Leonard Cohen
Songs of Leonard Cohen *****
Songs From a Room ***1/2
Songs of Love and Hate ****
Even before his register inched down toward Barry White territory and he became more winkingly self-referential about his Ladies’ Man status, Leonard Cohen was always a model of suave, restrained gentility. Now 72, he still produces folky, timeless, often mystical narratives concerning battles both figurative and literal, the quest for religious enlightenment and, never far from the surface, slow-boiling, all-consuming lust.
These three expanded re-releases find Cohen in his Buddhist-troubadour phase, all darkly poetic lyrics offset by sparse, spidery acoustic accompaniment. Each hardcover booklet features liner notes by Rolling Stone contributing editor Anthony DeCurtis, previously unpublished photography (dig that mustache!), Cohen artwork and more.
1967’s Songs of Leonard Cohen is the most gripping of the bunch. “Suzanne,” “The Stranger Song,” “Sisters of Mercy,” “So Long, Marianne” and “Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye,” ultimately reappeared on 2002’s two-disc Essential Leonard Cohen, but it’s the ominous “Master Song” and the lovelorn voodoo of “One of Us Cannot Be Wrong,” that represent Cohen at his most enigmatic. Bonus outtake track “Store Room” is an over-jangly take on sleepless desperation, while “Blessed Is the Memory” is a deceptively loping lit candle for a child lost to WWII concentration camps.
Vietnam-influenced tales take center stage with 1969’s Songs From a Room, with “The Partisan,” “The Old Revolution” “The Butcher” and “A Bunch of Lonesome Heroes”— which cannibalizes “So Long, Marianne”’s cadences to building, spectacular effect— referencing soldiers found out of time and the religious (“Story of Isaac”), romantic (“Tonight Will Be Fine”) and even alcoholic (“Bird on the Wire”) worship that sees them through. Also included are reprinted advertisements and early recordings of “Bird on the Wire” and “You Know Who I Am.”
It’s more melodically focused than its predecessors, yet Cohen’s voice possesses a new, underlying sneer that emphasizes the Hate aspect of 1971’s Songs of Love and Hate. Phantom-like backup singers waft in and out of the remorseful “Last Year’s Man” and the overtly suicidal “Dress Rehearsal Rag,” but nothing can touch the push-and-pull emotions inherent in the musical letter “Famous Blue Raincoat.” An early version of “Dress Rehearsal Rag” and typed “Joan of Arc” lyrics overlaid with Cohen’s notes, scribbles and doodles round out the package.