I remember that night vividly. Bernie Fiedler, a well-known figure in the Yorkville music scene, brought Joni Mitchell to my after-hours club. Bernie and I were good friends, and he often frequented my club, sometimes bringing along his star attractions from the Riverboat coffeehouse. The Riverboat was an iconic venue, part of a prestigious circuit that included notable places like Detroit’s Chess Mate and New York’s Bitter End. Situated below street level, the Riverboat was an intimate setting that seated 120 people in red booths, surrounded by pine walls and brass portholes. Many great names in music had performed there, from Howlin’ Wolf to James Taylor.
It was one of those quiet nights when Bernie walked in with Joni Mitchell. We sat around, enjoying drinks and engaging in conversations that flowed naturally. After about an hour, Joni, with her signature poise and quietly engaging demeanor, asked if we wanted her to sing some songs from her new record. Of course, I jumped at the opportunity and immediately borrowed a guitar from Roy, one of my resident musicians and a good friend who had been staying at my place for a few days.
Joni stood in front of the jukebox, which I promptly turned off, and she began to sing. As she strummed the guitar and her voice filled the room, everyone was entranced. It was magical; nobody moved an inch. She performed a half dozen songs, each one a beautiful tapestry woven with her personal lyrics and unconventional compositions. Joni's use of inventive open tunings added a unique dimension to each song, making them sound like symphonies unto themselves. Unfortunately, her set had to come to an end when she broke two strings on the guitar.
After her performance, there was a strange mix of stillness and excitement in the air. We all knew we had witnessed something special. However, not everyone was entirely pleased. Roy, understandably attached to his guitar, was quite annoyed about the broken strings. He complained for days afterward and couldn't quite comprehend why Joni hadn’t apologized. I tried to smooth things over by buying him a whole set of new strings and treating him to several drinks. The truth was, Joni didn’t know it was his guitar, and in the grand scheme of things, those broken strings were a small price to pay for the magic we all experienced.
That night remains etched in my memory as a special intersection of friendship, music, and serendipity. Joni Mitchell, a Canadian-American singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and painter, who would go on to become one of the most influential artists of her time, had graced my humble after-hours club with an impromptu performance that none of us would ever forget.
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