A quinessential case of an exceptionally talented, middle-aged artist hitting 80s production styles in the same way a roast dinner hits the floor: you can salvage quite a tasty bit, but some will need to be thrown away, and you'll ultimately be left disappointed. The alum's strength is obvious: here are some of Leonard Cohen's best, sharpest lyrics, blades dipped in lemon juice. Oft wry, indeed comical, the whole album has a slightly sleazy overtone; one is much reminded of Serge Gainsbourg in its erotomanic cynicism, especially on Everybody Knows' bitter rationalization that everyone is in on life's big con. The album's end, Tower of Song, is Cohen's great apologia to the craft of songwriting, a monumental track that still holds the power to make listener shiver. However, the album has a critical flaw: the music (which seems rather an important flaw for an album to have). Cohen employs his synths and drum machines almost recklessly (and Jazz Police can be considered a fully reckless employment), and thus the album becomes stuck in such an archaic aesthetic that often the nod a top-notch couplet inspires is married to an involuntary wince at the Casio beat (and trust me, I'm not at all averse to synthpop). The best songs on this transcend that limitation, and maybe a more acceptive listener could relish the musical direction Cohen takes, but I found appreciating the greatness on this album required recognising a few caveats.