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Gravely disappointed by Leonard Cohen’s new offering, “Old Ideas.”

Whilst drawing inspiration for as long as I can remember from his voice, his poetry & his swagger–those vital first two ingredients are lacking altogether with the latter suffering a limp suggested by age but galvanized by worse–laziness.  While sometimes cute, the lyrical content here seldom asks any big questions, instead, relies on familiar turns of phrase (however well-executed) that settle for not much more than posturing. The voice–always a quiet admission–is even less musical here, at times so little resembling music you wonder: why the effort?  The closest one may find compliment is by calling comparison to a less rough “Heart of Saturday Night” era Tom Waits–abandoning still melody for settling heavily into a rhythm and patter that draws more on poetry than songwriting to spin its yarn. 

Cohen needn’t outside inspiration to pull such sleight, he’s called upon it before–and while I’d like to give old LC any benefit of doubt I could afford, his sheer ignorance to production lies quiescent awaiting the final nail in the coffin.  From cheesy chord changes to resting firmly on the tropes of the Cohen catalogue-past… From a blatant disregard for melody to the employ of computerized solo violin samples– this may be one of the most poorly produced records I’ve heard in the last decade.  As if Leonard Cohen decided, finally, it was time for some new material and proceeded to tear apart purposefully closed notebooks for material.  Then he may have asked his 13 year old nephew to write and record all of the music so that uncle Leonard could show up one afternoon to phone it in.

Personally, I often find it emotionally difficult to be underwhelmed by artists who don’t live up to the impression they’ve already made upon me.  I find some compassion when being lead to believe that they’ve come by it honestly.  And it leaves a process holding some meaning for me–if only one of maturation, reckoning and reflection. 

This latest from Leonard Cohen, however, is an embarrassing misstep.  A misstep that seems as unforgivable as it was necessary.  A misstep that stains the great and important legacy built by one of our truest contemporary poetic greats.  I’m embarrassed and appalled.  Instead, you ought to stick to the video attached–or better yet–the first ten years of his career for nourishment.