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Joan Baez – Diamonds and Rust

Diamonds & Rust - Wikipedia

About the Song

Joan Baez. Her voice, a crystalline soprano, has been the soundtrack to social change, a beacon of hope, and a vessel for some of the most beautiful and moving folk songs ever written. But beyond her role as an activist and interpreter of traditional music, Baez is also a gifted songwriter, capable of crafting deeply personal and emotionally resonant songs that speak to the universal human experience. And in 1975, she gifted the world with one such masterpiece: “Diamonds and Rust.”   

“Diamonds and Rust” is more than just a song; it’s a confessional, a deeply intimate glimpse into the heart of a woman reflecting on a past love. It’s a song that aches with both the beauty of memory and the sting of lost love. The lyrics, poetic and evocative, paint a vivid picture of a relationship that has ended, but whose echoes still linger. Baez doesn’t shy away from the pain, but she also celebrates the moments of joy and connection that defined the relationship. It’s a nuanced portrayal of love, loss, and the complex emotions that come with them.   

The melody, simple yet elegant, perfectly complements the lyrical content. It’s a gentle, melancholic tune that draws the listener in, inviting them to share in Baez’s reflections. Her voice, at once strong and vulnerable, conveys the full spectrum of emotions, from wistful nostalgia to quiet resignation. The arrangement, understated and tasteful, allows the lyrics and the melody to take center stage, creating a truly intimate and moving listening experience.

What sets “Diamonds and Rust” apart is its honesty and vulnerability. Baez doesn’t try to sugarcoat the pain or pretend that the past didn’t happen. Instead, she confronts it head-on, acknowledging the hurt but also recognizing the growth and wisdom that have come from the experience. It’s a song about acceptance, about learning to let go, and about finding beauty even in the midst of sorrow.

“Diamonds and Rust” has become a timeless classic, a testament to Baez’s songwriting prowess and her ability to connect with listeners on a deeply personal level. It’s a song that resonates with anyone who has ever loved and lost, a reminder that even though love may fade, the memories and the lessons learned remain. So, if you’re looking for a song that speaks to the heart, a song that is both beautiful and heartbreaking, look no further than Joan Baez’s “Diamonds and Rust.” It’s a true masterpiece, a gem that will continue to shine for generations to come.The Public, the Private and the Secret Life of Joan Baez | SF/Arts

Video 

Lyrics: Diamonds and Rust 

Well I’ll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that’s not unusual
It’s just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I’d known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall

As I remember your eyes
Were bluer than robin’s eggs
My poetry was lousy you said
Where are you calling from?
A booth in the midwest
Ten years ago
I bought you some cufflinks
You brought me something
We both know what memories can bring
They bring diamonds and rust

Well you burst on the scene
Already a legend
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms
And there you stayed
Temporarily lost at sea
The Madonna was yours for free
Yes the girl on the half-shell
Would keep you unharmed

Now I see you standing
With brown leaves falling around
And snow in your hair
Now you’re smiling out the window
Of that crummy hotel
Over Washington Square
Our breath comes out white clouds
Mingles and hangs in the air
Speaking strictly for me
We both could have died then and there

Now you’re telling me
You’re not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
Because I need some of that vagueness now
It’s all come back too clearly
Yes I loved you dearly
And if you’re offering me diamonds and rust
I’ve already paid

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THE 1970s HAD NO NOISE. JUST JOHN DENVER AND THE TRUTH. In the 1970s, America didn’t need to be convinced. It just listened. John Denver’s voice never rushed or tried to prove anything. It sounded like someone who had time. “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” “Annie’s Song,” “Rocky Mountain High” played everywhere, not because they were dramatic, but because they were true. You could see quiet roads, soft light through a window, mountains sitting still in the distance. He didn’t sing to impress crowds. He sang like he was talking to you, calmly, choosing the right words. And somehow, without shouting, he made an entire country slow down and breathe a little easier.

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Vince Gill’s fingers shook slightly on the guitar. Not from nerves. From feeling. Amy Grant leaned into him without thinking, the way you do when love has become instinct. Their voices met gently. No big gestures. No fireworks. Just warmth moving through a quiet room. You could hear people stop breathing. Some wiped their eyes. Some just stood still. Her voice floated like soft snowfall. His carried it, steady and familiar. Together, they didn’t sing to 2026. They welcomed it. With hope. With healing. With the kind of love that doesn’t need to prove anything. Sometimes the truest New Year gift is being reminded what really lasts.

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AFTER YEARS OF WANTING LESS, GRATITUDE BECAME HIS LOUDEST SOUND. Long before the lights and applause, Ricky Van Shelton knew what it meant to wait — for money, for chances, for belief. Maybe that’s why success never made him proud. It made him careful. And grateful. When he sang I Meant Every Word He Said, it didn’t land like a performance. It sounded like a confession — a quiet assurance that words spoken honestly don’t disappear when the crowd goes home. That steady voice carried the memory of lean days and answered prayers. Ricky never sang to impress. He sang to remind us that truth, once said, is already enough.

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WHEN SIX QUIET YEARS WERE ENOUGH TO CHANGE HOW COUNTRY FELT. From 1959 to 1965, Marty Robbins sang without chasing volume or drama. He trusted the story more than the spotlight, delivering emotion with restraint instead of force. His voice stayed calm, almost accepting — and that’s what pulled listeners closer. You weren’t instructed how to feel; you arrived there on your own. You can hear it clearly in Devil Woman. The tension never rises, yet it never lets go. The warning feels personal, like advice shared late, quietly, when it matters most. Marty didn’t follow trends. He built something steadier. Country music that didn’t ask for attention — and never really left once it had yours.

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