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It doesn’t seem possible, but Leonard Cohen’s voice sounds even deeper, darker, more foreboding than ever on his 12th studio album in 44 years, “Old Ideas” (Columbia). Cohen is 77, and he doesn’t really bother to sing anymore. Instead, he divulges his inner-most hang-ups and bleakest jokes with the barely-above-a-whisper deliberation and gravitas of an undertaker or a prison warden.
His measured, amelodic cadences may leave nonbelievers wondering why this guy creates such a fuss among fans and songwriting connoisseurs. But the approach suits songs of moral complexity, a pile-up of poignant images and punch lines that conflate mortality, romance, tragedy and comedy. As a lyricist, Cohen has few peers, a poet whose songs have been championed by everyone from director Robert Altman to Kurt Cobain. But for the last two decades his albums have sagged beneath the cheese applied by gratuitous synthesizers and keyboards. Intensive recent touring has served him well, however, and the singer has cleared out some of the production clutter on “Old Ideas.” The sparer, more spacious arrangements allow Cohen to inject his deadpan baritone with a subtle