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Leonard Cohen - Dear Heather Leonard Cohen has been, for 37 years now, one of the world's greatest musical treasures. Over the course of 11 studio albums (plus a handful of collections and live recordings) he has established himself as an unparalleled chronicler of life's quiet miseries and joys. Where any number of artists have been able to capture the action, Cohen has always thrived in the space between the moments. He seems to have always understood that true discovery lies there, and as such has rarely failed to temper sadness with beauty.
Nowhere is that more evident than on 2001's Ten New Songs, his last album and first after a nine year absence. It marked a welcome and logical step for a man who had spent so many years baring his soul in public. More polished and evasive than many of his early efforts, it bears an assured, mature tone that rewards repeated listening. Throughout it, Cohen seems to be saying "I have nothing more to prove, I do this now simply because I love it." To the listener go the spoils, as it is always a pleasure to see a master at work in top form, especially when it's well past the time when his skills, by rights, should have declined.
It's important to remember just who and what Leonard Cohen is before you listen to his latest album, Dear Heather. This is so that you don't hold it against him.
Because, unfortunately, it's hard to see Dear Heather as anything but a disappointment. Indeed, if it were anybody but Cohen, and so no great work demanding comparison, it would simply be a mediocre album. It's easy to be charitable in this case, but the fact that doing so is necessary only reinforces the album's status as a letdown.
Things get off to a distressing start with Go No More A-Roving, a Lord Byron poem set to music that includes a smooth jazz sax line reminiscent of – gulp – Kenny G. While comparisons to that epic jazz butcher largely (thankfully) end there, the album never really recovers. The tracks often feel as if they were composed on an ancient Casio, and they are light and airy to a fault. The poetry motif is repeated throughout, with both Because Of (a Cohen original) and Villanelle For Our Time (from a Frank Scott poem) amounting to little more than coffeehouse spoken word. The title track is likewise poetic, though it does rise higher than the others.
Cohen's reliance on overt poetry can be forgiven to a point because it's a form he's always employed. The difference here is that he was better at it in the past, and so these new compositions feel half finished. Most of the album, in fact, is disturbingly slight. Cohen's music has always had depth, and one wonders just why this album is so different from the rest in that respect.
That's not to say it's wholly terrible, as there are three songs here likely to stand up when all the others have faded. That Day is a haunting meditation on 9/11 set to an engaging, Lean on Me-style piano line. It addresses the complex emotions of that difficult time as only Cohen could, with a probing spirituality and some much needed perspective. There For You is, likewise, reminiscent of better form, a multilayered profession of devotion that reads half as lament and half as exaltation.
The last word comes in the form of a live rendition of the classic Pee Wee King composition Tennessee Waltz, and it's telling that this is arguably the best track on the album. There's an energy and depth there that can't be denied, and so it serves not so much to close the album as to open it up again. Cohen is obviously still capable, so perhaps Dear Heather's lack of urgency and weight is a temporary circumstance.
At least, that's what one has to hope. You have to figure that Cohen has at least one more album in him, and it's fairly surprising that it took him this long to release his least compelling work. With the weight of history behind him, he can be forgiven for a misstep. As long as it doesn't mark the end of an era.
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