There are very few
perfect albums. Even the definition of what that means varies from
one person to another, based on taste, nostalgia, and when you first
heard an album that spoke to your life. I have my list, which is of
course debatable.
I want to talk about
a near-miss for my perfect album list. I don’t very often use a
public forum to complain about something. I would rather spend my
energy celebrating the things I love rather than ripping apart things
I don’t. For the most part this post is a celebration of
something I love, with one really annoying exception.
I discovered the
poet, singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen around 1990. Even though he had
been around on albums since the late 1960s (and as a poet before
that), I hadn’t been exposed to his work. I may have heard a couple
of his more well-known songs at some point, but they didn’t
penetrate my consciousness. He never got a lot of radio play on the
stations I listened to, and none of my more musically savvy friends
owned any of his albums. I found him the way I ended up discovering a
lot of music, by following the recommendations of musicians I already
liked.
Cohen is
name-dropped in the song Speed Boat
by Lloyd Cole and the Commotions on their album Rattlesnakes
(which, coincidentally, is on my list of perfect albums). Nick Cave
mentioned him in interviews. I’m pretty sure other artists did as
well because somewhere in there I decided that if that many musicians
I liked were fans of this Leonard Cohen guy, maybe I should check it
out.
So
I bought a vinyl copy of Songs of Leonard Cohen
at Jim’s Records in Bloomfield not long after I first moved to
Pittsburgh. At the time I had no idea this was his first album from
1967. Based on the title I think I assumed it was a greatest hits
collection. I fell in love with it immediately. His voice, his
inflection, his lyrics and songwriting... it all came together for me
pretty quickly. I could see how the artists I already liked were
influenced by him. I started picking up a lot of his work.
Which
brings me to I’m Your Man,
the album I want to talk about.
It
was released in 1988. I bought the CD in 1992 or 1993. I have vivid
memories of listening to it over and over again. At the time I was
teaching a class on Comics For Kids through Community College of
Allegheny County and on Saturday mornings I would drive to a
community center in East McKeesport. I’m Your Man
was my soundtrack for that drive every week. The album was full of
amazing songs. First We Take Manhattan.
I’m Your Man. The
amazing poetry of Take This Waltz.
I still have no idea what the lyrics of that song means, but the
imagery and language reminds you that Cohen is a poet first. On my
weekly trip I would sing along (yes, I occasionally sing... in the
car, by myself, or in a crowd at a very loud concert), absorbing
every song into my DNA.
Well,
not every song. And that’s the problem. Six songs in, right after
the sublime Take This Waltz,
is the single worst song Leonard Cohen ever recorded. That’s a
strong statement, but I really feel that way. It’s called Jazz
Police, and apologies to those
out there who like it, but it completely grates on my nerves. The
lyrics are ridiculous, his voice is annoying, the entire presentation
of the song is like finding a turd in your birthday cake.
It’s
followed by I Can’t Forget
and Tower of Song,
both of which are brilliant, but man...
I’m
pretty album oriented in my listening habits. I rarely make a
playlist. I usually listen to an entire album by an artist, beginning
to end. I tend to see them as whole pieces of work that need to be
experienced as it was released. You wouldn’t pick up a novel and
read chapters 1, 7, and 13 and skip the rest. Why would you skip
songs on an album? Yes, I know there are lots of reasons and I’m
not here to debate how anyone enjoys music. But, this is the way I
listen. I think my brain searches for a narrative to an album,
whether one was intended or not. They are not individual songs to me,
but pieces of a whole that need to be evaluated not only as songs but
in how they interact with each other on the album.
I
only bring this up to illustrate what an enormity editing a song out
of an album is for me, but I did it with Jazz Police.
For my car trips I had a cassette player, and the tape version I made
from my CD omitted this song. When I did play the CD I skipped it.
Years later when I transferred my collection to an Ipod I eliminated
the mp3 file completely. In my universe this song is simply not a
part of I’m Your Man,
which is now a perfect album.
For
the last year or so I’ve been working on a personal music project.
There is a book from 2006 called 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You
Die (edited by Robert Dimery and Michael Lydon). I haven’t read the
book, but I have access to an online list (and I should have a
separate blog entry about this experience). Needless to say any list
like this is debatable. Anyway, thanks to the magic of Spotify I’ve
been listening to these albums in order (most of them are available)
to increase my experience as a self-proclaimed music nerd.
I’m Your Man
is on the list, and you’ll get no arguments from me that it
shouldn’t be included. So when it came up in my ongoing listening
quest last week I thought, ‟Okay, I’ll sit through Jazz
Police this time.” For
Science, as a dear friend says.
Time and distance have not been kind. I still really disliked the song
and felt it to be a horrible intrusion on my listening pleasure.
Sorry
Leonard. I’m going to keep living in a universe where this song
doesn’t exist.
Here’s
a video of Take This Waltz.
And Lloyd Cole’s Speedboat where I first heard Cohen’s name, just because I really like it.
