A former back-up vocalist for Cohen, Robinson can also boast of sharing songwriting credits for what has become one of the Canadian treasure's signature songs over the years: the still-jawdropping, still-undeniably relevant "Everybody Knows," a cynicism-tempered panorama surveying the perils of love in the modern era. Originally on Cohen's stunning 1988 full-length, I'm Your Man (Columbia), the song has since been covered by everyone from Concrete Blonde (rather effectively in the film Pump Up the Volume) to Rufus Wainwright (with a nice injection of sordid-cabaret melodrama) to, um, Don Henley (no comment). And, as the album title would suggest, Robinson also takes on the song herself - more on that later.

Obviously, then, Robinson's kinship with Cohen runs quite deep - an observation furthered by the inclusion of three Cohen collaborations, as well as album artwork provided by the inimitable singer and poet. Like Cohen, Robinson possesses a gift for slipping long-lingering images and sly observations into wooing melodies. One gets the feeling that both delight in luring unsuspecting listeners into their strategically placed lyrical traps.

With Everybody Knows, glistening synth and Fender Rhodes arrangements and rubber-smooth bass lines furnish the seductive backdrop for such under-the-skin pronouncements as "a room full of revelers are waiting inside / to bear witness to your struggle, to sanction your pride" ("Party for the Lonely"). Endowed with a rich, soulful alto - landing somewhere between Roberta Flack, Cassandra Wilson, and Sade Adu - Robinson breathes immeasurable levels of misty-eyed longing and downhearted reflection into her songs, thus delivering far more than simply a gorgeous voice floating above subtle electronic textures. Fans of the lights-down-low atmospherics and mellow-soul of Zero 7 and some of Morcheeba's catalog should find themselves similarly engrossed by this disc. Everybody Knows reveals itself slowly, gradually - like a guarded lover, perhaps. Thus, getting acquainted will probably throw more than a few surprises.

"Party for the Lonely" is at the moment my favorite track, an alluring web of haunting keyboards and fluttering, sometimes electronically treated vocals married to a delicate folk-soul arrangement which wouldn't feel out of place on a more recent Terry Callier album, for example. Robinson's sultry-hush delivery of the titular phrase - administered with a slight vocoder tweak along the way - goes right for the eardrum, serving the perfect set-up for a lovely juxtaposition between the lush, romantic ambiance and the downbeat lyrical thrust of the song.

To my ears, there's a bit of ambiguity to the song - never a bad thing, as it allows for multiple interpretations. Are she and the subject - the guest of honor at this party for the lonely - lovers? Ex-lovers? Somewhere in-between? I'm unsure, as Robinson prefers to leave things open: "There'll be a flower for your lapel / A list of things you do really well / You'll be in the spotlight, you'll be at your best / I've got an invitation for one and a guest."

"Invisible Tattoo" is another highlight, driven by a late-night-drive rhythm and understated jazz-accented instrumentation. Puffs of keyboards intersect with elegant piano lines to tremendous effect on this spellbinding confession of longing after the love has gone: "There's an invisible tattoo / a lasting impression of you / all over me."

"The High Road" is the jazz-pop centerpiece of the album, offering Robinson's most full-throated vocal turns in a gospel-tinged tale of moving on from a no-good lover. James Harrah's weary-but-hopeful electric guitar phrasing renders a splendidly heartfelt duet with such strength-summoning avowals as "My heart is battered, my soul is bruised / My face is wearing that smile I use / I'll put my anger under lock and key / And I'll take the high road and walk away quietly."

And how about the title song? Robinson immerses herself in the "Everybody Knows" world of jilted lovers, secrets, and lies, and, yes, the ever-looming threat of AIDS ("everybody knows that the plague is coming / everybody knows that it's moving fast"), and she recounts it all with a bewitching combination of resignation, hope, and lustfulness. Whereas Cohen brought an appreciable amount of apocalyptic narration to his version, here the song's cloak of dread, desperation, and cynicism is tempered by Robinson's discernibly-less-doomsday delivery.

Don't lose yourself in the velvet ambient-soul arrangement and the unflappable coolness of the vocals for too long, however - or else you might be in for quite a shock upon hearing such observations as "Everybody knows that you love me baby / everybody knows that you really do / Everybody knows that you've been faithful / Give or take a night or two."

Here's a clip of "Invisible Tattoo":