Simon Joyner is that rarest of things in the world of modern popular music. He's a singer, songwriter, poet and artist. Oh, and he's also a damned fine Leonard Cohen impersonator.

Okay, that last part's not true, and it's probably a bit unfair, too-- Simon Joyner is no one's clone. (I just wanted to get my crass, hackneyed comparisons out of the way as early as possible before I started in with my crass, hackneyed flattery.) However, if Joyner is not Leonard Cohen's clone, he's at least Cohen's musical descendant.

Joyner carries high the torch that songwriters such as Cohen, Nick Drake and all the other pasty- faced, sad little boys have lit with their own moody, gothic songwriting. And, if what I've heard on Joyner's latest release, the subtle, stylish ode to depression known as The Lousy Dance, holds out for another album or two, Joyner may have some heat of his own to add to that sad, slow- flickering flame.

When taken from beginning to end, The Lousy Dance comes across more like a novel, an opera or some other grand- scale piece of art than just another pop record. Pulling in an orchestra of instruments-- everything from the electric guitar to the trombone to the steel guitar to the flugelhorn (which, up until this album, I never really thought existed... it's always been the Bigfoot of musical instruments for me)-- the very musical scope of the album is grand. As we pass through these eight lengthy tracks, Joyner crafts story after story that carries the listener through bad relationships, sad lives, lonely lovers and dark, rainy street corners.

With lyrics that could hold their own against some great musical poets, Joyner picks apart his subjects with a verbal cleverness and eye for detail that has been lacking in recent generations of music. In his lines, he captures emotions like other people catch butterflies. Then, he spreads their wings, looks at their colors to determine what species they are, and lets them go.

Laying a solid yet emotionally- charged soundtrack to these stories, Joyner's music stays consistent in both sound and quality from track to track. It's a country- tingled, bluesy groove that's too slow to be rock and too complex to be country or blues. Mix that with orchestral flourishes, the occasional squeal of a horn section, a lick from an acoustic guitar, and that tried- and- true sad song instrument, the piano, and you get the idea. Luckily, Joyner's skilled enough with arrangements to blend all these sounds together seamlessly, creating one immaculately produced, immaculately beautiful album.

Granted, this is a much more personal and soulful sound than is probably fashionable right now. But The Lousy Dance is a perfect example of an album that was written for the songwriter than for the faceless, anonymous listening public. However, the merit of this introspective and lonesome album is that Joyner is able to express his fears and heartaches so eloquently that the personal becomes the public. His issues start to matter, as they reflect our own issues, with the music and lyrics morphing into some strange universal language that we can all understand.

In your best friend, this level of melodrama would be irritating as hell, but on an album as masterful as The Lousy Dance, this tension is brilliant, seducing the listener, playing up to their sympathies and fears, and dragging them into the dark, cold lives of these songs. In a nutshell, Simon Joyner is a true man of talent who has managed to make an album that feels genuinely haunted.

But, shameless praise aside, if you're a technical perfectionist, there are a few instances on The Lousy Dance-- not many, but a few-- that will have you driving pencils into your ears as Joyner's voice warbles like a see-saw. Joyner's voice tends to crack and fail, forever on the edge of breaking, with the heavy suffering and sweeping emotion of the recently dumped.

On any album full of ballads, it's hard to make any one track stand out above the other. The songs will usually bleed together in a fragrant, violet- colored ocean that's more likely to put you to sleep than grab your attention. But here, once again, Joyner proves his talent by avoiding even this, the most heinous, ball- smashing, cliched trap a sad album can stumble into.

Although it seems at first that the soft melodies and lightly sung vocals of The Lousy Dance would be great for lulling even the fussiest of babies to Sleepy-Land, Joyner's creative songwriting and vivid lyrics keep your mind buzzing. It's that level of intelligence and creativity that keeps this record from being just another sappy album. It's also Joyner's raw charisma, combined with his talent and the naked, unarmored emotion of his songs that will hopefully snag him the critical and economic success he clearly deserves. And maybe that'll cheer him up, but for the listener's sake, let's hope not.

-Steven Byrd