I'm Your Man

I sent an inquiry via e-mail to a friend, to find out if he was the one I (thought) had borrowed a particular book. His answer, “As Leonard Cohen says, ‘I’m your man.’” sent me off on a search for the song, and into a tailspin of repeated listening.
I don’t know anything about Mr. Cohen. I haven’t Wiki-ed, or Google-ed, or anything else-ed him – on purpose. All I know is this song (ok, a few others piqued my interest and I got them, too) which I first encountered as the soundscape to a particularly interesting scene in the film Secretary. Now, the fact that I not only saw that film―in conjunction with the fact that it got added, at first opportunity, to the DVD collection—quite probably reveals things about me that are uncomfortable to contemplate, much less know. The ick factor aside, there is something undeniable about the voice of Leonard Cohen intoning the words of I’m Your Man: S-E-X, in all caps, italicized, bold, and the largest typeface imaginable. O very yes.
If Barry White’s voice conjures elaborate visions of the seraglio, harems of cool white marble surrounding deep, still blue pools, tapestry hung alcoves with plush Oriental rugs, low inlaid tables with swanlike silver coffee services, and silk and satin pillows in glorious profusion, well, Mr. Cohen’s suggests something completely different. A high rise apartment, vast windows overlooking the city, glass, cool blond Scandinavian furniture, large black vases with bare black branches – the sort of images gleaned from years of Woody Allen films and New Yorker stories – since one has never actually visited a city (much less THE city) that remotely resembles anything like those images.
In the midst of such cool emptiness, Mr. Cohen’s voice glows like a burning coal. Warm, ENVELOPING, suggesting long days spent on a huge slab bed, being occasionally stroked like a favored pet, while that silky voice unspools, saying anything, anything, anything at all.
If all love songs (by men, at least) are some variation on “Pick me!!! Pick me!!!” then surely, I’m Your Man represents the ultimate distillation of that particular cri de coeur. The world may indeed be, as James Brown avers, a man’s world, but because I’m Your Man advances the argument that the man in question is willing to be, do, say anything to be the one picked, it may be one of the most devious love songs ever penned. Because while all love songs plead, very few promise change on the part of the one pleading! They plead, offer excuses, crow celebratory paeans after being picked, or lament no longer being the lady’s choice, but very seldom do they offer to change spots, even if there is some acknowledgement that spots-changing might have been necessary to secure said lady’s happiness and continued favors.
But it is a very unsettling combination – warm voice, cool spare background, and promises of everything uttered in as dispassionate a tone as has ever been employed while delivering a declaration. The most unsettling and dispassionate section of the song is the bridge, and on the words – please, please – a plea unlike (in my experience) any other uttered in song. The tone implies that these words are merely pro-forma, an inclusion without meaning, since the bare offer of the verses should be enough. That is what I mean by devious, especially when this sentiment is coupled with that slow, sex-laden, warmly cool, coolly warm voice.
This is why I don’t need to know anything about Mr. Cohen’s biography. This song tells me that it will be littered with evidence of multiple love affairs, of varying lengths and intensities, of veritably Rousseau-ian proportions. It is all there in the song.
I still like it, though.