Joni Mitchell continued her torrid pace in 1977, releasing her ninth album in 10 years. This one was a doozy.

Every major artist seems to have at least one grab bag double album in them, and Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter was Mitchell’s. This hour-long opus features only ten songs, including the 16-minute epic ‘Paprika Plains,’ which ran for the entirety of Side Two.

The record dived even deeper into her fascination with jazz fusion, and features contributions from celebrated jazz musicians, most notably bassist Jaco Pastorius and other members of his band Weather Report.

The album’s cover features three images of Mitchell, including one of her in blackface as her “alter ego,” a man named Art Nouveau. Mitchell donned this disguise in real life at parties, too, an act that doesn’t require hindsight to be problematic.

Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter isn’t as difficult a listen as you might imagine. Though several of its songs are largely improvised or feature primarily heavy percussion and vocal chanting, most of this material feels like an extension of her previous two albums.

It is, however, the kind of album a casual fan listens to once knowing full well you’ll never play it again.

That’s not the case for Joni Mitchell die-hards, however. I’ve discovered the online Mitchell army is very much like the Bob Dylan heads. No album, even one as sloppy as this, is viewed as less than a masterpiece. But to paraphrase The Incredibles‘ Syndrome, if everything is special, nothing is.