Songs of Love and Hate
Released: April 1971
Chart Peak: #145
Weeks Charted: 11
Songs From A Room, Cohen's second album, was for me a great improvement over his first because of restraint in the use of strings, clarions and angelic choirs, and because the compositions themselves were fairly even in quality (with "Bird on the Wire" and "Story of Isaac" two really tight, clean stand-outs). And short -- he shouldn't be straining the frail but frequently quite lovely melodies to five and six minutes, as he does on Songs of Love and Hate. But this record, alas, goes back to all the trash that cluttered up the first album -- schlock horns, schlock strings, schlock chorus -- as if to make of it a style. Recognizable, yes -- no one but Leonard Cohen could have come out with these arrangements -- but a style, no.
There are a couple of terrific songs on this one (Cohen is one of those artists who would benefit greatly by a "Best Of" album), though the record as a whole has not the charm that his first develops after a long while -- it is not as likable, because it is frequently downright depressing.
"Famous Blue Raincoat," of the two, is the one that really improves with each hearing; it is about something, which gives the lyrics a spine the other songs on the record lack, what with images longer, more obscure and frequently tangled than before. "Famous Blue Raincoat" is the characteristic L. Cohen hymn to promiscuity ("Winter Lady," "Tonight Will Be Fine," among others): "And you treated my woman/To a flake of your life/And when she came home/She was nobody's wife."
It is in this song that the female chorus is most harmful -- it draws attention to the lyric, for one thing, which is at that point most inane: "And Jane came by with a lock of your hair/She said that you gave it to her..." But the guitar here is restful, not the usual busy-signal that one finds on "Avalanche" here and "Songs of the Street," for instance, on The Songs of Leonard Cohen.
"Avalanche," the first song on the first side, bears the famous Cohen mosquito-hum guitar, a distracting stutter. The image here is abjection, and I think (hedge) that it is about the temptations of pity ("It is your flesh I wear"). But is is pretended abjection, after all -- the weakness, a constant theme of Cohen's, is a pose: "The cripple that you clothe and feed/Is neither starved nor cold." As on "Love Calls You By Your Name," later on the record: "Wondering when the bandage pulls away/Was I only limping?/Was I really lame?"
"Last Year's Man" and the cut that follows it, "Dress Rehearsal Rag," create the same mood (depressing) but "Last Year's Man" is more literary -- sometimes quite nicely, as in the refrain: "The skylight is like a skin/On a drum I'll never mend/And the rain falls down on last year's man." "Dress Rehearsal Rag" has what may be a very slight echo -- whatever it is, it does wonders for Cohen's voice -- and the chorus works well here within the relative simplicity of the Army, Cohen's band.
"Diamonds In The Mine," the last son on the first side, indicates to me the essential stylelessness of the production, or perhaps the lack of stylistic integrity -- though I was satisfied with "Bird on the Wire," an earlier excursion into country sound. His voice screams, yells, spits, is so ugly that you fumble for the reject button or try to concentrate on Bob Johnston's fine piano (he also produced). His spoken exhortations ("You tell 'em now," addressing the chorus; closing with "That's all I got to say") won't exactly make you want to shake your little body.
On the other side, "Love Calls You By Your Name," shifts persons (from second to first), does a lot of interesting things with prepositional constructions ("Between the snowman and the rain...between the victim and his stain...") and so on, and has a bunch of nice lines ("shouldering your loneliness like a gun you will not learn to aim"), and has direction -- but it just can't be carried for six minutes.
"Sing Another Song, Boys," which appears to be a live recording of some sort, begins with a recitation (like "Joan of Arc") of the last verse, which comes off a bit embarrassing. Both his gifts and his painful excesses are evident. "His hand on his leather belt/Like it was the wheel of some ocean liner," does not, somehow, do it for me, and I'd be glad to sponsor a contest for an alternative to: "She tempts him with a clarinet/She waves a Nazi dagger." But then: "They'll never reach the moon/At least the one we're after..." and "But let's leave these lovers wondering/Why they cannot have each other." That's nice.
- Arthur Schmidt, Rolling Stone, 9/2/71.
Cohen's songs in his latest collection are not only about love and hate, but express in touching and empathetic terms despair, human frailty and need; the LP should fast catch on with radio stations and then record buyers. Of the eight songs in this superb album, "Dress Rehearsal Rag" and "Famous Blue Raincoat" are most impressive on first hearing.
- Billboard, 1971.
There are no bad songs on this album, and from Paul Buckmaster to acoustic strum, Bob Johnston's production fits each individually. I know, you wonder who cares. Well, I don't trust Cohen's melancholy anapests any more than I do his deadpan despair; there are plenty of songwriters both naive and arty, as well as page poets, with a fresher sense of language. But the poets can't read like Cohen, the songwriters rarely combine his craft and his maturity, and the man can really project. His bare voice and melodies shade in his tenderness and self-mockery ("I who have no need" indeed), creating a dramatic context in which his posture becomes as credible as Denise Levertov's or Mick Jagger's. Granted, its uses are limited -- best for late nights alone. Recommended to those who are turned off by Christie's opium fantasy in McCabe and Mrs. Miller but moved by Beatty's snow treck. A-
- Robert Christgau, Christgau's Record Guide, 1981.
- William Ruhlmann, The All-Music Guide to Rock, 1995.
The weak of heart should fear to tread in the Leonard Cohen songbook. That is especially true of Songs of Love and Hate, a sparse and haunting collection of open wounds, lingering contempt, and feverish love that ranks among his most emotionally intense offerings. The line between love and hate has rarely sounded thinner.
The songs unfold like short stories or, frequently, small poems, which makes sense given the author's background. Cohen had already written two novels and was a noted poet long before he became a darling of the folk movement and inked a recording contract. His first two releases on Columbia were greeted with wild critical acclaim and mild commercial success. With his flat monotone delivery and richly literate songs, Cohen was seen as Canada's answer to Bob Dylan. But he clearly showed that he was his own man on this release.
The artist's dramatic blend of folk and pop is perfectly captured here, starting with the twitchy acoustic guitar melding into a softly swelling string arrangement on the heartbreaking "Avalanche" and continuing through the singer's growling choruses pitted against lovely female harmonies on "Diamonds In The Mine." Love is indeed a battlefield and Cohen appropriately dubbed his backing band "The Army." Still, the album's best moments come when Cohen basically walks alone on such mournful numbers as "Last Year's Man" and "Joan of Arc."
- Jim Harrington, 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die, 2005.comments powered by Disqus
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