The blonde was from Texas but destined for L.A.. The brunette was from Montreal and destined for Paris. Both could write and play a little guitar. Both were romantics who could also play rogues. Both were famous for their deep, flat voices — Cohen’s smokier in the back, Kristofferson’s boozier up front. Both started their music careers later in life. At thirty-three, Cohen pressed pause on his novels and set off for New York to become a folk singer. Kristofferson was thirty-one by the time of his musical debut — already a Rhodes Scholar, Army Captain and helicopter pilot when he started selling songs to Nashville stars. Eventually, Leonard Cohen and Kris Kristofferson both met Janis Joplin. In fact, Cohen maintains that he first picked up “Pearl” at The Chelsea Hotel by claiming to be Kristofferson. And, in the ultimate nod back to his spiritual brother, Kristofferson once said that he wanted the first three lines of Cohen’s “Birds on a Wire” on his tombstone.

Like a bird on the wire

Like a drunk in a midnight choir

I have tried in my way to be free

In time, however, and in spite of their many bonds, the two men landed on very different paths. Whereas Cohen was a critically admired, semi-popular artist, beloved in New York, Montreal and, mostly, France, Kristofferson became a bonafide star in Nashville and Hollywood. Leonard Cohen kept his distance and his cool. Meanwhile, for most of the Seventies — from his solo debut in 1970 through his Golden Globe turn in “A Star is Born” — Kris Kristofferson was untouchably hot. Deep down in their bones, though, Leonard Cohen and Kris Kristofferson were always chasing the same thing. The truth.

At the peak of his fame, Kris Kristofferson married Nashville musician and muse, Rita Coolidge. The comely power couple had a daughter in 1976, recorded music together, toured together and even hosted “The Muppet Show” together. It was, unsurprisingly, also a highly volatile period for both, but especially for Kristofferson, who was consuming half a bottle of tequila a day. And though the two remained loving and friendly for their entire lives, Coolidge was candid about Kristofferson’s emotional abuse, infidelity and drinking (lots and lots of drinking). By 1976, Kristofferson was mostly sober. But the toll had been too great. In 1980, the couple divorced.

A year later, with both his acting and music careers in decline, Kristofferson was a broken down, about-to-be has-been. At forty-five, following a trail of middling records, and with almost nothing to lose, he released “To The Bone,” which is, along with Marvin Gaye’s “Here, My Dear,” the most unflinching “divorce album” in the history of Pop music. No song strays from the subject. There are many victims and as many assailants. For those curious about the mind (and heart) of a recently divorced, middle aged Country singer, this is ground zero — it’s the genuine article.

Radical honesty does not necessarily equate to great music. But, in this case, it absolutely did. “To The Bone” has that semi-downcast, semi-jubilant quality of The Band’s best work — lots of tempo changes and emotional shifts. But Norbert Putnam’s (that name, right?) production takes the air out from the songs — treating them like a bunch of old letters, folding them up, putting them in a shoe box in a closet with the door shut and locked. And yet, because the writing is so good and the singer so genuine, the feelings still find their way through. The material is unimaginably raw — fresh from the source. It’s music you want to hear live. You need it to sound alive. But its production suggests an album too honest for sunlight.

None of this is an indictment of the compositions, which are smarter than their Folk and Country containers. More than his Outlaw Country peers, Kristofferson loves rich, three part harmonies. And more than any Folk singer, he loves swinging rhythms and Tejano influences. “To The Bone” has no formal boundaries. But more so, “To The Bone” has no filter. And in spite of his own awfulness, Kristofferson can’t help from pointing a finger — her betrayals and her heartlessness. Though the writer was sober, “To The Bone” can still sound drunk in its own biases. In this way, it’s an exorcism more than a documentary. He cannot not tell his side of things. We know he’s only telling a sliver of the story. We know he’s playing loose with the truth.. And we know that he knows it too.

“Magdalene” opens the album with something straight from the early Leonard Cohen songbook. Simple guitar. Flat vocals set way back. And some early brushstrokes about how Magdalene (Mary) never appreciated the suffering he (Jesus) endured for her — for them. In the wrong hands, this could go very wrong. But Kristofferson invites in gorgeous harmonies and adds some dashes of Hammond organ and Mariachi guitar. It’s both familiar and unlike any Folk or Country song you’ve heard before.

The resentment keeps pouring out through “Devil to Pay,” the only song that Kristofferson did not write, but also the album’s most biting track. The ferocity of the honky tonk is matched by the rancor of the narrator. Kris tells his ex that one day she’ll be finished — out of the spotlight, alone, naked and exposed for who she really is. For their part, the band does everything they can to make the pettiness sound like a beer-soaked party, like a bunch of guys nursing their buddy through the heartache. Amazingly, they almost succeed.

If it were all revisionist history and finger pointing, though, “To The Bone,” would be hard to redeem. Graciously, it’s so much more. “Nobody Loves Anybody Anymore” takes a shot at starry eyed romanticism. There are no more symbols or metaphors any more. The stars are just stars. He’s just a man. She’s just a woman. And, nobody loves anybody, anymore. Its honesty verges on cynicism, but love songs don’t get much truer.

Most of all, Kristofferson wants to spare his daughter from the devastation. “Last Time” is a letter to his ex notifying her that his eyes are open but that his heart is shut. Love is dead to him. There is no reconciling. It was always going to be this way but, perhaps — maybe, just maybe — they can help their baby girl believe for just a little while longer.

Maybe the best of our life was the beautiful dreamin'

That conscience was destined to crumble like castles of sand

All there is left of our love is a little girl's laughter

Let her keep making believing as long as she can

Darling, the seasons are changing

See now, the leaves, how they die

Love needs no reason for ending

Come kiss your baby goodbye

As if that wasn’t enough heartbreak, Kristofferson plunges the knife in deeper on “Daddy’s Song,” his heartsick Country lullaby. Daddy’s alone in a hotel room, with a day off and the “do not disturb” sign up. The room feels too big. No concert tonight so he can do anything he wants. But, it’s not his day with her — his little girl — and so he’s miserable. He just sits in his lonely room, wishing she was there, but knowing that those days together are equally blue. Maybe even bluer — the drives to the airport are quiet and she doesn’t understand why they can’t just be together all of the time.

It’s hard to recover from a song like that. And yet, as the album closes, Kristofferson stands up, dusts himself off, inhales deeply, and announces that he’s ready to roll the dice again. "I'll Take Any Chance I Can With You" is the Country equivalent of a Power Ballad. It’s full throated, steady in the verses and big in the chorus. He knows he can’t afford to fall in love again. But he knows he can’t afford not to. Two years after “To The Bone,” Kristofferson married Lisa Meyers. The couple has been married for thirty seven years and have five children together. Kristofferson’s Canadian id, Leonard Cohen, found love many times, but never married.

by Matty Wishnow