Leonard Cohen is extraordinary at speaking words. He’s no doubt a great writer. But there are better songwriters. As a musician, he’s basically a tinkerer. As a singer, he’s as compelling as he is limited. But as a speaker of words, there may not have ever been anyone better. Just consider what a skill that is -- to be able to conjure the perfect words and then be able to release them in a manner that sounds even better than the poetry itself.

He was a deep thinker, a monk, a lover, a poet, a novelist, a pop star, an oracle, a ladies’ man, a rogue, a victim, a legend, a ghost. But if he was all of those things to some degree, he was, to every degree, a man who spoke words.

Integrating music into that perfect talking machine, however, was no easy task. In the 1970s, Cohen wrote some lovely songs, but more often than not, it was the lyrics and the delivery that carried them. “Suzanne” is perhaps the rarest exception, wherein the melody is equal to the words. “Famous Blue Raincoat” also works magnificently, but it’s the simplicity of the melody that provides elegant constraints for the delivery. Those are exceptions for 70s Cohen. Many of his early songs, even the beloved ones, feature slight melodies buoyed by incisive lyrics and breathtaking delivery. He’s a writer and phraser more than a singer or musician.

However, as the 70s progressed, The Word Saying Machine benefited from two particular innovations. The first was the gradual deepening of Cohen’s voice -- a one third octave change according to the singer. The second was Cohen’s discovery of the Casio keyboard, the instrument he would use to compose and perform with for the rest of his career. He was not trained on piano, but the Casio was the perfect complement to his writing and singing style. Cohen could experiment, one finger and one button at a time. He could drop in a beat and then say his words as he pressed a button. He could compose at the pace of his words. His Casio was exactly like a typewriter. He could sit there, think, write and search for a note. And then the next. He didn’t need to be a good typist. He just needed to find the keys. To many, even today, the introduction of the Casio into Leonard Cohen’s music sounds unnatural. But to me, picturing the ergonomics of writing and composition, it seems like the most natural instrument for a writer. It provides a simple circuit from brain to finger to mouth.

In 1984, at the age of fifty, Leonard Cohen released “Various Positions,” his seventh studio album and his first in five years. Because he was always an old soul, it was easy to forget that Cohen did not begin his music career until he was thirty three. At fifty, his soul sounded like it was one hundred. He was old by Pop and Rock standards. But his mind was very much prime.  

“Various Positions” is Cohen’s first album to substantially use the Casio keyboard for composition and performance. It is also the first wherein Jennifer Warnes joins as “co-singer.” With Cohen’s voice bottoming out, the plink of the Casio and the range of Warnes’ voice make for an unexpectedly pretty combination. A long time favorite in France and his native French Canada, “Various Positions” has the quality of French cabaret or street music. This aspect was honored by producer John Lissauer, whose work with Barbara Streisand and the Manhattan Transfer prepared him for a style that is big voice first, piano second and everything else last. It’s another unexpected relationship that works because of the power of the Word Speaking Machine.

Like many disruptive innovations, “Various Positions” was greeted with curiosity, ambivalence and cynicism. Walter Yetnikoff, the head of CBS Records, who was printing money on the back of “Thriller” in the 80s, said in response to Cohen’s new record: “Look, Leonard, we know you’re great, but we don’t know if you’re any good.” Though the album was greeted eagerly in Europe, in the U.S. it was dismissed by many as the curiosity of a Canadian cult, folk artist.

The songs on “Various Positions” come in three basic varieties, though they all are built around Cohen’s prose poetry. Sonically, there are familiar, “old testament” folk songs that perch atop classical guitar and some minor backing vocals and sparse instrumentation. There are the late night, country poet numbers where we get to reimagine Johnny Cash or, even, Mickey Gilley, as a sage. And then there are the bigger Casio numbers, which tend to feature Jennifer Warnes prominently and more immediate melodies and choruses. It’s on his Casio typewriter that the Talking Machine really finds his new sound -- the sound that would gain mainstream validation years later with “I’m Your Man” and “The Future.”

“Dance Me to the End of Love” starts the album and signals the changes to come. With keyboard providing the melody and beats for a song that sounds like it was written in Paris a hundred years ago, Cohen waltzes us through a Holocaust love song. Jennifer Warnes and the backing vocalists provide the “la la’s” to perfectly delivered couplets like:

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin

Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in

Touch me with your naked hand, touch me with your glove

Dance me to the end of love

“If It Be Your Will” and “Comin Back to You” could both be at home of Cohen’s debut. They are simple Folk songs, with just the slightest finish of keys and backing vocals. They are lovely, but they are not what we waited five years for. “Heart With No Companion,” “Hunter’s Lullaby” and “The Captain” find Cohen stepping into (very) late night Country music territory. “The Captain” has some boogie to it, while the first two presage Johnny Cash’s “American Recordings.” These are songs made for after the last call. After the bottle is empty. When you’re on your knees in Temple and all the feelings are felt and the stories are told for once and for all.

Midway through the album, of course, is “Hallelujah,” where Leonard quite literally finds the secret chord and tells us about it. The song starts with the unexpected tin of a held keyboard note and Cohen’s odd phrasing of the word “secret.” He then goes onto telegraph his move, describing what he’s doing with the progressions. The plain utterances of the first lines pick up momentum in what follows. Then, a full stop. And, finally, the miracle that is the simple chorus. Cohen’s voice shrouded in the choir. 

Bob Dylan almost immediately started covering “Hallelujah.” John Cale, k.d, lang, Jeff Buckley and Rufus Wainwright helped canonize the song. There’s even a legitimate book by a legitimate author about it. A book about a single song.

“Various Positions” is not as realized as Cohen’s next two albums. It has some markings of a middle-aged experiment. Cohen’s voice strains at times. Some of the production flourishes feel insecure. But, it turned out that Cohen’s core hypothesis was true. The New Talking Machine - Cohen, Casio and Warnes - worked better for his music than the traditional Rock or Folk format. If there were no “Hallelujah” or “Dance Me to the End of Love” here, this album would still be a revelation for his musical breakthrough and what it would portend for the back half of his career.

by Matty Wishnow