Leonard Cohen

Considered an artistic disaster in 1977, this "only in Hollywood" collaboration between low-key poet Cohen and control-freak producer Phil Spector has aged very well and paints a vivid portrait of middle-aged hipsters confused by the libertine world they helped create. Cohen was afraid of Spector (wonder why), but the wee man's studio bombast helps make this a unique work.

When I first met Leonard Cohen, he was telling a good friend of mine that his mother was
seriously ill. My friend, whose father had recently died, was so moved by Cohen's
mesmerizing familial compassion that she quietly began to cry. Seeing this, Cohen jumped
up, left the room and quickly returned with his famous blue raincoat. "Please cry on this,"
he said. "It soaks up the tears." And you wonder why I like Leonard Cohen. Unfo... More >

The bad music here can't be blamed on Phil Spector's melodies--Cohen has never posed as a particularly tuneful guy himself. And the main thing wrong with Spector's settings, banal though they are, is that they lack doors. Ordinarily, Cohen whispers, murmurs, whines, croaks, and even screams through the music. Here he has to try and sing over it, using more or less normal volume and timbre. (Grade - B-)