Lyrical Analysis of "Diamonds and Rust" by Joan Baez

In November of 1974, legendary folk pioneer Joan Baez began the process of writing, composing, and recording a string of eleven songs for her album to be released a year later, Diamonds and Rust. In the vein of most Baez releases, the record included both original songs and a selection of covers featuring her signature sound—this time interpreting the voices of Stevie Wonder, Jackson Browne, John Prine, and, of course, Bob Dylan. During this period, she received an unexpected call from Dylan, which prompted her to abandon the song she was working on and instead detail her complicated relationship with him in the mid-60s. The titular song, “Diamonds and Rust,” would become one of Baez’s greatest hits, standing alongside her other Dylan covers and cementing their relationship in folk music history forever.

The track begins with a lilting acoustic guitar accompanied by cymbal shimmers, coaxing the listener into the haunting experience of revisiting bitter memories of a past lover:

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

The atmospheric and eerie tone of the instrumentation is reinforced by the imagery of a ghost and a full moon, making it clear that this relationship has been haunting Baez for years.

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 Baez speaks to the caller—widely understood to be Dylan—the floodgates of memory reopen, along with the recollection of Dylan’s chaotic lifestyle. She hadn’t been writing about him before, but she is now.

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

Here, Baez recalls Dylan once dismissing her poetry as “lousy.” The irony lies in the fact that he is now calling her from a phone booth for advice on lyrics he was writing for Blood on the Tracks.

Ten years ago
I bought you some cufflinks
You brought me something
We both know what memories can bring
They bring diamonds and rust

The title and chorus serve as a metaphor for the polarity of memory, illustrating how the shining, lovely moments—the “diamonds” of the relationship—contrast sharply with the “rust.” Baez could also be describing Dylan himself: gilded and alluring from a distance, but ultimately disappointing up close.

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
Could keep you unharmed

Here, Baez characterizes Dylan as messy, nomadic, and lost— even within her arms. There is an underlying recognition that the relationship could never last. She casts her past self as naive and innocent, comparing herself to the Madonna. (She even likened herself to the Virgin Mary in a 2009 BBC documentary.) The “girl on the half-shell” likely references Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, suggesting that Dylan placed her on a pedestal, shaping her into what he wanted in that moment.

Now I see you standing
With brown leaves falling all 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

In this memory of Greenwich Village, Baez expands the diamonds-and-rust metaphor once again. The “crummy” hotel contrasts with Dylan smiling out the window, embodying the mix of diamonds and rust in their shared past.

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
'Cause 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

On this call, Dylan insists he does not miss their past, and the wall between them remains. Despite Dylan’s reputation (later solidified by his Nobel Prize) as America’s great songwriter, he has never been able to communicate directly, always leaving things vague and open to interpretation. For Baez, the wounds of the past reopen, but she now sees Dylan for what he is: someone who can only ever offer her diamonds, but diamonds that will inevitably rust.