A Review by Judy Garrison

I loved every second of watching this 95 minute documentary/musical (on Prime Video?), replete with clips of the music I’d listened to back to the sixties, stories of Linda’s colorful family life, her extensive musical journey, her fruitful interactions with other musicians. And we could watch old footage galore of those interactions. A sampling: Neil Young, Don Henley, Aaron Neville, Johnny Cash, Carrie Underwood, Ringo Starr, Mick Jagger.

Knowing that Linda—whom I’d first seen perform in the Village (NYC) in 1968, when she was fresh on the scene with the Stone Poneys, singing “Different Drum” with such verve and presence that it had me an instant fan and my boyfriend in crush mode for days—was a victim of Parkinson’s disease, I was hesitant to bear witness to her physical decline, and even more to the decline in her prodigious singing ability. But that proved a foolish hesitation.

When I wrote here about Paul Anka’s career, I bubbled over with praise for his gifted and prolific songwriting. Linda, in contrast, hasn’t written the songs she sings, though there is general accord that through her virtuoso expressive ability and her voice’s amazing range, she makes every song her own. What stands out singularly in her career is the huge diversity of genres she sang in, often against everyone’s advice. From folk to pop to rock to country to Gilbert & Sullivan. I remember buying her Nelson Riddle collection of American songbook selections on CD, and playing it so often I would have worn down the grooves if it were a vinyl record. When singing in the shower it was her phrasing I’d imitate. When she came out with Cantos de mi Padre, I played that CD endlessly, despite my inability to understand much of the Spanish. Occasionally, curious to grasp the whole meaning, I’d listen while reading the lyrics provided with the CD in both Spanish and English. Even though many of the songs were familiar from her childhood family singalongs, Linda wasn’t content with halfway measures. The film shows the energy and devotion she poured into extending her ability to speak, understand and sing in Spanish, along with the plethora of production details she oversaw.

Linda had no hesitation, despite being known as a rock musician, in coming out with a country album, and she was as true to that genre as any Nashville honky tonker. These forays were not simply to prove that she could master new genres; there was simply no way she would deny an inherent musical need to continually extend her reach as a performer. And the new areas she further explored as a professional singer were all genres she was familiar with—she’d been introduced to them early in life by the enthusiasm of various family members. Despite the naysayers and attempts on the part of her agents to fence her in, Linda couldn’t and wouldn’t curtail a full-scale production or entry into a diversity of genres. And each time she redeems herself brilliantly. That fervent perseverance is her magic sauce.

Another bit of her magic was her talent for creating family and community among musicians. I was struck by her commentary about the time she first heard Emmylou Harris sing. Whereas Linda was in the habit of forging friendships with backup musicians and the like, in this case she saw another young woman singing in a style like hers, but “better.” And while she initially felt a tinge of jealousy, Linda went on to befriend Emmylou, and then invited the singer who was suffering from a romantic breakup, to live with her. Subsequent footage of Linda singing harmony with Emmylou and Dolly Parton is stirring and heartwarming. And so is the final footage of today’s Linda singing the family’s old repertoire of Mexican songs with her brother and nephew. Now at peace with the fact of the diminution in her vocal strength and range, there is nothing to stop her from singing with all the exuberance she can muster.~