"Ghosteen" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds & "Recent Songs" by Leonard Cohen

I was recently offended by a meme suggesting that fans of the band The Cure were actually shiny happy people rather than the hopeless mopes they are portrayed as. I know that in this very blog I have defended the misconception that The Cure’s music is all gloom and doom, but since when is being happy a badge of honor?  If you’re not moping, you’re probably not paying attention. The only question is from where you think the shit is flowing. In High Fidelity Rob ponders whether he is the way he is because of pop music, or if was attracted to pop music because of his natural demeanor. It doesn’t matter, art isn’t supposed to be fun. That’s why there’s no comedy wing at you local art gallery, why The Empire Strikes Back is the best Star Wars movie, and why everyone hates Ska. Any art worth a damn addresses the darkness. 

There aren’t a lot of musicians who understand this better than Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen. It just so happens that the same week I (finally) got the new record by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, I came upon a Leonard Cohen record from 1979 that had been completely off my radar. 

I became aware of both artists around the same time, towards the end of high school. I loved both equally, but for some reason, either ease of access or output of material, it was easier to obsess over Nick Cave. I know that the first thing I heard was the album “Let Love In” because my friend Jason would slip it into his CD player between the punk and metal albums on our wandering late night car rides. Eventually he got tired of it and gave it to me. I think it’s too scratched to play, but I still have it. 

Nick Cave’s output, even just the stuff he releases with The Bad Seeds can run the gamut from gorgeous to grotesque. Let Love In, is the perfect album that blurs the line between the two, evidenced by the ubiquitous-this-time-of-year “Red Right Hand.” That method of controlled chaos is my classic version of the band, and to be honest, when it veers more toward the gorgeous side, my interest wanes. A couple albums later The Boatman’s Call left me cold while it seemed everyone else endlessly sung its praises. It is a great album, but it was just a little too pretty for me: all piano and crooning about love and Jesus. I think the band has released about six albums since that record, and I have listened to them, but they just never grabbed ahold of me. It could be that they always snuck up on me: I was like “Oh, there’s a new Nick Cave record,” then I would put it on, think it was amazing and plan to come back to it eventually, I just never did. So I have to give some credit to their marketing this time around, I had advanced knowledge about this one and therefore waited in anticipation for months.

It was officially released digitally about a month before the vinyl came out, so I had been through it many times before giving it a proper listen. Even digitally I fell in love with it though. It opens with some ethereal synthesizer swirling that is soon joined by his unmistakable gruff-but-gentle voice. He begins by speaking more than singing, he’s telling a story. It is like nothing I’ve ever heard from him with the Bad Seeds or not, particularly opening an album. And it continues on in this fashion, not only with the story’s elements and the general tone of the lyrics but even when piano and more traditional instruments are added in, it is in an organic way that still allows the ambient electronic sounds carry the whole thing. Sometimes he’s singing, sometimes speaking, but I found myself not really noting the transitions. It is definitely one of his more subdued records, there’s none of the hollering and carrying-on that I love so much, but it is for the better here. It feels so much more fully-formed of an album that anything of their output for a while, completely realized as one long piece rather than a collection of songs. It is dark and it is beautiful, and ideal for the season and the times. 

…

I can’t place where I first heard Leonard Cohen. In my hazy memory of the early 90s his music was everywhere that mattered: movie soundtracks, mixtapes, late night radio shows, liner notes of the seemingly endless number of bands who covered his songs. Even though he didn’t seem to do many interviews or put out albums regularly his influence still permeated my musical landscape. With Nick Cave, I felt a fierce connection to his attitude, his aggressive darkness, and I tried to absorb all of it that I could, but with Leonard Cohen it was different. There was a mystery and I was happy allowing every new thing take me by surprise. As I got older I began to be a little more direct fan, craving those feelings he stoked in me, but whereas I can’t think of a Nick Cave song that I actively dislike, there is some Leonard Cohen that I sort of just pretend doesn’t exist, including his original version of “Hallelujah.” He is, by his own admission I think, more of a poet than musician. In order to get his holy words to a wider audience, they have to be delivered via a more popular medium, and sometimes that ends up being a little too calculated or just half-assed. But when it hits, which is most of the time, it hits hard. His final record “You Want it Darker” was the first of his records that I was able to appreciate as a new record instead of some found relic. It was the perfect record for the perfect storm that was 2016, made even more appropriate when, and as I mourned the election results with friends, his lyrics on my mind and his face on my shirt, I received the news of his passing. 

I was found this week by Recent Songs. Not only is it an album whose entire existence I was unaware of, none of the songs have ever found their way to me via playlist or soundtrack either. Thus I assumed it would be one of the lesser ones, but I was happily proven wrong. Apparently this is a “return to form” after the wild, Phil Spector-produced Death of a Ladies Man. I mean, I like that one, but yes, musically this is a much more welcome vessel for the lyrics. The album starts with with possibly the most perfect opening of all time:

One by one the guests arrive

The guests are coming through

The open-hearted many

The broken-hearted few

The song exquisitely hints at the the darkness and humor, the questions and comfort which the album will ultimately offer in the manner that only Leonard Cohen at his best can pull off. The instrumentation is simple and subdued for the most part, but occasionally showcases an understanding of how a flourish here and there can affectively embrace a   beautiful lyric. 

When I get the new one in the mail, I think I will probably take the shirt out of the packaging, but I will leave the record intact, let it sit for a while, and give myself a little more time with this one. 

For those who dance, begin to dance

Those who weep, begin

Those who earnestly are lost

Are lost, and lost again