three Great Stimulants’ Joni reflects on mankind’s grim capacity for evil, violence and greed. It’s theme that’s developed in ‘Tax Free’ where such base motivations take on a facade of righteousness. Borne again Christian evangelists are pilloried as profit-seeking power hungry hate mongers, with devastating accuracy. With a guest appearance by Rod Steiger in the role of the fire and brimstone preaching evangelist. It’s a highlight on a consistently powerful album.

Elsewhere Jon reviles the inevitable excesses of capitalism, money, the military and “big wig financiers”. The sense of hopelessness is almost total. Joni neither suggests socialism or suicide as alternatives to the appaling mess we’ve created for ourselves, but underlines in ‘Impossible Dreamer’ (a tribute to John Lennon?) the futility of attempts to radically change society: “Give peace a chance/Don’t think just dance/impossible, impossible dreamer.”

This is the penultimate song on the album – following which she does allow a ray of light to penetrate the surrounding murk. She finishes on an optimistic note of sorts in ‘Lucky Girl’, where she points out that among all the lying cheating grasping people in the world, there are some left with a commitment to truth and honesty – and lucky – Joni has found one. Love offers small consolation – but at least if offers some.

Musically Dog Eat Dog is bright and commercial, an ironic contrast to the dark nature of the themes. The characteristic close harmonies, unique Joni Mitchell phrasing and acrobatic leaps up and down the arpeggio will render this terrain familiar to fans – but it’d be a shame if the experience were confined to those who know Joni’s superb back catalogue. There’s a whole new generation out there who could benefit hugely from her searing insights. Perhaps the poppier gloss will lure them to explore below the surface.

Buy Dog Eat Dog for the music, savour it for the content. You owe it to yourself.