Columbia Records & Legacy Records · November 22, 2019

In November 2016, Leonard Cohen released his album 

. Just weeks later, he was gone. Much more than an accompaniment to tragedy, it was the great writer’s best work in many years. But Cohen’s profound and timely meditation on death would not be his last album. Compiling and completing unfinished ideas from the 

 sessions, Cohen’s son and producer Adam Cohen has shared 

, Leonard Cohen’s first (and perhaps only) musical offering since his passing.

Any posthumous album deserves to be a hesitantly accepted gift. In Cohen’s case particularly, isn’t it sacrilege to share the unfinished work of the man who spent countless late nights in nothing but his underwear, banging his head against the floor, writing and discarding some 80 verses to “Hallelujah”? Nevertheless, the album is here, completed with a father’s blessing and assembled with the utmost care. But where does it fit in the Leonard Cohen canon?

The Leonard Cohen discography, beyond the sparest acoustic recording, is split into two parts: Leonard Cohen and The Other Stuff. Some notable features in this wide-ranging camp include Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound on 

 and the spectacular Casio keyboard extravaganza 

 Both equally ridiculous, but both part of the fun. Adam Cohen recruits an all-star cast to compose The Other Stuff on 

, to minimal effect. Contributions from Beck, Feist, U2 producer Daniel Lanois, Damien Rice, and more assemble a dark wash of nylon strings, moody percussion, and the occasional orchestral or choral padding. Except for a couple of stumbles, the younger Cohen does a very good job staying out of the elder Cohen’s way. In a video feature published by La Blogothéque, collaborator Michael Chaves reverently discussed how at every step of the process the enlisted team of album-finishers asked: “would Leonard like this?” Ye of little faith. It’s hard to believe that his closest collaborators and admirers wouldn’t realize that the old man liked to have some fun once in a while.

And yet, a sense of fun, if not missing, is certainly suppressed on Cohen’s vocal performances as well. A physical pain can always be felt in the background of his impossibly deep voice, giving his performances a sense of dead set sincerity even if they’re sung with a grin that’s invisible to the microphone. It’s what makes songs like “The Night of Santiago,” a final 

tribute to Cohen’s hero Federico García Lorca

, cross the threshold into the uncomfortable. It’s far from the first time Cohen has made 

 on record, but perhaps the flamenco claps and ever more strained voice make song more self-serious than the man would have let it come across had he been alive to sign off on it.

Fifty thousand cigarettes and several swimming pools of whiskey may be taking their toll on Cohen’s vocal performances more than they did on 

, but they have made him a stunning reciter of his own poetry. “The Goal” and “Listen to the Hummingbird” are the two most touching moments on 

. Performed as only spoken words in a halting, uncertain rhythm, they carry the painful question of whether they were performed as intended or if they were all that Adam Cohen was left with when his father passed, melodies yet to be determined. The especially thin and scratchy recording quality of “Listen to the Hummingbird” suggests the latter.

 is an alarmingly cohesive body of work. To put it gently, true believers of Cohen’s music have learned not to expect 

. The clash between music and lyrics were always part of the fun with Cohen’s music. His best work could leave a listener unsure whether to laugh, take up arms, have sex, or quietly cry. The contradictions of Leonard Cohen were one of the most enticing aspects of him as a person as well. He was born to a powerful family and chose a bohemian artist’s life. He was accepted as an 

. He was a God-obsessed Buddhist Jew, downing bottle after bottle of cognac with his Zen master atop Mt. Baldy between rigorous meditations and 

. His favorite contradiction in his old age was “My reputation as a ladies’ man… a joke that caused me to laugh bitterly through the ten thousand nights I spent alone.” On 

, there are no enticing contradictions. Leonard Cohen is the revered poet and songwriter, nothing more.

But is there anything wrong with that? Leonard Cohen has left the table, and there is no bringing him back. Who are we to turn up our noses at this gift from beyond the grave? It’s frustrating that this album cannot explain what made Leonard Cohen such a remarkable artist in the first place, but it is still a Leonard Cohen album through and through.

, I had heard “Famous Blue Raincoat” for the first time and read a 

 suggesting that Leonard Cohen was a very sexy thing to listen to. Soon I was past disc one of 

 and had inhaled his autobiographical novel, 

, in a couple of afternoons. By then I was hooked, probably for life. There is enough great Leonard Cohen work for a lifetime of discovery, and I am a ravenous fanatic who will accept anything, and certainly this imperfect but significant record. In an interview with NPR, Adam Cohen discussed a consultation with his father when he was considering giving up on an album of his own. The elder Cohen quickly dismissed it as an “amateur move,” saying “it’s not about how you feel, it’s about how the songs make them feel.” Adam Cohen is one of them, one of us. Thanks for the dance, Leonard.

Leonard Cohen’s ‘Thanks for the Dance’ is a gift from beyond the grave

Angel Olsen introduced her music to the world from what seemed like a million miles away. Her debut EP, 

, captured the sound of an abandoned church in the middle of the night, expansive and intimate. It immediately felt like a revelation — there was no one, there 

 anyone else who conveyed as much passion as she did in her powerful, quavering voice. On 

, the landscape is barely recognizable, but for the first time since her brilliant debut, Angel Olsen is once again in a land all her own.

 is a dark, dense record. Olsen’s voice, which has cut through 

 with ease, meets its first competition from the thick fog of strings and synthesizers in the opening two tracks, “Lark” and “All Mirrors.” The effect of this 11-minute barrage of drums and dissonant wash of strings is felt throughout the album, and the (relative) calm after the storm is only more beautiful because of it. From the hushed beginnings of “Tonight” and “Endgame” to the floating grooves of “Spring” and “Summer,” the consistently misty sonic palette never feels stagnant.

Yet, for all the variety in the production, 

 could have sustained itself on Olsen’s voice alone. Across the album Olsen screams, whispers, cries, sneers, and makes every word count. There’s a new versatility to her voice on tracks like the Stereolab-nodding “Too Easy,” and she embraces heavier vocal processing on tracks like “What It Is,” both to great effect. But Olsen is undeniably at her best when her voice dominates the mix. “Chance,” the breathtaking closer, is one of the most powerful pieces of music released this year, and entirely anchored by Olsen’s voice.

Olsen shared that the album title came from the idea that 

“we are all mirrors to and for each other.”

 The notion expands far beyond the title track — for all the musings about love and relationships, her words always point inwards. In “Spring,” Olsen croons “Alive with the past no other can share / alone with a heart no other can bear / so give me some heaven, just for a while / make me eternal there in your smile.” The lyrics take turns between Olsen at her most self-aware and her unfiltered subconscious. On the same song, hardly a few bars pass between reflecting on a friend’s newborn child (“Time has revealed how little we know us”) and an unspoken declaration of love (“I wish this were true love, I wish we were kissing”).

The concept of mirrors also ties to a theme of beauty that’s ever-present in the words and music. The indulgent strings that carry carry multiple songs to completion and the prominent line “Losing beauty, at least at times it knew me” in the title track may point to vanity, but Olsen floats miles above any accusations of shallowness. Instead, it’s a sense of wonder – the freedom of being happy with oneself as on “Tonight,” or the thrill of breaking out of difficult times on “Summer,” and a moment of presence with another person on the album-closer “Chance.” The song is another Angel Olsen epic that feels over in an instant, and as Olsen sings “It’s hard to say forever love, forever’s just so far / why don’t you say you’re with me now with all of your heart,” there could be no more perfect bittersweet end to a stunning album.

 was born out of Olsen revisiting several songs from her 

 days. Embracing the free-flowing composition of her early work, she wrote the entire album as solo songs and only brought in producer John Congleton and arrangers Ben Babbitt and Jherek Bischoff once that version was complete. The release of 

 in solo form has not yet been confirmed, but 

 that have surfaced all but confirm that the magic that fans fell in love with on 

 in its current form, however, cannot be denied. Finding a context that suits Olsen’s distinct voice has never been an issue, but something so unique and powerful can’t be relegated to dress-up, it needs something tailor-made. The crown that has replaced the tinsel wig couldn’t be a better fit.

On ‘All Mirrors,’ Angel Olsen is once again in a land all her own

 is not a great Vampire Weekend album, but Koenig et. al have plenty of great music left in them.

It’s been over two years since Ezra Koenig 

 Vampire Weekend’s fourth album (then titled 

, their triumphant third album was already a pleasant memory from a bygone era. Rostam, a core band member and producer of the band’s first three records 

. As years passed and anticipation built for what would eventually become 

, one question floated through my and countless other fans’ heads again and again: what does Vampire Weekend sound like now?

The wait is finally over, and we still don’t have an answer. The first two singles, “Harmony Hall” and “2021” couldn’t have been more different and ended up being better representatives of the album as a whole than could have been expected. The first, a dancey lite-rock anthem which quoted the 

 track “Finger Back,” was easy to mistake as an indicator for the album as a whole. Catchy, expansive, and wise beyond its years without being as cryptic as the material on past albums, it was easy to welcome. “2021,” was a thoughtful, 

 rumination on the passage of time. Clocking under two minutes and placed in a serene, digital landscape, it appeared to be a deep album oddity. Vampire Weekend were able to release six solid singles (a third of the album) without giving the whole thing away. The rest of the album included a slew of diverse and memorable tracks, including Steve Lacy-featuring “Flower Moon,” and the gorgeous ballads “My Mistake” and “Jerusalem, New York, Berlin.” Then there were the duds like “How Long” and “Rich Man,” and then there were the Danielle Haim duets.

Let’s talk about those Danielle Haim duets. They must have been a lot more fun to record than they are to listen to. For fans of both Vampire Weekend and HAIM, there’s a certain thrill to hearing the two on a track together, but sadly they have no vocal chemistry whatsoever. Koenig’s boyish tenor and Haim’s strained soulfulness fight against each other when placed back-to-back (although they are surprisingly compatible in harmony). While there’s a rich history of contrasting voices making for great duets, there’s something off-putting about the ones on this album; it’s almost like watching a movie where two siblings have different accents. It also doesn’t help that the songs they share are not particularly good. The endless back and forth of their verses (it’s hard to believe that all of the duets are under four minutes) are one-dimensional and tiresome. It’s disappointing to see what could have been such a treat turn out the way it did, and it’s hard to see what these songs were supposed to add to this album.

The other change in personnel that must be discussed is the departure of Rostam. The multi-instrumentalist and producer makes appearances on a few tracks of 

, but he is no longer a constant presence. Taking over behind the board is Ariel Rechstaid, who co-produced 

 and has credits on discographies ranging from Adele to Charli XCX to Snoop Lion. Losing Rostam to a “pop guy” was deservedly cause for alarm, but this still sounds like a Vampire Weekend album through and through. The arrangements are still endlessly clever and playful, and if you put this on during a car ride with your parents, they will still say it sounds like Paul Simon (I have proof of this). Perhaps the greatest effect of Rostam’s departure is felt on the wholistic level. The unique, cohesive musical landscape of 

This brings us back to our original question: what does Vampire Weekend sound like now (besides Paul Simon)? Are they a dad-rockers like “Sunflower” and “This Life” would lead us to believe? Are they a laptop band? What are the duets doing here? Sure, the fact that this album is all over the place is part of the fun, but it sets a bad precedent when an album that was nearing “comeback” territory feels built to let off steam.

In numerous interviews, Ezra Koenig explained how he felt it would be wrong to return from such a long hiatus with a 10-track album. What was an honest attempt to share something worthy of the years of their absence turned out to be the biggest mistake. The result sounds timid and bloated, not complete. There are as many skip-tracks as precious moments to discover deep in the album. What redeems 

 is how excellent a large fraction of its 18 tracks are. 

William Kast