4 / 5

It can confound even the most understanding of minds to realise that Leonard Cohen still walks amongst us.

Where most of his ilk fall off the face of the Earth or disappear into blessed obscurity, Cohen has continued on, head held at jaunty angle, suit rumpled, with the most touching of words still tumbling from his syrup-coated throat, or from the nib of his pen.

Despite coming to prominence as a fringe member of Andy Warhol's circle, 'Hallelujah', one of Cohen's many odes to love and love lost, was the first to break the mould of reasonable obscurity after John Cale released his reinterpretation, before the remarkably talented Jeff Buckley covered it in his unique and shiver-inducing way (though many forget that Buckley had his own insatiable canon of work).

Prior to the "mainstream" acceptance came more than 30 years of poetry and novels, reasonably well-received albums and tours that established his name, though nothing more. Consider it something of a tragedy that he never did receive the praise more deservedly earned in his more prolific and energetic younger years.

Apt, then, that 'Old Ideas', Cohen's 12th record, doesn't dare hide away from such age and endearment towards wisdom and his own maturity - both philosophically and poetically.

He sounds older, his baritone quaking ever-so-slightly, the breaths between stanzas are drawn heavier, but the swell of his tone and words are still as a disquieting as ever before; he's trading on an idea that has stayed relentlessly with him throughout his career - the intimacy between Cohen himself and those who listen to him.

Even the instrumentation creaks with antiquity, marking a shift away from his usual collaborations over the past 20 years which have seen a proliferation of hollow, digitised sounds. Sounds appear and fade just as quickly, some floating in the background, others rearing up frighteningly close in the mix, though never as near as Cohen's humbling characteristics. Only 'Crazy To Love You' sees him veer above a low moan, stretching in to a pained expression, but he always pulls back, descending in to that familiar drawl.

Opener 'Going Home' stands as an apt representation of 'Old Ideas', Cohen referring to himself as a ruffled poet (which of course he is), yearning to return to wherever he once came from, sentiments affirmed rather gently by a troupe of crooning backing singers.