THE break-up album is nothing new. Bob Dylan made possibly the best record of his career in 1975’s Blood on the Tracks after splitting with wife Sara, and more recently Adele’s 21 and Sam Smith’s In the Lonely Hour have been inspired by relationships coming to a painful end.
Whoever broke Hannah Cohen’s heart is clearly a rotter of the highest order – but a rotter who could well be on the receiving end of many pats on the back from grateful music lovers.
Pleasure Boy is unlikely to earn Ms Cohen the same fame and fortune as Adele and Smith – but her album is arguably the equal of both their records.
Cohen herself has talked of trying to create a “sound wall” on this, her second record, and for the most part she has succeeded: her music is a rich electro noir over which she pours her ever so seductive and ever so honest vocals like honey over ice cream.
Like Blood on the Tracks, it’s such a personal set of songs that at times you feel as if you are intruding into a one-to-one performance; her melodies are frequently beautiful but shot through with such sadness that they are almost painful to listen to.
It’s an album to lose yourself in. Let it get under your skin.
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By Andrew Greenhalgh