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Track: Winds Of The Old Days
Artist: Joan Baez
Album: Diamonds & Rust

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Name: Joan Baez
Spotify Genres: folk, folk rock, singer-songwriter
Followers: 819,987
Popularity:

61/100

Biography

American singer-songwriter and activist born on January 9, 1941 in Staten Island, New York, USA and known for her soprano voice, three-octave range and distinct, rapid vibrato. Originally a folk singer, her music has considerably strayed from folk since the 1960s, encompassing rock, pop, country, and gospel. She was influential in helping [a=Bob Dylan] gain greater career success in his early performing days. Inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on April 7, 2017. Daughter of [a=Albert Baez] and [a=Joan Baez, Sr.]; younger sister of [a=Pauline Marden] and older sister of [a=Mimi Farina] (also a folk musician). She had a romantic relationship with [a=Bob Dylan] in the mid-1960s, and later married [a=David Harris (15)] (from March 26, 1968 until their divorce on February 15, 1974) with whom she had a son, [a=Gabriel Harris].

Source: Discogs

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Discogs Release Info

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Release: Joan Baez - Diamonds And Rust / Winds Of The Old Days
Year: 1975
Genres: Folk, World, & Country
Styles: Folk

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Source: MusicBrainz

LYRICS

(J. Baez)
The lady's adrift in a foreign land
Singing on issues both humble and grand A
Decade flew past her and there on the page
She read that the prince had returned to the stage
Hovering near treacherous waters
A friend saw her drifting and caught her
Unguarded fantasies flying too far
Memories tumbling like sweets from a jar
And take me down to the harbor now
Grapes of the summer are low on the bough
Ghosts of my history will follow me there
And the winds of the old days will blow through my hair
Breath on an undying ember It doesn't take much to remember
Those eloquent songs from the good old days
That set us to marching with banners ablaze
But reporters, there's no sense in prying
Our blue-eyed son's been denying
The truths that are wrapped in a mystery
The sixties are over so set him free
And take me down to the harbor now
Grapes of the summer are low on the bough
Ghosts of my history will follow me there
And the winds of the old days will blow through my hair
Why do I sit the autumnal judge
Years of self-righteousness will not budge
Singer or savior, it was his to choose
Which of us knows what was his to lose
Because idols are best when they're made of stone
A savior's a nuisance to live with at home
Stars often fall, heroes go unsung
And martyrs most certainly die too young
So thank you for writing the best songs
Thank you for righting a few wrongs
You're a savage gift on a wayward bus
But you stepped down and you sang to us
And get you down to the harbor now
Most of the sour grapes are gone from the bough
Ghosts of Johanna will visit you there
And the winds of the old days will blow through your hair