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Leonard Cohen: Songs of Love and Hate

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Columbia Records
Released: 1971.03.01
Time:
 44:17
Category: Folk
Producer(s): Bob Johnston
Rating: *******... (7/10)
Media type: CD
Web address: www.leonardcohen.com
Appears with:
Purchase date: 2013
Price in €: 1,00





 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Avalanche (L.Cohen) - 4:59
[2] Last Year's Man (L.Cohen) - 5:55
[3] Dress Rehearsal Rag (L.Cohen) - 6:01
[4] Diamonds in the Mine (L.Cohen) - 3:46
[5] Love Calls You by Your Name (L.Cohen) - 5:36
[6] Famous Blue Raincoat (L.Cohen) - 5:05
[7] Sing Another Song, Boys (L.Cohen) - 6:10
[8] Joan of Arc (L.Cohen) - 6:21

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


Leonard Cohen - Acoustic Guitar, Vocals

Ron Cornelius - Acoustic & Electric Guitar
Charlie Daniels - Bass, Bass Instrument, Fiddle, Acoustic Guitar
Bubba Fowler - Banjo, Bass, Bass Instrument, Acoustic Guitar
Bob Johnston - Audio Production, Piano, Producer
Michael Sahl - Strings

Corlynn Hanney - Vocals, Background Vocals
Susan Mussmano - Vocals, Background Vocals
London Corona Academy - Vocals
Paul Buckmaster - Arranger, Conductor, Horn Arrangements, String Arrangements

Bill Donovan - Concert Sound Engineer, Engineer
Ed Kollis - Concert Sound Engineer, Engineer
Robin Geoffrey Cable - Engineer
Neil Wilburn - Engineer
Ed Hudson - Engineer
Vic Anesini - Mastering
John Berg - Design

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


Songs of Love and Hate ist das im März 1971 veröffentlichte dritte Studio-Album des kanadischen Singer-Songwriters Leonard Cohen. Wie der Titel (Lieder von Liebe und Hass) schon andeutet, ist es eines seiner emotionalsten Werke.

Für sein drittes Album blieb Cohen seinem Produzenten Bob Johnston treu, für die diversen Streicher gab es diesmal zusätzlich einen Dirigenten. Die Musikuntermalung wurde dabei in den Londoner Trident-Studios eingespielt.

Das Stück Dress Rehearsal Rag existierte schon 1966, Cohen sang es zusammen mit Suzanne (von Songs of Leonard Cohen) bei seinem ersten Zusammentreffen mit Judy Collins und sie veröffentlichte es im selben Jahr auf ihrem Album In my Life.

Das Album beschäftigt sich hauptsächlich mit tiefgehenden Gefühlen. Dabei ist der Stil weniger melancholisch als in den Liedern zuvor, diese hier scheinen eher in aufwendige Metaphern und in teils ironische Verzweiflung gekleidet zu sein. Cohen singt oft mit stark vibrierender, dunkler Stimme. Die Instrumentaleinsätze fallen stärker aus als in den beiden vorherigen Alben, was die Intensität der Stücke weiter steigert. Auch die Begleitsängerinnen haben erstmals größere Rollen.

Das wohl bekannteste Lied des Albums ist Famous Blue Raincoat, das mit seiner Beschreibung einer verwickelten Dreiecksbeziehung als eine Art Vertonung von Cohens zweitem Roman Beautiful Losers (1966) gesehen werden kann. Dress Rehearsal Rag beschreibt die Stimmung eines Menschen vor dem Suizid. Cohens besondere Faszination galt zu dieser Zeit offenbar der Figur der Jeanne d’Arc, neben Joan of Arc taucht sie auch in Last Year's Man auf, das außerdem erstmals die bei Cohen später häufige Babylon-Metapher beinhaltet. Dabei wird angenommen, dass Joan of Arc auch eine Liebeserklärung an die Velvet-Underground-Sängerin Nico darstellt.

Das Album erreichte in den USA nur Platz 145 in den Billboard-Charts, war also weniger erfolgreich als seine Vorgänger. In Großbritannien reichte es jedoch zu Platz 4 und bei den Kritikern wurde es wiederum gut aufgenommen.

Insbesondere Famous Blue Raincoat wurde oft gecovert, unter anderem von Tori Amos, Joan Baez, BAP, Judy Collins und Jennifer Warnes, die 1986 ein ganzes Cohen-Tribut-Album nach dem Stück nannte. Auch andere Stücke des Albums wurden von anderen Künstlern gecovert und von Cohen selbst oft auf seinen Konzerten gespielt. Christiane Rösinger hat 2010 ein Album Songs of L. and Hate benannt; die Covergestaltung jenes Albums hingegen ist eine Reminiszenz an Bob Dylans Album Bringing It All Back Home.



Songs of Love and Hate is one of Leonard Cohen's most emotionally intense albums -- which, given the nature of Cohen's body of work, is no small statement. While the title Songs of Love and Hate sums up the album's themes accurately enough, it's hardly as simple as that description might lead you to expect -- in these eight songs, "love" encompasses the physical ("Last Year's Man"), the emotional ("Famous Blue Raincoat"), and the spiritual ("Joan of Arc"), and the contempt in songs like "Dress Rehearsal Rag" and "Avalanche" is the sort of venom that can only come from someone who once cared very deeply. The sound of the album is clean and uncluttered, and for the most part the music stays out of the way of the lyrics, which dominate the songs. Thankfully, Cohen had grown noticeably as a singer since his first two albums, and if he hardly boasts a range to rival Roy Orbison here, he is able to bring out the subtleties of "Joan of Arc" and "Famous Blue Raincoat" in a way his previous work would not have led you to expect. And while Bob Johnston's production is spare, it's spare with a purpose, letting Cohen's voice and guitar tell their stories and using other musicians for intelligent, emotionally resonant punctuation (Paul Buckmaster's unobtrusive string arrangements and the use of a children's chorus are especially inspired). And Songs of Love and Hate captured Cohen in one of his finest hours as a songwriter, and the best selections (especially "Famous Blue Raincoat," "Joan of Arc," and "Love Calls You by Your Name") rank with the most satisfying work of his career. If Songs of Love and Hate isn't Cohen's best album, it comes close enough to be essential to anyone interested in his work.

Mark Deming - AllMusic.com



Songs of Love and Hate ist das dritte Studioalbum des kanadischen Singer und Songschreiber Leonard Cohen. Das Sujet von Cohens brennenden Betrachtungen ist mit dem Titel natürlich klar umschrieben: Lieder über Liebe und Hass, jenen siamesischen Zwillingen, die kein Mensch zu trennen vermag, geschweige denn soll. Wer es versuchte, musste scheitern, damals wie heute. Das sage ich mit allem Respekt, denn die Schlacht um Frau und Verstand liefert schließlich die schönsten Motive zum Leiden und Finstermalen. Aber es strengt an. In dem Rolling Stone Musik Magazin rangiert das Album auf Platz 295 auf der Liste der 500 Greatest Albums aller Zeiten. (*Stand 24.05.2012) Es wurde # 74 am Pitchfork Media in die Liste der 100 besten Alben der 1970er Jahre eingestuft. Für sein drittes Album blieb Cohen seinem Produzenten Bob Johnston treu, für die diversen Streicher gab es diesmal zusätzlich einen Dirigenten. Die Musikuntermalung wurde dabei in den Londoner Trident-Studios eingespielt. Das Stück Dress Rehearsal Rag existierte schon 1966, Cohen sang es zusammen mit Suzanne (von Songs of Leonard Cohen) bei seinem ersten Zusammentreffen mit Judy Collins und sie veröffentlichte es im selben Jahr auf ihrem Album In my Life. Das Album beschäftigt sich hauptsächlich mit tiefgehenden Gefühlen. Dabei ist der Stil weniger melancholisch als in den Liedern zuvor, es scheint eher in aufwendige Metaphern gekleidete, dadurch teils ironische Verzweiflung durch. Cohen singt oft mit stark vibrierender, dunkler Stimme. Die Instrumentaleinsätze fallen stärker aus als in den beiden vorherigen Alben, was die Intensität der Stücke weiter steigert.

© 2014 Last.fm Ltd.





Der Abschluss von Leonard Cohens "Songs"-Trilogie, aber versöhnlich und beruhigt war hier überhaupt nichts. "Songs of Leonard Cohen" und "Songs From A Room" hatten die Urgewalt dieser dritten LP nur angedeutet. Das beinahe flehentliche Vertrauen an die "Sisters Of Mercy", der introvertierte "Stranger Song", die grandiose "Story Of Isaac" mit Metaphern aus Gold, der ergreifende Rückblick "Seems So Long Ago, Nancy". Alles Musik, für die man nicht töten, sondern leben wollte; ingeniös, unangreifbar und doch erst der Anfang.

Das Sujet von Cohens brennenden Betrachtungen ist mit dem Titel natürlich klar umschrieben: Lieder über Liebe und Hass, jenen siamesischen Zwillingen, die kein Mensch zu trennen vermag, geschweige denn soll. Wer es versuchte, musste scheitern, damals wie heute. Das sage ich mit allem Respekt, denn die Schlacht um Frau und Verstand liefert schließlich die schönsten Motive zum Leiden und Finstermalen. Aber es strengt an.

Schon das Cover der LP macht bange. Cohen sieht aus wie ein in die Enge getriebener Irrer. Er lächelt, aber das der Sänger zu der Zeit noch im Morast aus Drogen und Alkohol steckte, passt zu dem entrückten Bild. Nicht alle Hörer wollten und konnten die schroffe Atmosphäre mitfühlen. Leonard Cohen wurde, als die Platte 1971 erschien, von der Musikpresse für diese acht Songs abfällig als "Barde aus dem Einzimmerappartment" verspottet und galt nicht nur den Süchtlingen als Komponist für die paar Minuten vor dem letzten Schuss.

Vielleicht war und ist dieses Labyrinth aus Religion und Knarre aber auch nur zu schwer zu dechiffrieren. Der notorische Cohen-Nachsteiger (und Biograph) Christoph Graf hat es trotz endloser Gespräche mit dem Dichter bis heute nicht geschafft.

Lesen also, um das Bild vom Bild zu verstehen. Oder auch: Ein Künstler ist nur dann ein guter Künstler, wenn er übertreibt. Eine Prämisse, die Cohen natürlich erfüllte: "Well I stepped into an avalanche, it covered up my soul/ When I am not this hunchback that you see, I sleep beneath the golden hill/ You who wish to conquer pain, you must learn, learn to serve me well." Der Song heißt "Avalanche", und man kann so etwas auch bescheidener ausdrücken. Zum Glück hält sich Cohen am Einfachen nicht auf. Schöner leiden, die Erste.

Doch richtig außerordentlich wird das Ganze erst im unbeschreiblichen "Dress Rehearsal Rag". Es ist wie in Kafkas "Die Verwandlung", doch ist Cohen nicht zum Insekt mutiert, sondern plötzlich untrennbar an seine eigene Erbärmlichkeit gefesselt. Ein Abgesang, und der Sänger ist ganz und gar nicht auf Kurs: "Four o'clock in the afternoon and I didn't feel like very much/ I said to myself, "Where are you golden boy, where is your famous golden touch?"/ (..)/ Just take a look at your body now, there's nothing much to save/ And a bitter voice in the mirror cries, Hey, Prince, you need a shave". Und dann kommt der unglaublichste Vers, der jemals auf einer Schallplatte zu hören war: "Don't drink from that cup/ It's all caked and cracked along the rim/ That's not electric light, my friend/ That is your vision growing dim."

Verstärkt wird diese zwielichtige Atmosphäre durch die Streicherarrangements von Paul Buckmaster. Anders als bei den vorigen beiden Alben legte Cohen dieses Mal mehr Wert auf eine raue, gleichwohl nachdrücklichere Instrumentierung.

Und auch das Songwriting gelang ihm vielleicht nie wieder so gut wie auf "Love And Hate". "Famous Blue Raincoat", das Cohen auch heute noch gerne live spielt, hätte gar ein Hit werden können. Der nicht gute Sänger Leo Sayer machte aus der Melodie ein Stück names "When I Need You" und hatte damit prompt seinen ersten und größten Erfolg. Let' sing another song boys, this one has grown old and bitter.

Eine Platte, die den Morgen unter Tage beginnt und auch gar nicht erst ans Licht will. Die man besser nicht nachts hört, denn nachts regiert die sinnliche Halbwelt und macht alles noch undurchsichtiger. Eine Platte, die hunderte von Erfahrungen ersetzt und an Intensität und morbidem Wahnsinn nie wieder überboten wurde. Wer sich darauf einließ, erlebte sein graues Wunder.

25. Januar 2011 - Gerrit Pohl
Rolling Stone



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 Issac" 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.

The other highlight is "Joan of Arc." That Cohen mostly sets music to verses (whether or not he writes the former first) is painfully clear when he recites, above his own singing voice in the distant background: "Myself I long for love and life But must it come so cruel and oh, so bright?" But there is the melody (nice), the chorus works reasonably well, and the lyrics sound perfectly fine when sung: "She said I'm tired of the war I want the kind of work I had before ..."

"Avalanche," the first song on the first side, hears 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 it 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 song 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 Are") 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 - September 2, 1971
Rolling Stone
 

 L y r i c s


Avalanche

Well I stepped into an avalanche,
it covered up my soul;
when I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hill.
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn, learn to serve me well.
You strike my side by accident
as you go down for your gold.
The cripple here that you clothe and feed
is neither starved nor cold;
he does not ask for your company,
not at the centre, the centre of the world.

When I am on a pedestal,
you did not raise me there.
Your laws do not compel me
to kneel grotesque and bare.
I myself am the pedestal
for this ugly hump at which you stare.

You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn what makes me kind;
the crumbs of love that you offer me,
they're the crumbs I've left behind.
Your pain is no credential here,
it's just the shadow, shadow of my wound.

I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed;
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need.
You say you've gone away from me,
but I can feel you when you breathe.

Do not dress in those rags for me,
I know you are not poor;
you don't love me quite so fiercely now
when you know that you are not sure,
it is your turn, beloved,
it is your flesh that I wear.


Last Year's Man

The rain falls down on last year's man,
that's a Jew's harp on the table,
that's a crayon in his hand.
And the corners of the blueprint are ruined since they rolled
far past the stems of thumbtacks
that still throw shadows on the wood.
And the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend
and all the rain falls down amen
on the works of last year's man.
I met a lady, she was playing with her soldiers in the dark
oh one by one she had to tell them
that her name was Joan of Arc.
I was in that army, yes I stayed a little while;
I want to thank you, Joan of Arc,
for treating me so well.
And though I wear a uniform I was not born to fight;
all these wounded boys you lie beside,
goodnight, my friends, goodnight.

I came upon a wedding that old families had contrived;
Bethlehem the bridegroom,
Babylon the bride.
Great Babylon was naked, oh she stood there trembling for me,
and Bethlehem inflamed us both
like the shy one at some orgy.
And when we fell together all our flesh was like a veil
that I had to draw aside to see
the serpent eat its tail.

Some women wait for Jesus, and some women wait for Cain
so I hang upon my altar
and I voice my acts again.
And I take the one who finds me back to where it all began
when Jesus was the honeymoon
and Cain was just the man.
And we read from pleasant Bibles that are bound in blood and skin
that the wilderness is gathering
all its children back again.

The rain falls down on last year's man,
an hour has gone by
and he has not moved his hand.
But everything will happen if he only gives the word;
the lovers will rise up
and the mountains touch the ground.
But the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend
and all the rain falls down amen
on the works of last year's man.


Dress Rehearsal Rag

Four o'clock in the afternoon
and I didn't feel like very much.
I said to myself, "Where are you golden boy,
where is your famous golden touch?"
I thought you knew where
all of the elephants lie down,
I thought you were the crown prince
of all the wheels in Ivory Town.
Just take a look at your body now,
there's nothing much to save
and a bitter voice in the mirror cries,
"Hey, Prince, you need a shave."
Now if you can manage to get
your trembling fingers to behave,
why don't you try unwrapping
a stainless steel razor blade?
That's right, it's come to this,
yes it's come to this,
and wasn't it a long way down,
wasn't it a strange way down?
There's no hot water
and the cold is running thin.
Well, what do you expect from
the kind of places you've been living in?
Don't drink from that cup,
it's all caked and cracked along the rim.
That's not the electric light, my friend,
that is your vision growing dim.
Cover up your face with soap, there,
now you're Santa Claus.
And you've got a gift for anyone
who will give you his applause.
I thought you were a racing man,
ah, but you couldn't take the pace.
That's a funeral in the mirror
and it's stopping at your face.
That's right, it's come to this,
yes it's come to this,
and wasn't it a long way down,
ah wasn't it a strange way down?

Once there was a path
and a girl with chestnut hair,
and you passed the summers
picking all of the berries that grew there;
there were times she was a woman,
oh, there were times she was just a child,
and you held her in the shadows
where the raspberries grow wild.
And you climbed the twilight mountains
and you sang about the view,
and everywhere that you wandered
love seemed to go along with you.
That's a hard one to remember,
yes it makes you clench your fist.
And then the veins stand out like highways,
all along your wrist.
And yes it's come to this,
it's come to this,
and wasn't it a long way down,
wasn't it a strange way down?

You can still find a job,
go out and talk to a friend.
On the back of every magazine
there are those coupons you can send.
Why don't you join the Rosicrucians,
they can give you back your hope,
you can find your love with diagrams
on a plain brown envelope.
But you've used up all your coupons
except the one that seems
to be written on your wrist
along with several thousand dreams.
Now Santa Claus comes forward,
that's a razor in his mit;
and he puts on his dark glasses
and he shows you where to hit;
and then the cameras pan,
the stand in stunt man,
dress rehearsal rag,
it's just the dress rehearsal rag,
you know this dress rehearsal rag,
it's just a dress rehearsal rag.


Diamonds In The Mine

The woman in blue, she's asking for revenge,
the man in white -- that's you -- says he has no friends.
The river is swollen up with rusty cans
and the trees are burning in your promised land.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
and there are no grapes upon the vine,
and there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
and there are no diamonds in the mine.

Well, you tell me that your lover has a broken limb,
you say you're kind of restless now and it's on account of him.
Well, I saw the man in question, it was just the other night,
he was eating up a lady where the lions and Christians fight.

And there are no letters in the mailbox
and there are no grapes upon the vine,
and there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
and there are no diamonds in the mine.

(You tell them now)

Ah, there is no comfort in the covens of the witch,
some very clever doctor went and sterilized the bitch,
and the only man of energy, yes the revolution's pride,
he trained a hundred women just to kill an unborn child.

And there are no letters in the mailbox,
oh no, there are no, no grapes upon your vine,
and there are, there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
and there are no diamonds in your mine.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
and there are no grapes upon the vine,
and there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
and there are no diamonds in your mine.


Love Calls You By Your Name

You thought that it could never happen
to all the people that you became,
your body lost in legend, the beast so very tame.
But here, right here,
between the birthmark and the stain,
between the ocean and your open vein,
between the snowman and the rain,
once again, once again,
love calls you by your name.
The women in your scrapbook
whom you still praise and blame,
you say they chained you to your fingernails
and you climb the halls of fame.
Oh but here, right here,
between the peanuts and the cage,
between the darkness and the stage,
between the hour and the age,
once again, once again,
love calls you by your name.

Shouldering your loneliness
like a gun that you will not learn to aim,
you stumble into this movie house,
then you climb, you climb into the frame.
Yes, and here, right here
between the moonlight and the lane,
between the tunnel and the train,
between the victim and his stain,
once again, once again,
love calls you by your name.

I leave the lady meditating
on the very love which I, I do not wish to claim,
I journey down the hundred steps,
but the street is still the very same.
And here, right here,
between the dancer and his cane,
between the sailboat and the drain,
between the newsreel and your tiny pain,
once again, once again,
love calls you by your name.

Where are you, Judy, where are you, Anne?
Where are the paths your heroes came?
Wondering out loud as the bandage pulls away,
was I, was I only limping, was I really lame?
Oh here, come over here,
between the windmill and the grain,
between the sundial and the chain,
between the traitor and her pain,
once again, once again,
love calls you by your name.


Famous Blue Raincoat

It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening.
I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record.

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake --

She sends her regards.

And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear --

Sincerely, L. Cohen


Sing Another Song, Boys

(Let's sing another song, boys, this one has grown old and bitter.)
Ah his fingernails, I see they're broken,
his ships they're all on fire.
The moneylender's lovely little daughter
ah, she's eaten, she's eaten with desire.
She spies him through the glasses
from the pawnshops of her wicked father.
She hails him with a microphone
that some poor singer, just like me, had to leave her.
She tempts him with a clarinet,
she waves a Nazi dagger.
She finds him lying in a heap;
she wants to be his woman.
He says, "Yes, I might go to sleep
but kindly leave, leave the future,
leave it open."

He stands where it is steep,
oh I guess he thinks that he's the very first one,
his hand upon his leather belt now
like it was the wheel of some big ocean liner.
And she will learn to touch herself so well
as all the sails burn down like paper.
And he has lit the chain
of his famous cigarillo.
Ah, they'll never, they'll never ever reach the moon,
at least not the one that we're after;
it's floating broken on the open sea, look out there, my friends,
and it carries no survivors.
But lets leave these lovers wondering
why they cannot have each other,
and let's sing another song, boys,
this one has grown old and bitter.


Joan Of Arc

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
as she came riding through the dark;
no moon to keep her armour bright,
no man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, "I'm tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before,
a wedding dress or something white
to wear upon my swollen appetite."
Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way,
you know I've watched you riding every day
and something in me yearns to win
such a cold and lonesome heroine.
"And who are you?" she sternly spoke
to the one beneath the smoke.
"Why, I'm fire," he replied,
"And I love your solitude, I love your pride."

"Then fire, make your body cold,
I'm going to give you mine to hold,"
saying this she climbed inside
to be his one, to be his only bride.
And deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and high above the wedding guests
he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.

It was deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and then she clearly understood
if he was fire, oh then she must be wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry,
I saw the glory in her eye.
Myself I long for love and light,
but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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