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Linda Ronstadt and the Music She Still Longs to Hear
Imagine spending your life giving music to the world, then finding that even going out to hear it has become difficult. For Linda Ronstadt, the loss of her singing voice was only one part of a much larger change.
For decades, Ronstadt could fill a concert hall with a song. She moved from the country rock of “Different Drum” to hits such as “You’re No Good” and “Blue Bayou,” then followed her curiosity into jazz standards and the Mexican music she had known since childhood. Whatever she sang, she made listeners feel that the words belonged to her.
Eventually, singing became harder. Ronstadt noticed changes in her voice before she understood what was happening. She was initially told she had Parkinson’s disease; the condition was later identified as progressive supranuclear palsy, or PSP. By the time she spoke publicly about her diagnosis, she could no longer sing as she once had.
It is tempting to tell that story through the songs she can no longer perform. But Ronstadt has described losses that reach into quieter parts of the day. Walking a long distance can be exhausting. Sitting upright for an extended period can be difficult. An evening at the opera or symphony, something she deeply enjoys, takes more effort than it once did.
In a 2019 interview with The New Yorker, she said she made an effort to go out for opera and orchestral performances, but could manage it only a few times a year. She spoke with particular affection for the experience of being there when a conductor raised his baton. For someone who had spent a lifetime listening closely, missing those evenings hurt.
That detail brings her experience into focus. A concert is more than the music coming from the stage. It is the anticipation before the first note, the musicians preparing together, and the feeling of an audience listening in one room. Ronstadt helped create that feeling for countless people. Now, attending a performance herself can be a rare occasion.
She has still found ways to listen. Ronstadt has spoken about discovering singers and opera performances online, and about having musicians play in her home. Her physical world has grown smaller, but her interest in voices and songs remains wide.
Perhaps that is why her story stays with so many listeners. The woman whose recordings traveled across genres and generations still cares about the sound of someone else singing. She still knows what it means to hear a performance unfold, even when getting to the hall is hard.
Put on one of her records today and you can hear the voice that made her famous. Then think of Linda listening, too: attentive to the melody, missing the concert hall, and holding close the music that has been part of her life for so long.
