Carly simon dating 1970
She had started it as a kind of response to her acquaintance Neil Young’s “Sugar Mountain.” The achingly poignant song has an earned-sounding grasp of the finiteness of life; the relinquishment of the baby, in retrospect, seems a shadow theme.
Similar was “Both Sides, Now,” which she wrote on the cusp of her estrangement from Chuck: on top of its acknowledged influences (mainly Saul Bellow’s ), its theme of musing indecisiveness and of the shifting, illusory nature of truth suggests it was unconsciously autobiographical.
Most recently, with her blunt criticism of American culture and the record industry, and her unapologetic self-regard, she’s become that grand thing, rare in our publicist-mediated society: the outspoken dame, afraid of no one.
Carly Simon, ensconced among friends and siblings who were novelists, opera singers, art critics, cultural essayists, and therapists, came to embody what women were becoming in the early 70s—discerning feminists bold sensualists.
“I remember bringing her east,” he says now, adding, “I sort of felt like an older brother to her.” Joni stayed at Rush’s Cambridge apartment, and on their off night they traveled to his family’s home in Connecticut.
They came of age—and to music stardom—in the 60s and 70s: Carole King, the sensual Earth Mother; Joni Mitchell, the bohemian risktaker; and Carly Simon, the glamorous iconoclast.