•
Rating:
Some superficial critics have claimed that his songs are incitements to suicide; some rude journalist even had the audacity to tell him so in an interview a few years ago, also asking him why. To this, Leonard Cohen gracefully dodged the question and, changing the subject, elegantly avoided sending the microphone-wielding idiot packing. Of course, this veteran singer-songwriter (72 years old) has always been a difficult client for the world of show-business: absolutely indifferent to market rules and promotional operations, he preferred to live as a human being within the possible limits rather than as a star, releasing his own album only when he felt sufficiently inspired. In short, a true artist, moreover versatile: poet, writer, and singer-songwriter only starting from the not-so-tender age of 34. Coming from that kind of bohemian life transported across the ocean from Canada, he achieved somewhat elitist but steady success, more European than American. Indeed, his way of singing, almost declaiming and accentuating the lower registers of his already cavernous voice, suggests a French chansonnier, however, from the other side of the world; moreover, the reflective and "existentialist" nature of his poems set to music brings him closer to European singer-songwriters than to the rock musicians of his continent. Not for nothing in Italy, one of the few to understand him was Fabrizio De André, who made known in splendid translations two of Cohen's most extraordinary and touching compositions, "Suzanne" and "Nancy," passionate and unforgettable portraits of "different" women, supported, at least in these two cases, by absolutely inspired motifs.
To tell the truth, more than occasionally, this poet has revealed a surprising musical creativity, not too penalized by clear technical limits. From an arrangement point of view, Leonard Cohen is the most sparse imaginable: little more than guitar and voice, rare decorative elements used sparingly, like female choirs and the typical "fiddle," a traditional Jewish accompanying violin. But his is a type of music strictly functional to the emotions conveyed by the words, and therefore it absolutely doesn't need "special effects." Following the belated but extraordinary debut of 1968 "Songs Of Leonard Cohen" (which despite the predictable title is a treasure trove of classics), the ideal continuation comes the following year with "Songs From A Room," a title suggesting deep reflections born within the confines of a room, a world completely different from that of the vast spaces mythologized by "West Coast" inspired authors, like fellow countrymen Neil Young and Joni Mitchell, adopted Californians.
Instead of fantastic dreams of freedom and endless prairies, here we find intimate and entirely personal confessions, like the essential and transparent "Bird On The Wire," a kind of mirror-song, whose lyrics revolve around the fundamental line "I have tried in my way to be free," or the more somber "I Know Who I Am," a bitter accounting of an extremely intricate love relationship ("I cannot follow you, my love, you cannot follow me, I am the distance you have placed between the moments we will be... "). More often the reflections are not so explicit and direct, but arise from imaginary encounters with highly symbolic figures, so much so that certain songs end up seeming like brief parables of biblical inspiration, and probably Cohen's Jewish origins influence this aspect quite a bit. The reference is evident in the compelling "Story Of Isaac," where the biblical episode is used as a premise to develop a reflection on the absurdity of war, but also figures like the butcher who slaughters the lamb in "The Butcher," the "woman with wrinkles on her face" in "Lady Midnight," although masterfully sketched, seem to be more abstract symbols than real people. In the end, the more concrete and palpable characters remain the sweet lover of "Tonight Will Be Fine," a rare example of a "positive" Cohen song, and the tragic Nancy of "Seems So Long Ago, Nancy," with her absolute and hopeless solitude, disguised as freedom, and the inevitable suicide. Little room is reserved for political and social topics: it's more Dylan's domain than Cohen's. There's still the horror of war in "The Partisan," which with its angelic choirs is also one of the most musically successful songs, and there's the terrible disillusionment of those who fought for something that turned out to be useless in the ruthless "The Old Revolution." Overall, a classic of singer-songwriter music, a must-have for those who love poetry, music, and their intersection. And above all, no incitement to suicide, but only to thought and reflection, which I don't think has ever killed anyone.
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Bird on the Wire (03:26)
like a bird on the wire
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
like a worm on the hook
like a knight from some old-fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee
and if I have been unkind
I hope that you will just let it go by
and if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you
like a babe stillborn
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me
but I swear by this song
and by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch
he said to me "you must not ask for so much"
and the pretty woman leaning in her darkened door
she cried to me "hey, why not ask for more?"
like a bird on the wire
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
02 Story of Isaac (03:35)
The door it opened slowly,
my father he came in,was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
his blue eyes they were shining
and his voice was very cold.
He said,I've had a vision
and you know I'm strong and holy,
I must do what I've been told,
So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
and his axe was made of gold.
Well, the trees they got much smaller,
the lake a lady's mirror,
we stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
and he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
but it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
he looked once behind his shoulder,
he knew I would not hide.
You who build these altars now
to sacrifice these children,
you must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
and you never have been tempted
by a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
your hatchets blunt and bloody,
you were not there before,
when I lay upon a mountain
and my father's hand was trembling
with the beauty of the word.
And if you call me brother now,
forgive me if I inquire,
Just according to whose plan,
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,
man of peace or man of war,
the peacock spreads his fan.
03 A Bunch of Lonesome Heroes (03:12)
A bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes
were smoking out along the open road;
the night was very dark and thick between them,
each man beneath his ordinary load.
“I’d like to tell my story,”
said one of them so young and bold,
“I’d like to tell my story,
before I turn into gold.”
But no one really could hear him,
the night so dark and thick and green;
well I guess that these heroes must always live there
where you and I have only been.
Put out your cigarette, my love,
you’ve been alone too long;
and some of us are very hungry now
to hear what it is you’ve done that was so wrong.
I sing this for the crickets,
I sing this for the army,
I sing this for your children
and for all who do not need me.
“I’d like to tell my story,”
said one of them so bold,
“Oh yes, I’d like to tell my story
’cause you know I feel I’m turning into gold.”
by Leonard Cohen, Stranger Music Inc. (BMI).
04 The Partisan (03:26)
When they poured across the border
I was cautioned to surrender,
this I could not do;
I took my gun and vanished.
I have changed my name so often,
I have lost my wife and children
but I have many friends,
and some of them are with me.
An old woman gave us shelter,
kept us hidden in the garret,
then the soldiers came;
she died without a whisper.
There were three of us this morning
I'm the only one this evening
but I must go on;
the frontiers are my prison.
Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
through the graves the wind is blowing,
freedom soon will come;
then we'll come from the shadows.
Les Allemands étaient chez moi, (The Germans were at my home)
ils me dirent, "Signe toi," (They said, "Sign yourself,")
mais je n'ai pas peur; (But I am not afraid)
j'ai repris mon arme. (I have retaken my weapon.)
J'ai changé cent fois de nom, (I have changed names a hundred times)
j'ai perdu femme et enfants (I have lost wife and children)
mais j'ai tant d'amis; (But I have so many friends)
j'ai la France entière. (I have all of France)
Un vieil homme dans un grenier (An old man, in an attic)
pour la nuit nous a caché, (Hid us for the night)
les Allemands l'ont pris; (The Germans captured him)
il est mort sans surprise. (He died without surprise.)
Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
through the graves the wind is blowing,
freedom soon will come;
then we'll come from the shadows.
06 The Old Revolution (04:46)
I finally broke into the prison,
I found my place in the chain.
Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows,
all the brave young men
they're waiting now to see a signal
which some killer will be lighting for pay.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.
I fought in the old revolution
on the side of the ghost and the King.
Of course I was very young
and I thought that we were winning;
I can't pretend I still feel very much like singing
as they carry the bodies away.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
Lately you've started to stutter
as though you had nothing to say.
To all of my architects let me be traitor.
Now let me say I myself gave the order
to sleep and to search and to destroy.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
Yes, you who are broken by power,
you who are absent all day,
you who are kings for the sake of your children's story,
the hand of your beggar is burdened down with money,
the hand of your lover is clay.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
07 The Butcher (03:17)
I came upon a butcher,
he was slaughtering a lamb,
I accused him there
with his tortured lamb.
He said, "Listen to me, child,
I am what I am and you, you are my only son."
Well, I found a silver needle,
I put it into my arm.
It did some good,
did some harm.
But the nights were cold
and it almost kept me warm,
how come the night is long?
I saw some flowers growing up
where that lamb fell down;
was I supposed to praise my Lord,
make some kind of joyful sound?
He said, "Listen, listen to me now,
I go round and round
and you, you are my only child."
Do not leave me now,
do not leave me now,
I'm broken down
from a recent fall.
Blood upon my body
and ice upon my soul,
lead on, my son, it is your world.
Loading comments slowly
Other reviews
By De-cano
It is essentially this the essence of what Leonard Cohen wishes to communicate to us.
A slow maturation, marked by drugs and poverty, an imperative source for a songwriting art thirsty and melancholic, romantic and decadent.
