At first glance, Chris Cohen symbolises himself as a coffee table musician, it looks good, it’s sophisticated and oriented, sentenced to remain as decoration and little more. Or you can listen to it in a swimming pool, with or without a cocktail. At first glance, it’s the result of a simple mixture of when Brazilian pop discovered jazz, the time when Belle & Sebastian played chanson française while standardising university experiences and Mayer Hawthorne’s first records. There’s a certain cruelty in thinking of Chris Cohen’s music as a landscape, but it’s only cruel if that’s the limit. There’s no need for that deprivation.
In the past he was part of Deerhoof – during the band’s most creative period – played with Ariel Pink and Weyes Blood and had his own band, The Curtains, at the beginning of the century. As a solo artist, he has released sporadically over the last decade and a half. ‘Paint a Room’, his most recent record, is his first album under his own name in five years, with Jeff Parker adorning the ideas set out in the first paragraph. Cohen is then a victim in his own right, accused of making sweet, contemplative and melodious music.
It’s easy to point the finger at him for making music that’s easy to listen to. It sounds good, it lives up to a plenitude of relaxation and sunshine, thus hiding the real epiphanies it gives when you pay attention to Cohen’s modern writing, which seeks redemption in the little big things while dancing through modern anxieties. The reason is not very different from other embittered artisans, the discrepancy lies in what he has chosen to sound like. Sweeter, less bitter. Without being light that gives darkness, but light that is illuminated by its own light and with the beautiful characteristic that it doesn’t know how to grow old, which is like saying, it’s timeless music, because of the way it masks its sorrows and dresses itself in the shape of a cotton candy planet. Chris Cohen knows how to live through his pain and ours; listening to him is like finding that bright side of life. Even if sometimes it’s more discreet than it really is. AS