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- <text id=93TT0884>
- <title>
- Jan. 11, 1993: Reviews:Music
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
- Jan. 11, 1993 Megacities
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- REVIEWS
- MUSIC, Page 51
- Getting on A New Train
- </hdr>
- <body>
- <p>By JAY COCKS
- </p>
- <qt>
- <l>PERFORMER: LEONARD COHEN</l>
- <l>ALBUM: The Future</l>
- <l>LABEL: Columbia</l>
- </qt>
- <p> THE BOTTOM LINE: One of contemporary songwriting's most
- vital resources at the top of his high-altitude form.
- </p>
- <p> First reactions are especially valuable in cases like
- this. Forget the furrowed brow and the repeated candlelight
- reading of the lyric sheet with a glass of cheap red beside the
- CD jewel box. Whenever a performer of Leonard Cohen's high
- caliber and even higher seriousness comes out with a new album,
- the instinct is to treat it as if it were an invitation to a
- semiotics seminar or a cryptogram from a reclusive shaman poet.
- But just this once, never mind all that. The Future is a record
- to get onto, like an express from the far side of paradise, even
- before you get into it.
- </p>
- <p> It's a typically eccentric mixture of Cohen tunes and
- moods--sensual, alarming, cautionary, caustic, devastating--that gives the music the eerie persistence of a half-heard
- spell. But even his eccentricity is so wide-ranging, so
- continually renewing and surprising, that it probably isn't fair
- to call it typical. Anyone who expects the morose, slightly
- spacy voluptuary who sang, most famously, on the sound track of
- Robert Altman's McCabe and Mrs. Miller--the Cohen who sounded
- like Villon with frostbite--is in for a mighty shock
- encountering The Future.
- </p>
- <p> Cohen practically purrs here. He sings smoothly, if not
- prettily, and his writing has a measure of spareness that is new
- to it. The sound may be odd, as suprising as his outing with the
- amok Phil Spector on 1977's perplexing Death of a Ladies' Man.
- But it suits and insinuates. And the writing still has the same
- carbolic kick.
- </p>
- <p> Cohen is not one of those artists he characterizes in the
- title track as "lousy little poets/ Coming round/ Trying to
- sound like Charlie Manson." He knows how to be vulnerable as
- well as play at it. His love songs twist the heart around like
- fingers knotting a string. The gloomy ironies of political
- caution, like Democracy, are applied with a sense of urgency but
- salved by some surefooted wit ("I'm sentimental, if you know
- what I mean:/ I love the country but I can't stand the scene")
- that neatly sidesteps sermonizing.
- </p>
- <p> Fans will surely recognize the territory he describes in
- Closing Time ("Looks like freedom but it feels like death/ It's
- something in between, I guess") as prime Cohen real estate in
- which they have already put down stakes. But even they may be
- puzzled by a reasonably straightforward if not entirely adept
- version of the Irving Berlin chestnut Always. No fear, however.
- Even if Cohen tried to go Vegas, Caesars Palace would sound like
- the City Lights bookstore.
- </p>
-
- </body>
- </article>
- </text>
-
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