Joan Baez isn't just a folk singer. She's a tectonic plate in the history of American music. People usually sum her up with a quick mention of Bob Dylan or a "queen of folk" label, but honestly, that barely scratches the surface. If you really look at the Joan Baez top songs, you see a map of 60 years of social upheaval and deeply personal heartbreak.
Her voice? It's that legendary soprano. It could cut through a humid Washington D.C. afternoon in 1963 or vibrate the walls of a "crummy" Greenwich Village hotel. But the songs themselves are where the real weight lies.
The Dylan Factor (and the Song He Never Recorded)
You can't talk about Joan Baez without talking about "Bobby." But here’s the thing: while she famously interpreted his work, her best "Dylan" song is actually one she wrote herself.
"Diamonds and Rust" is arguably her masterpiece. Released in 1975, it’s a sharp, vivid look back at their relationship a decade prior. The lyrics mention a "ten-year-old" ghost and a pair of cufflinks. It’s biting. It’s tender. It’s basically the ultimate "ex-boyfriend" song before that was even a genre.
She once tried to tell Dylan it was about her ex-husband, David Harris, while they were rehearsing for the Rolling Thunder Revue. She was stonewalling. Dylan knew. We all know. The line "You burst on the scene already a legend" isn't exactly about a draft resister from California; it’s about the "unwashed phenomenon" from Minnesota.
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Why the Covers Matter
Baez didn't just sing Dylan; she translated him for people who couldn't handle his gravelly delivery.
- "Love Is Just a Four-Letter Word": This is a weird one. Dylan wrote it, but he never actually recorded a studio version. Baez made it hers. It’s cynical and breezy at the same time.
- "It Ain't Me Babe": When she sang this at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival, it transformed. In her hands, it wasn't just a rejection; it was an aria of independence.
- "Farewell, Angelina": A surrealist fever dream of a song. Her version is often cited as the definitive one, even over Dylan’s own outtakes.
The Activist’s Playlist
A lot of people think folk music is just soft strumming about flowers. For Baez, it was a weapon. She stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. She went to Hanoi. She refused to pay taxes that funded the Vietnam War.
"We Shall Overcome" is the big one here. It’s more than a song; it's a secular hymn. Her version from Woodstock in 1969—standing there pregnant, alone with a guitar—is the kind of thing that gives you chills even fifty years later.
Then there’s "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down." It’s a cover of The Band, written by Robbie Robertson. Some critics find it controversial because it’s told from the perspective of a Confederate soldier, but Baez’s version reached #3 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1971. It was her biggest commercial hit. She found a universal sense of loss in it that resonated with a country still reeling from its own internal divisions.
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Small Songs with Big Teeth
- "Birmingham Sunday": A haunting account of the 1963 church bombing. It’s blunt. It’s devastating.
- "Joe Hill": A tribute to the executed labor organizer. It’s a song about the idea that movements don't die with people.
- "There But for Fortune": Phil Ochs wrote it, but Baez took it to the charts. It’s a masterclass in empathy—basically saying "this could be you" to anyone looking down on the unhoused or the imprisoned.
The Traditional Roots
Before she was a superstar, she was a 19-year-old with a guitar in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her 1960 debut album consists entirely of traditional folk songs. No fluff. Just raw, old-world stories of murder and longing.
"Silver Dagger" is the first track on that first album. It’s about a girl whose mother sleeps with a dagger to keep suitors away. It’s dark. It sounds like it’s three hundred years old, which it basically is.
And then there's "House of the Rising Sun." Long before The Animals made it a rock anthem with that iconic organ riff, Baez was singing it as a stark, mournful warning. Her version is slower, more desperate. It feels like a real person trapped in a real New Orleans brothel, not just a radio hit.
The Later Gems (What Most People Miss)
If you stop listening to Baez after 1975, you’re missing out. She never stopped evolving. In 2018, she released Whistle Down the Wind, which was supposed to be her final studio album.
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"The President Sang Amazing Grace" (written by Zoe Mulford) is a modern essential. It’s about the 2015 Charleston church shooting. When Baez sings about Obama singing at the funeral, it bridges the gap between the 60s civil rights movement and the modern day. It shows that her "top songs" aren't just artifacts; they’re still being written.
How to Listen to Joan Baez Like an Expert
If you're looking to dive deeper than a Greatest Hits CD, here is a path to understanding the nuances of her discography:
- Start with "Diamonds and Rust": Listen to the lyrics. Imagine being the person on the other end of that phone call.
- Compare the Dylan Covers: Listen to Dylan's Bringing It All Back Home and then listen to Baez's Any Day Now. Notice how she smooths the edges but keeps the bite.
- Find the Live Recordings: Baez is a live performer at heart. Her version of "Gracias a la Vida" (by Violeta Parra) is best experienced in a live setting where you can hear the audience's breath catch.
- Look for the Collaborations: She has a version of "Dida" featuring Joni Mitchell that is pure mid-70s California folk-jazz magic. It’s a side of her people rarely talk about.
Joan Baez’s career is a reminder that a voice is a tool. Sometimes you use it to break a heart, and sometimes you use it to try and change the world. Usually, she did both at the same time.