I first came across Anaïs Mitchell through Big Red Machine’s performance of “Phoenix” on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert in 2021. Her voice caught my attention, and “Phoenix” eventually became a regular part of my playlist rotation. Over the next couple of years, I’d occasionally come across videos of Mitchell singing on TikTok and stop to listen. There’s something about her voice that’s difficult to ignore, so I decided it was time to hear more of her music and started with her self-titled 2022 album.
Right off the bat, I was hooked. The arrangements are understated without ever feeling sparse. The album sounds as if the musicians were playing together in a room rather than piecing everything together in a studio. The production gives the instruments space to breathe, and nothing feels overdone.
And then there’s Mitchell’s voice. When I hear her sing, I think of artists like Stevie Nicks, Joni Mitchell, and Edie Brickell, not because she sounds like any of them, but because they all have such distinctive vocal personalities. Mitchell has that same recognizable quality in the way she phrases a line or stretches a note.
“Brooklyn Bridge” sets the tone for the album with its gentle, almost dreamlike atmosphere. The soft percussion has a rhythmic thump that brings to mind the wheels of a car moving over the road.
The song captures the feeling of being in a beautiful moment with someone important to you. There’s something almost magical about it, like Christmas in New York in a Nora Ephron movie.
Where “Brooklyn Bridge” is about appreciating a moment while you’re inside it, “Bright Star” feels more like the pursuit of something you can’t quite grasp. The song has a little more momentum, building as it goes, with guitar and piano beneath Mitchell’s honeyed vocals. There’s a sense of reaching for something here, some elusive presence or ideal that keeps drawing you forward.
Memories can bring someone back into your life, if only for a little while. That’s the feeling I get from “Revenant,” a song with an intimate, slightly mystical quality. It’s relaxed and almost hypnotic, with a sound that reminds me of Van Morrison. There’s also something about reconnecting with a younger version of yourself and the experiences that helped make you who you are.
“On Your Way (Felix Song)” is one of the album’s more anthemic moments. The guitars layer beautifully over the piano as the arrangement builds around Mitchell’s increasingly urgent vocal. There’s a little Dylan-like quality to some of her phrasing, and her backing vocals add another dimension. What I like most is that it feels celebratory rather than mournful, honoring someone who inspired her and remembering what she learned from their time together.
“Real World” pares things back again. With its acoustic guitar and close recording, it brings to mind Jim Croce, with Mitchell sounding almost as though she’s singing alone in a room. There’s a rhythmic quality to the melody that keeps it from feeling sad, even as the song expresses a longing for physical presence and shared experiences. It’s a lovely reminder of how much of life happens in ordinary moments we might otherwise take for granted.
Looking back on youth can bring back memories of familiar roads, teenage adventures, and the freedom of being young. “Backroads” captures that nostalgia through woodwind touches and a mix of folk and jazz that gives the song a slightly different feel. Mitchell’s playful vocal phrasing reminds me of Joni Mitchell, particularly in the way she moves through a line. But the nostalgia becomes more complicated as Mitchell considers how race shapes youthful rebellion. The white teenagers could get away with behavior that might put Black teenagers at risk, adding another dimension to the freedom she remembers.
“Little Big Girl” has a country-leaning sound, with prominent piano and a playful, conversational vocal. The song gets at the idea that growing older doesn’t necessarily mean outgrowing the insecurities we develop when we’re young. It also touches on how men and women can have different experiences as they grow up and navigate the world. Men can carry an unearned confidence, while women are often taught to second-guess themselves and put others first. Those habits don’t just disappear when we become adults.
“Now You Know” has a gentle sound, with softly strummed guitar and an electric-guitar part that has a distinctly 60s reverb. But there’s an urgency in Mitchell’s singing as she tries to explain to her partner how busy her mind can get, moving from one thought to the next until she can’t quite turn it off.
There’s something tender about loving someone who accepts the parts of you that can make a relationship difficult. “The Words” feels like a love song to that kind of understanding. The layered guitars are gorgeous, and Mitchell’s distinctive phrasing makes the song feel intimate. It can be heard as a song about the creative process, about a songwriter whose mind is always distracted, but it also speaks to the difficulty of communicating how you feel and worrying that this can make you appear detached.
“Watershed” closes the album with a gorgeous, piano-led arrangement. Mitchell’s vocal has an embracing quality, and the song reflects on the experiences that shape us. The highs and lows, the happiness and sorrow, the people we’ve loved and lost—all become part of who we are.
That’s what makes Anaïs Mitchell such a rewarding album. These songs explore the moments we want to preserve, the things we continue to pursue, the people who shape us, and the ones who love us while we’re still trying to figure ourselves out. They recognize that our experiences, both happy and painful, become part of who we are.
Mitchell doesn’t sound like someone who has reached the end of the road and figured everything out. She sounds like someone who’s lived enough to recognize that the process of becoming yourself never really stops.
And on top of all that, it’s just a gorgeous album to listen to. Mitchell’s voice is a big part of that, of course, but the music surrounding her is just as lovely. It’s the kind of record that can leave you thinking about life for a while, while also making you want to hit play again.
Verdict: Masterpiece
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