I have a friend, a professional musician (actually he’s a drummer, but I leave the jokes to you) who is (and this will be no surprise really) passionate about his music. I told him I had bought the Essential Leonard Cohen double CD. He said, ‘If you can find a dud track on that album, I’ll bash your face in.’ Luckily for my face, I found no dud track. (And yes, we’re both old enough to remember what an ‘album’ is.)
I was also lucky enough to see Cohen live on his latest tour. It was one of the greatest nights I have spent in a theatre. I have never seen a performer so free of ego. When Cohen gave the focus to the musicians or singers, he did not just step back but disappeared into the shadows. He genuflected to the audience and to his fellow musicians frequently, and seemed genuinely touched by the love that flowed from the crowd. When he played the simple one-fingered piano solo from ‘Tower of Song’ the crowd went nuts. His response: ‘You’re too kind.’ He is I think truly humble, in the correct sense of the word, one who knows his place in the world and the universe. In his 70s and after an almost three hour show, he literally skipped on for his encore.
I finished reading Anthony Reynolds’ 2010 biography Leonard Cohen: A remarkable life one Sunday morning and spent the afternoon listening to his music, performed by him and by Jennifer Warnes, KD Lang, Joe Cocker, Aaron Neville, John Cale, Nick Cave and the Klezmer Conservatory Band, among others. It was an afternoon well spent, and testament to the quality of this biography that it sent me back to the music. Had I Cohen’s poetry or novels to hand, I might well have gone there as well.
Cohen’s career began as a poet and novelist before he turned to music in the 60s, had almost petered out in the 80s but then came back with astonishing music. His fellow musicians have always respected his writing, with many cover versions done from his first album onwards. Starting from the early 90s, his song ‘Halleluja’, almost overlooked on release, was everywhere. When his manager stole most of his money earlier this decade, he came back with a tour that is still going, cementing his place not as a nostalgia act but a musician and writer for our times.
He has always been ready to work in partnership with other composers, singers and musicians, who speak highly of him. The only person who seems to have a grievance is the Steven Marchat, the son and partner of Cohen’s manager Marty Marchat. They had a falling out over money and, it seems, Cohen’s reluctance to talk to Steven about his father. But even he concedes he likes Cohen.
Cohen has been called music to slit your wrists by, but this is an unfair, perhaps lazy, generalisation. His lyrics are much more literate and evocative than your average rock song, direct yet mysterious, and not without humour. His melodies are suited to his limited range so perhaps he is not the most melodic of writers, but songs such as ‘Hey that’s no way to say goodbye’ show he can write pretty melodies within these limitations. He self-deprecatingly referred to his gift of a golden voice, but as he has gotten older his unique (!) voice has gained depth, to the point where he sounds like an Old Testament prophet, if one was going to sing popular songs. It’s music that engages the mind as well as the ears.
It can also touch the soul. Cohen’s lyrics often reflect his spiritual journey. Cohen is a Buddhist monk but also a Jew who still has his traditional Friday night meal with family and friends. He has investigated and explored many of the major religious traditions and some of the more obscure ones. As he says in concert, “I have spent much of my life studying the great philosophies – but cheerfulness kept breaking through”. I think the nearest he comes to a single religious viewpoint in his song ‘Anthem’: There is a crack, a crack, in everything/ That’s how the light gets in.
He also writes with equal openness about sex and food and drink and women – especially women. On his latest album Dear Heather he says ‘Because of a few songs/ Wherein I spoke of their mystery/ Women have been exceptionally kind/ To my old age.’ From Suzanne on his first album to Heather on his last, women have been important figures in his songwriting, and his lyrics exploring this fascinating topic range from the mystic to the earthy, poetic and frank.
Which is why, I think, ‘Halleluja’ has become THE Cohen song. To me, it’s about a great love affair that had the intensity of religious ecstasy, which is now finished but has left the lover in a state of battered gratefulness. The two great themes of Cohen’s work come together in a song fusing the sensual and the spiritual into a coherent whole.
There is a crack in everything. Cohen’s money was stolen by his manager, which has forced him back on the road and back into the studio, which has given hundreds of thousands of fans the chance to see him live, for him to enjoy the love of his audience, and new music for the world. If you want it to put this down to the mysterious movement of God, or just a lucky variation of shit happening, I don’t care. It is a gift. Light got in.
PS Mark Steyn has just written a column this week on 'Dance me to the end of love', placing it within the great American songwriting tradition. It's worth a read.
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