This is from our friend Patrice.
http://www.lemonde.fr/web/recherche_art ... 174,0.html
"Dear Heather", ou la sombre maturité de Leonard Cohen
LE MONDE | 24.10.04
Dans son nouveau disque, le chanteur canadien unit ses propres textes à ceux de poètes disparus.
Faisons un rêve. Les mots de Leonard Cohen retrouveraient une instrumentation à la hauteur de leur ténébreuse musicalité. A l'instar des œuvres tardives de Lou Reed ou de Johnny Cash, les chansons du poète canadien se choisiraient une sobriété près de l'os, les vibrations rêches d'une guitare, la profondeur d'un piano, ou, pourquoi pas, l'ambition d'arrangements de cordes, pourvu que violons et violoncelles résonnent d'un boisé authentique.
Sans pour autant revenir au minimalisme fondateur de ses premiers albums, The Songs of Leonard Cohen (1968) ou Songs From a Room (1969), sans recourir à la dépression instrumentale qui accompagnait les gouffres de Songs of Love and Hate (1971), le troubadour crépusculaire pourrait trouver mieux en tout cas que les sons tocs qui "plastifient" trop souvent Dear Heather, son nouvel album.
Depuis 1988 et l'album I'm Your Man, le studio d'enregistrement domestique entre dans le processus créatif de Leonard Cohen. Dans ce disque et le suivant, The Future, l'ermite bouddhiste s'amusait à bricoler en autarcie avec des synthétiseurs "bon marché", assumant une technologie qui semblait ironiquement renoncer à sa modernité. Les maladresses des machines accentuaient les grincements pessimistes des chansons.
En 2002, cette esthétique "home studio" perdait de son allure primitive, sous l'impulsion de la productrice-compositrice-chanteuse afro-américaine Sharon Robinson, qui, derrière les manettes et au côté du caverneux crooner, privilégiait un moelleux nouveau riche. De belles mélodies et une suave complicité donnaient du charme à la légère ringardise de la production.
Le Canadien a de nouveau fait appel à Sharon Robinson, pour la moitié de Dear Heather, le reste de l'album étant confié à Leanne Ungar (accompagné d'une choriste omniprésente, Anjali Thomas), qui partage le même goût pour l'apaisement de salon.
La sombre maturité de l'auteur se frotte aux bilans de la vieillesse, à l'impossible renoncement aux femmes, à l'effondrement de la Babylone contemporaine, au trauma du 11-Septembre (On That Day), dans des textes dont l'épure confine parfois au haïku (" Dear heather/Please walk by me again/With a drink in your hand/And your legs all white/From the winter"). Sa voix toujours plus sépulcrale récite aussi un petit cercle de poètes disparus : Byron, Frank Scott, Carl Anderson.
Fruit peut-être d'une méditation zen, l'habillage musical tente d'apporter un peu de lumière et de sérénité à ce verbe souvent désespéré. Dommage que cette envie de légèreté passe par la guitare d'un paresseux émule d'Eric Clapton, un saxophone digne d'être enfermé dans un ascenseur, des claviers dont ne voudrait pas un lounge d'hôtel.
La grave élégance de Leonard Cohen suscite parfois des rencontres plus réussies, comme dans Dear Heather où tourne le manège cassé d'un faux orgue de barbarie, dans la valse et la guimbarde dérisoire de On That Day ou dans la superposition de chœurs et de récitatif de Villanelle for Our Time.
The Faith, surtout, composée à partir d'une chanson traditionnelle québécoise, offre le seul titre dans lequel s'expriment un violon, un oud, un accordéon, une basse, une flûte, des cordes, pour des palpitations instrumentales qu'on rêverait de croiser plus souvent.
S. D.
Le Monde (Paris) review
Sorry this has been so long in coming. I have had better things to do since Dear Heather was released 
“Dear Heather”, or the sombre maturity of Leonard Cohen
Le Monde 24.10.04
In his latest disc, the Canadian singer brings together his own work and that of poets from the past.
Let us dream. That the words of Leonard Cohen will one day find a musical setting on a par with their gloomy musicality. After the manner of the later works of Lou Reed or Johnny Cash, the songs of the Canadian poet would choose for themselves a setting pared down to the bone, the rough resonance of a guitar, the depth of a piano, or, why not, ambitious arrangements of strings, provided that the violins and cellos had the sound of genuine wood.
Without actually returning to the original minimalism of his early albums, The Songs of Leonard Cohen (1968) or Songs From a Room (1969), without resorting to the instrumental depression that accompanied the abysses of Songs of Love and Hate (1971), the twilight troubadour could still have found something better than the synthetic sounds that too often “plasticise” Dear Heather, his new album.
Since 1988 and the album I’m Your Man, the home recording studio has entered into the creative process of Leonard Cohen. In that disc and the following one, The Future, the Buddhist recluse took to DIY with cheap synthesisers, embracing a technology that seemed ironically to renounce its’ own modernity. The clumsiness of the machines accentuated the pessimistic creaking and groaning of the songs.
In 2002 this “home studio” aesthetic lost some of its’ primitive appeal under the influence of the afro-american producer-composer-singer Sharon Robinson, who, behind the controls alongside the sepulchral crooner, introduced a new rich mellowness. Some beautiful melodies and a smooth collaboration gave charm to the light punchiness (“ringardise” - help, anyone?) of the production.
The Canadian turned once more to Sharon Robinson for half of Dear Heather, the rest of the album being entrusted to Leanne Ungar (accompanied by an omnipresent backing singer, Anjani Thomas), who shares the same taste for lounge music. (apaisement de salon – anyone?)
The author’s gloomy middle years have come up against the reckoning of old age, the impossibility of renouncing women, the collapse of our modern-day Babylon, the trauma of 9/11 (On That Day), in pieces whose blueprints are sometimes as structured as a haiku (“Dear Heather/Please walk by me again/With a drink in your hand/And your legs all white/From the winter”). His ever more sepulchral voice also recites from a small circle of past poets: Byron, Frank Scott, Carl Anderson.
Perhaps as a result of a zen meditation, the musical setting attempts to bring some light and peace to this often despairing verb. What a pity that this attempt at lightness is made using the guitar of a lazy Eric Clapton wannabe, a saxophone that should be shut in a lift, and keyboards that would not even make the grade in a hotel lounge.
The grave elegance of Leonard Cohen does sometimes bring about more successful combinations, as in Dear Heather, which is backed by the broken merry-go-round of a fake street organ, in the waltz and the absurd jew’s harp of On That Day or in the addition of backing vocals and recitative on Vilanelle for Our Time.
Above all, The Faith, based on a traditional Quebecois folk-song, is the only track on which a violin, an oud, an accordion, a bass, a flute and some strings combine to give one an instrumental thrill that one would wish to experience more often.
“Dear Heather”, or the sombre maturity of Leonard Cohen
Le Monde 24.10.04
In his latest disc, the Canadian singer brings together his own work and that of poets from the past.
Let us dream. That the words of Leonard Cohen will one day find a musical setting on a par with their gloomy musicality. After the manner of the later works of Lou Reed or Johnny Cash, the songs of the Canadian poet would choose for themselves a setting pared down to the bone, the rough resonance of a guitar, the depth of a piano, or, why not, ambitious arrangements of strings, provided that the violins and cellos had the sound of genuine wood.
Without actually returning to the original minimalism of his early albums, The Songs of Leonard Cohen (1968) or Songs From a Room (1969), without resorting to the instrumental depression that accompanied the abysses of Songs of Love and Hate (1971), the twilight troubadour could still have found something better than the synthetic sounds that too often “plasticise” Dear Heather, his new album.
Since 1988 and the album I’m Your Man, the home recording studio has entered into the creative process of Leonard Cohen. In that disc and the following one, The Future, the Buddhist recluse took to DIY with cheap synthesisers, embracing a technology that seemed ironically to renounce its’ own modernity. The clumsiness of the machines accentuated the pessimistic creaking and groaning of the songs.
In 2002 this “home studio” aesthetic lost some of its’ primitive appeal under the influence of the afro-american producer-composer-singer Sharon Robinson, who, behind the controls alongside the sepulchral crooner, introduced a new rich mellowness. Some beautiful melodies and a smooth collaboration gave charm to the light punchiness (“ringardise” - help, anyone?) of the production.
The Canadian turned once more to Sharon Robinson for half of Dear Heather, the rest of the album being entrusted to Leanne Ungar (accompanied by an omnipresent backing singer, Anjani Thomas), who shares the same taste for lounge music. (apaisement de salon – anyone?)
The author’s gloomy middle years have come up against the reckoning of old age, the impossibility of renouncing women, the collapse of our modern-day Babylon, the trauma of 9/11 (On That Day), in pieces whose blueprints are sometimes as structured as a haiku (“Dear Heather/Please walk by me again/With a drink in your hand/And your legs all white/From the winter”). His ever more sepulchral voice also recites from a small circle of past poets: Byron, Frank Scott, Carl Anderson.
Perhaps as a result of a zen meditation, the musical setting attempts to bring some light and peace to this often despairing verb. What a pity that this attempt at lightness is made using the guitar of a lazy Eric Clapton wannabe, a saxophone that should be shut in a lift, and keyboards that would not even make the grade in a hotel lounge.
The grave elegance of Leonard Cohen does sometimes bring about more successful combinations, as in Dear Heather, which is backed by the broken merry-go-round of a fake street organ, in the waltz and the absurd jew’s harp of On That Day or in the addition of backing vocals and recitative on Vilanelle for Our Time.
Above all, The Faith, based on a traditional Quebecois folk-song, is the only track on which a violin, an oud, an accordion, a bass, a flute and some strings combine to give one an instrumental thrill that one would wish to experience more often.
Linda
1972: Leeds, 2008: Manchester, Lyon, London O2, 2009: Wet Weybridge, 2012: Hop Farm/Wembley Arena
1972: Leeds, 2008: Manchester, Lyon, London O2, 2009: Wet Weybridge, 2012: Hop Farm/Wembley Arena
Thank you for taking the time to translate this, Linmag. Even though I don't agree with its conclusions, there's something about the way it's written that I can respect. The writer doesn't seem to want to just 'trash' Leonard, and has some innovative ways of expressing his/her views. Maybe if I read it again, I won't feel that way. At least, I now know what it says 
.
.
I love them, too, Margaret. However, in the 50s, they were used a lot in our sentimental songs of that day. I think some people just have a hard time getting past that association. However, they remain a very emotive and beautiful instrument. Perhaps, they might feel differently if it weren't a 'Casio' sax? Who knows? I love hearing it where it appears. Yes, too, on the "grave elegance" 
.
.I didn't agree with the review either, Lizzy. That's one reason why it took me so long to get around to translating it, especially once I had heard Dear Heather a few times. In the end I decided that the fact that I did not agree with it was not a reason not to translate it.
Linda
1972: Leeds, 2008: Manchester, Lyon, London O2, 2009: Wet Weybridge, 2012: Hop Farm/Wembley Arena
1972: Leeds, 2008: Manchester, Lyon, London O2, 2009: Wet Weybridge, 2012: Hop Farm/Wembley Arena
~ but freedom of the press lives on. Good on you