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from: Phoenix New Times
May 2001

Cohn Ed
Lunch with singer-songwriter Jill Cohn is an unexpectedly happy affair
BY M.V. MOORHEAD

Jill Cohn isn't what I expected, on the basis of several years of listening to her music on CD. Demonstrating the same sort of naiveté that leads housewives to believe that the guy on their soap opera really is a cad, or Charlton Heston to believe that Ice-T really kills cops, I half-expected lunch with Cohn -- whose lovely songs are, after all, very often ballads of romantic or familial loss and pain -- to be a meal full of dark emotional turmoil and wistful yearning.

Quite the opposite. The woman who has joined me for a nosh at Coronado Cafe is uncommonly friendly and upbeat. Indeed, she laughs more often, and harder, than anyone I've met in quite some time -- long, vigorous, full-throated, unabashed bursts of mirth. It's pleasant to note that the same voice that sings with such plangent beauty on albums such as Stories From the Blue Bus and The Absence of Moving is capable of happy sounds as well.

Maybe Cohn, who grew up in Washington state, is just glad to be back in the desert. She moved to L.A. in the early '80s, but later moved back to Seattle. "I missed my family, and it was time to leave California," she tells me as we wait for our lunches. "I just had some personal reasons why I needed to give myself some distance between me and someone else in L.A. But I miss L.A. a lot. I miss the desert. The desert is just such a more open place than the Pacific Northwest. People tend to be very shy and quiet and conservative there. I think it's the weather. . . . People tend to keep to themselves or their groups, while people in the desert communities are more open."

Though the singer-songwriter started touring, most often performing in Borders stores (where her CDs are sold), mainly as a way of financing visits to these desert climes she missed so much, it eventually grew into a full-fledged lifestyle. "Store managers who liked the music took an interest, and said, 'Oh, you should play this store, you should play this store,'" says Cohn.

Still Seattle-based, Cohn has drifted through the Valley, and thus often through the pages of New Times' Night & Day during the late '90s, as part of the long swings she makes through the Western U.S. in her van, usually accompanied only by her impressive teenage cat, Tosca. This weekend, she's slated to perform, with percussionist Michael Barsimanto, at the Borders on Camelback at 8 p.m. Friday, June 1, and at the Borders on Bell Road in Glendale at 8 p.m. Saturday, June 2.

What, I ask her, does such an itinerant lifestyle do to one's personal life? "I have no personal life," she says with a laugh. "I have a lot of friends I see on the road. I think I put a lot of emphasis on my personal life in my 20s, because everything I did didn't really work out. It made for really good songs . . ."

Suddenly Cohn stops herself, and offers a quick self-deprecation. "I shouldn't say 'made for really good songs' 'cause I don't know if my songs are really good, but it made for really good subject matter."

Her modest disclaimer done, she continues telling me how she came out of her muse-friendly dark days. "I think I made a switch when I realized I put all my energy into my personal life and couldn't effect any real change there, so I decided to put all my energy into my career, and see what kind of change I could effect there."

I assume what we're talking about, in terms of "personal life," is some endless, difficult, on-again-off-again relationship that lasted for years?

Pretty much, Cohn grants. "I think that was the biggest folly in my 20s was trying to find someone to connect my life with, instead of trying to connect with my own life, and then see who's around."

Our food arrives -- for Cohn, a large green salad; for me, a chicken caesar sandwich with fine, fresh white meat and a zingy, to-die-for dressing. As we dig in, Cohn grows reflective. "I think I was raised to believe that marriage and family was everything," she says. "And I think it is a huge part of the human experience. But my folks put a lot of emphasis on that, I think because they were married and divorced so many times, that I think they really wanted to impress upon us the importance of family. . . . So I spent all my 20s trying to make that a reality. And I tend now to have a different view, that you can do things to affect who you meet and when you meet them, but basically I think it's really up to fate. So my change in my 30s was to put all my effort into my career, and let the universe take care of the rest, and see what happens."

So, I ask this older-and-wiser Jill Cohn, what's her best survival tip for life on the road? She points to her salad. "Greens! Salad greens!" she says. "Going to the co-op rather than to McDonald's. That's survival number one when you're on the road -- eating really well." She says that Coronado Cafe's tasty fare falls well within this directive.

Just then, the server walks by, and discreetly sweeps away some sprouts that had fallen from Cohn's plate onto the table. Cohn thanks her, then leans close to my tape recorder and helpfully intones: "The waitress came and picked up some sprouts." I like this; a lunch guest who includes helpful third-person narration on the interview tape. "And Jill also salts her salad," Cohn continues into the recorder. "It's something she picked up from her older sister; it's really disgusting."

I've finished my sublime sandwich, and order a cherry cobbler for us to split for dessert. While we wait, Cohn picks at the remnants of her salad, and tells me about the road. Most people I know who must travel for their work claim they hate it, but Cohn insists that it's a source of delight. In branching out from Borders gigs, for instance, she's encountered startling generosity. "In San Luis Obispo," she recalls, "I was supposed to rent this community theater for 50 or 60 bucks, and these people refused to take my money! It was so sweet! I said, 'You guys, you're supposed to take it,' and they said, 'No, we're supposed to support the arts.'"

And the drive itself has its scenic joys. "I love the Four Corners, and I also love the Northern California coast. And there's this one expanse of drive, from Spanish Fork, Utah, where you can just see for miles, and I have this one tape that I always put on when I go through there. U2's Joshua Tree. That's my music for going into the canyonlands."

All at once Cohn leans close to her salad, and plucks something out -- she's found a hair. I point out that it's a long black hair, and in all likelihood one of hers. She nods, laughs, leans close to my recorder, and speaks once again for its benefit:

"We found a hair in the salad, but we think it's Jill's."

phoenixnewtimes.com | originally published: May 31, 2001

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from: GoGirlsMusic.com

"the absence of Moving"
reviewed by Megan McGehee

The first track of 'the absence of Moving' from Jill Cohn had me nearly pigeonholing her instead as a lovely, lilting Sarah McLaughlin-inspired vocalist. However, the second track confused this characterization as it departed greatly from the first track's mood, with Cohn singing lustily and almost darkly about a "Louisiana Lover." The third track, "happy," is vaguely reminiscent of Joni Mitchell in its unusual chord constructions and over-the-top treble vocal lines. By the fourth track, an acoustic-guitar backed vocal-dexterity showcase, I abandoned any attempt at labeling this multi-faceted artist and just sat back and enjoyed the album.

Far from being "limited" by a basis in the piano, this folk/pop singer-songwriter displays a determination to achieve the perfect instrumentation in her beautifully arranged and self-produced album. Each song perfectly incorporates some atypical and instantly memorable sounds of instruments like accordion and concertina with percussion, bass, and Cohn's piano or acoustic guitar. In fact, the piano shines through as the dominant instrument on only a trio of songs in this collection of well-written and emotionally performed explorations of human nature.

Jill Cohn writes of the search for love, the purpose of life, finding strength in oneself, the nature of evil, and the essence of success and happiness all in one beautifully mellow breath. She has a mature command of her art and a magical way of presenting it in performance. Luckily, this independent artist tours constantly around the southwest, promoting her music and sharing her magic with others. If you aren't lucky enough to live in that area, try to make the time to check out her CD and meet a truly thoughtful artist.

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from Weekly Alibi
Albuquerque, NM

Show Up
By Michael Henningsen
Jan 5, 2001

What strikes you first about Jill Cohn is her voice. It's rich, with a certain weightlessness that allows it to soar. The very next thing is her consummate songwriting skill. Cohn's lyrics are as strong as her alternately delicate and earthmoving melodies, and the wealth of subject matter she employs is from her own bastion of personal experience.

With four releases under her belt and countless live appearances, Cohn defines the singer-songwriter. Her most recent disc, The Absence of Moving (Box o' Beanies), is a self-produced affair that showcases Cohn fronting her Seattle-based band and offers something of a departure from her previous, largely solo work. She's thoroughly effective accompanying herself on piano--her chops in that regard are formidable--but the ensemble setting of the new album adds an magnified urgency to her music.

Cohn has been compared to nearly all of the women on the singer-songwriter circuit, but there isn't a single comparison that can be made to describe the overwhelming relevance of her work. Of course, if you happen to be a fan of Tori Amos, Paula Cole, et. al., then you're likely to find yourself swept away the moment Cohn lays her hands on the 88s. In fact, you're so likely to get caught up in the moment, you'll feel as though you're on the inside looking out.

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from Show Preview in The Stranger
Seattle, WA

By Genevieve Williams
Dec 12, 2000

Jill Cohn's nearly constant tour swings through Seattle once again, bringing Cohn's own special blend of folk-infused pop. Pick a pop songbird--especially one who plays piano--and Cohn's probably been compared to her, but she has a style all her own that defies comparison. She's more sensual than most of her ilk, and she has an impressive voice that's capable of whispering or belting with equal impact.

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from Campus Circle Magazine
Los Angeles, CA

By Alex Green
St. Mary¹s College

On her fourth full-length effort, Seattle's Jill Cohn continues to traverse the world of love and longing with a burning grace. The follow-up to the moving live set The Laughing Universe, which was recorded at a benefit for First Place, a school for homeless children, The Absence of Moving may conjure the the gentle phrasing of Edie Brickell, and the hushed poetic whisper of Joni Mitchell, but Cohn's ability to infuse a song with a resonant and dusky glow is a skill uniquely her own. From the skidding shuffle of "Shore," a number that features Cohn at her most commanding, to the lilting "Instead of the Innocent," The Absence of Moving is often a dark look at what gets left to burn when the heart changes its mind.

Capable of effortlessly reaching astonishing vocal heights, or opting instead for a hushed murmur to convey an emotion, Cohn's strength as a singer is that you never know where's she's going next. For example on the moving "Kayenta," she deftly switches from a soft, finessed delivery to a gorgeous yodeling falsetto that is impossible to resist. "Kayenta," is a winning number replete with a winning chorus, "Happy," is a delicate piano ballad, and "Louisiana Lover," has a soulful groove that gives the song an understated sexiness. Produced by Cohn, The Absence of Moving is a quiet triumph, a musical diamond in the rough that is has an undeniable tenderness. Not one to skimp on heart or emotion, Cohn's compositions are brave in that they are bold open letters to the lost or the heartbroken. Cohn¹s songs are like Paula Cole or Tori Amos in that they champion honesty and offer the truth even though it's the truth that may be the thing that hurts the most. The Absence of Moving is not a mournful collection of smoky ballads, but it is a rousing batch of sensuous songs that aren't afraid to burn.

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from The Weekly Wire
website

Deliciously Tense
By Michael Henningsen

JUNE 1, 1999: There's something about the way Jill Cohn sings that makes whatever her subject matter is seem sacred. There's virtually nothing that escapes her songwriter's pen. From love and loss to the persistence of hope, Cohn brings a crystalline clarity to everything that moves her. Her voice is as vast as the Great Northwest, which she calls home. The Seattle-based singer-songwriter has spent much of the past four years touring independently on the strength of three critically acclaimed solo albums. Her fourth, the ironically titled The Absence of Moving (Box o' Beanies), is her strongest yet.

Frequently compared to Tori Amos, Paula Cole and various Lilith-ites, Cohn is far too entrenched in her own identity to bow to such parallels. She is a fine pianist, and her voice is delightfully lofty, but Cohn's songs are uniquely her own. While her earlier work was largely piano-based (hence the Amos connection), her latest and its predecessor, Stories from the Blue Bus (Box o' Beanies), are both marked by the more frequent inclusion of thoughtful guitar, drums and acoustic bass. By broadening her palette gradually with more richly arranged instrumentation, Cohn has successfully allowed her music to evolve naturally, by turns allowing her voice room to move.

And move it does, gracefully transitioning between a gentle whisper and a commanding soprano. Cohn's songs are less like snapshots of her psyche than they are Super 8 home movies documenting her various passions and experiences. Lyrically, too, she shines. Her words shimmer magically, levitating ever so slightly above her well-constructed melodies, just enough to create the kind of deliciously nervous tension that keeps lovers enthralled. With simple grace and overwhelming charm, Jill Cohn adds a fresh twist to singer-songwriter folk-rock that has rarely been seen this side of Joni Mitchell. She's not someone you can afford to pass up.

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from FAC193 Music
website

Jill Cohn "the absence of Moving"
self-released, 2000

Pop music has taken a lot of heat lately for being weightless and lacking substance. Mind you, look at the prime suspects: assembly-line boy bands and divas-in-training who cater to the pre-teen set rule the radio waves. It is becoming rare to hear anyone on the radio who speaks with a universal voice through universal songs. Enter Jill Cohn--whose latest release, “the absence of Moving” is a collection of music that illuminates the joy and fragility of life.

Her voice is amorphous and takes on the personality of each song, whatever that song may require. To provide a couple of examples: she communicates the sultry loneliness of “Louisiana lover” with incredible immediacy and the liberation and strength of “Kayenta” with a pride not seen since Amy Ray’s earlier vocals for the Indigo Girls.

The arrangements are tasteful and only go as far as the song itself is willing to go, the additional musicians providing abundant depth and color to perfectly frame the picture Jill paints with her words.

Jill Cohn deserves the type of exposure that makes an artist a star. Her songs deserve to be hits on the radio. Like all good pop music, these songs don’t demand much of the listener and compliment the days of our lives in their crystal clarity. Her voice and music feel timeless, universal, and perfect.

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In Tune: Jill Cohn goes solo
by Scott Prinzing

Oh, the trials and tribulations of life on the road as an independent musician. Jill Cohn was scheduled to appear with her band at Casey's for their May singer/songwriter series last Tuesday. But, due to a few canceled dates in Colorado, she couldn't afford to keep them along and had sent them back to Seattle for a spell.

She did just fine on her own, but the full band performance would have been nice (if her latest CD is any indication). On last year's "The Absence of Moving," she handled all keyboard and production chores, but played guitar on only three songs. While she is a competent guitarist, she is much more dynamic on the keys.

The turnout was pretty good for a weeknight and most people were there to listen rather than drink and socialize. Cohn has a light, easy exchange with the audience between songs - often taking almost as much time to tell the story behind the song as to perform it. But she obviously made quite a few converts, spending most of her break between sets selling copies of her four CDs.

Her CDs are very professionally recorded as well as packaged. I encourage all fans of the singer/songwriter genre to check out her equally professional web presence at www.jillcohn.com. There is one Mp3 and song samples that offer a taste of what you may have missed.

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