Dance Me To The End Of Love
The Future
Ain't No Cure For Love
Bird On The Wire
Everybody Knows
In My Secret Life
Who By Fire
Chelsea Hotel
Waiting For The Miracle
Anthem
Second Set
Tower Of Song
Suzanne
Sisters Of Mercy
Gypsy Wife
The Partisan
Boogie Street
Hallelujah
I'm Your Man
A Thousand Kisses Deep (recitation)
Take This Waltz
Encores
So Long, Marianne
First We Take Manhattan
Famous Blue Raincoat
If It Be Your Will
Closing Time
I Tried to Leave You
Time and again, Leonard Cohen dropped to his knees and serenaded the floor, as if crumpled at someone’s graveside. The Canadian singer-songwriter had just the voice for the job, too. His deep baritone was as murky as a moonless midnight.
A standing ovation greeted him Sunday evening at PlayhouseSquare’s Allen Theatre, where “Dance Me to the End of Love” cast a haunting spell from the get-go.
“I don’t know when we’re going to pass this way again, but I assure you it is our intention to give you everything we’ve got tonight,” said Cohen, 75.
Making good on his promise, he treated 2,300 concertgoers to nearly three hours of music, with selections from every phase of his 40-year career. It felt like not only a heartfelt “thank you” to fans, but a summing-up by way of farewell, all wrapped up into one transcendent show.
Cleveland was one of the last stops on Cohen’s first tour in 15 years. He abandoned the music business altogether in the ’90s and spent five years in a Zen Buddhist monastery.
In the spotlight, Cohen made a dapper mystic. Nattily attired in a dark suit, he intoned poetic lyrics about love in all its guises, from down-and-dirty to divine.
The music was similarly far-reaching, incorporating everything from R&B grooves to old-world melodies. “First We Take Manhattan” even ventured into disco.
Cohen crooned “Everybody Knows” with all the gravitas of an existential Frank Sinatra. Ditto other calling-card numbers such as “Bird on the Wire,” “Suzanne” and “I’m Your Man.”
Cohen had a charming habit of removing his fedora to acknowledge applause, as well as the contributions of his excellent nine-piece band.
Ex-Clevelander Neil Larsen was a standout on keyboards, testifying in the middle of “Hallelujah” with a glorious Hammond B3 organ solo. Sublime vocal harmonies were provided by longtime Cohen collaborator Sharon Robinson and the Webb Sisters, Charley and Hattie, whose angelic take on “If It Be Your Will” was a knockout.
Cohen dabbled with a synthesizer for “Tower of Song” and played guitar on other tunes, including a charming “The Gypsy’s Wife.”
When his songs weren’t quoting Scripture, they often found him taking stock in the bedroom. Amid the relentless soul-searching, a raging libido and a withering sense of humor were never far behind.
“You told me again you preferred handsome men / But for me you would make an exception,” Cohen sang, pricelessly, in “Chelsea Hotel #2,” a lilting tell-all detailing a tryst with Janis Joplin.
Lucky for us, Cohen proved lousy at goodbyes. He returned to the stage for three encores, before finally signing off with “I Tried to Leave You.” Suffice it to say that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want this particular one-night stand to end.
The Cleveland Scene
- October 26, 2009 by Vince Grzegorek (Photos: John Soeder)
If there were a lounge in heaven, rest assured that Leonard Cohen would be the only choice to be the divine house band. Not that Cohen, now 75, is anywhere near ending his reign as de facto poet laureate of rock here on earth anytime soon, as his show last night at the Allen Theatre proved.
For over three hours (with one brief intermission) Cohen showed everyone that he's still one of the coolest people on the planet. Dressed to the nines, performing with a nine-piece accompaniment (three backup singers and six musicians), and staged in front of curtains that completely circled the back of the stage, Cohen rolled through his extensive collection while making everyone in the room wish he would tour more, but thankful that they were in attendance for this show.
He was dapper and charming and spry and energetic and earnest. He crooned in his own particularly entrancing way, running through romantic songs powerful not for their romanticism, but for their searing imagery, honesty, and otherwordly poetry. When love is good, it's great. When it's not, it's still worth it. We are flawed creatures -- beautifully flawed creatures. And it's lovely.
“I don’t know when we’ll be passing through here again,” he said early in the show. “So I want to tell you that it is our intention to give you everything we’ve got tonight." He did, and more. Cohen hit all the career high notes — "Suzanne," "I Am Your Man," "Take This Waltz," and "So Long Marianne," among many others — and, of course, played "Hallelujah," a piece as close to divine as you're going to find even with the cover-song and soundtrack saturation, made more powerful in concert with Cohen at his age, displaying youthful showmanship in the figure of a worn, experienced, but strident old man. It was times like this that you appreciate when Cohen performs these songs, these songs so often covered, beautifully I might add, by others. But rarely if ever do they come out like they did last night.
After multiple of encores, each lasting a couple songs or more, Cohen finally took his fourth or fifth bow to a standing ovation from the crowd. No kidding — three hours might sound like a long time, but the crowd would have stayed for five.
(Personal highlight of the night: "Chelsea Hotel 2" — our favorite Cohen song.)
Leonard Cohen Gives Allen Theatre Night to Remember
The Cauldron
- November 2, 2009 by Derrek J. Brown
On October 25th, Leonard Cohen came to Cleveland and he gave the Allen
Theatre quite the show. Put simply; the concert was awesome. Cohen refuses to lose
his grace or style, and his voice has only gotten richer with the
passing of time. He stopped in Cleveland to perform the old
favorites like "I'm Your Man" and "Anthem." The master performer managed
to make a concert that was scheduled to last only two hours go on for
nearly four due to all the encore performances. He brought his
whole band with him, a huge ensemble, and with each band member
being a master at his or her craft, it was a special treat.
It was easy to lose count of how many times Cohen and
the band got a standing ovation from the awe-swept crowd.
He sang "Hallelujah," "Waitin' on the Miracle," and so many other favorites. Cohen
continues to prove that he is an amazing showman by performing songs
that never lose their edge. Then again, Cohen himself has not lost a
single step. At the age of 75, he continues to be one of the most
celebrated names in music. It is no surprise Cohen's lyrics are so meaningful, considering Cohen did not even start off in music,
but poetry. The poet always shines through in his songs,
like the opening lyrics to Anthem, "ring the bells that still can
ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack, a crack in
everything that's how the light gets in…."
The man is a unique and exceptional performer. To sit in the audience and watch him
perform is like no other concert experience-- his voice, his
band, and his magical words made the show unforgettable. After going to the show, one comes to
understand the beauty of well-crafted message. He moved across the stage and sang with all the
timing and rhythm of a man many times younger, and through it all he
kept a smile on his face and in his voice. The best part about going
to see this tour was knowing that after sitting in the dark for three
and half hours, there was not a single minute wasted. Every
moment spent in that dark theater felt like magic being seen and heard first hand.
Dance Me To The End Of Love
The Future
Ain't No Cure For Love
Bird On The Wire
Everybody Knows
In My Secret Life
Who By Fire
Chelsea Hotel
Waiting For The Miracle
The Flood (recitation)
Anthem
Second Set
Tower Of Song
Suzanne
Sisters Of Mercy
Gypsy Wife
The Partisan
Boogie Street
Hallelujah
I'm Your Man
A Thousand Kisses Deep (recitation)
Take This Waltz
Encores
So Long, Marianne
First We Take Manhattan
Famous Blue Raincoat
If It Be Your Will
Closing Time
I Tried to Leave You
Leonard Cohen didn't show up alone last night for his concert in the Palace Theatre. He sported a posse of nine equipped with an arsenal of instruments for what may have been his first sortie into central Ohio during a long and distinguished career.
But his armor consisted mostly of an old satchel of words that he has juggled for decades with respect, adoration, humor and more than a little obsession - all the while marrying them with an uncanny intuition into durable and sometimes unforgettable melodies.
Already a well-known poet when he released his debut album of songs in 1967, Cohen applied an unlikely singing voice to recordings that brought eloquent lyrics to the mainstream. His first single, Suzanne, was a major hit.
Likely, most of last night's packed house had been waiting more than 40 years to hear him live. In an exhaustive, three-hour review of his entire catalogue, the 75-year-old was charming, entertaining and suave in his tailored suit.
More importantly, he showed that his relationship with his songs, oldest to newest, is still vital and dynamic.
He began on his knees, delivering the lyrics to Dance Me To The End Of Love with a mix of reverence and a glimmer of the undiminished sexuality that would seduce the crowd frequently.
Cohen's reverence is of the highest order. It rang true last night in Tower Of Song, even as it was infused by a little humor. ("I said to Hank Williams, 'How lonely does it get?' Hank Williams hasn't answered yet.") It described the impossibility of true freedom in the human condition during a devastating reading of Bird On A Wire.
His relationship with the lyric also sharpened the contradicting positions in songs such as Everybody Knows, which is bleak and hilarious but nonetheless in search of community.
Holding the mike in his right hand, Cohen dramatically used his left in the service of addressing his lyrics. One minute he used it to usher them out of his mouth, releasing them into the ether as though they were children being set free. In another minute, he caressed an imaginary lover's face as he delivered them with love, spite and delicacy.
Cohen, whose relationship with his songs seems to deepen as he ages, had no difficulty with the sexiest. The sordid encounter in Chelsea Hotel #2 has become less bitter and a whole lot more liberating.
"I want to see you naked," he sang in Ain't No Cure For Love. For a septuagenarian to deliver such a line and still seduce is proof positive that, in the right hands, the word is sexiest.
The center of the universe came to town and fell to one knee and then to both, frequently. For Leonard Cohen is no ordinary mortal, and his concert Tuesday night at the Palace gained immortality with every passing moment.
Dressed like a Blues Brothers road manager—black suit, black porkpie hat—the frail Cohen (he’s 75) recalled Frank Sinatra, Charles Bukowski and even, yes, Maurice Chevalier—probably because of the “Frenchy-ness” of his European folk music/cabaret style.
That style often incorporated a spare variety of the blues and was always delivered with a soothing, lulling metabolism. Cohen’s musical heartbeat is calm. His lyrics, anything but.
Opening with “Dance Me to the End of Love,” Cohen dropped to one knee and buried his head in the mike, his baritone tones and words heard perfectly over the highly sympathetic band. By the second verse, he was on both knees, singing to his Spanish guitarist.
“Dance me with your beauty to a burning violin”—ah, nice line. So much better than the Indigo Girls.
Second number: “I’ve seen the future, brother/And it is murder,” Cohen sang from “The Future,” a dark song going back and forth in history, mentioning totalitarianism, religion and even feminism’s war on children as his last verse progressed lyrically. “Give me Christ or give me Hiroshima/Destroy another fetus now/we don’t like children anyhow.” Whew, right on, my celebrated Zen brother (he maintains his Jewish faith despite being an ordained Buddhist monk).
Complexity is Cohen’s game, but like a true Zen master, he made it look effortless no matter what the song of the moment was about, be it love, hate, depression, war or sex. And while he was performing and his band was smoothly laying out his barely textured music, ol’ Leonard complemented it all by doing a few soft-shoe steps. Everything about him suggests completeness.
The only other performer to compare him to would be Tom Waits, whose show at the Ohio Theatre last year was also magnificent but in a different way. Waits sweated nearly as much as James Brown; Cohen never broke a sweat.
Also, there were times when Cohen’s body language suggested a shadow boxer’s pose. God, I loved this man’s wordless contradictions.
The Cohen canon was indulged: “Bird On A Wire,” which included two of the greatest guitar and sax solos heard this year; “Everybody Knows”; “Secret Light”; “Chelsea Hotel”; and “Waiting for the Miracle,” during which I swear he got younger and it also occurred to me that he was the inventor of adult-contemporary’s “quiet storm” genre.
Thanks to the lullaby-esque quality of the band and music, the night’s emotional temperature maintained a constancy—the heaviest themes ever contemplated in pop notwithstanding. That is, until “Chelsea Hotel” and “Miracle.” Something deepened in the show, and I was struck by how deftly Cohen managed it. Is he a sage of some sort? I think so.
The contribution of the three female backing singers cannot be understated. Not only did they provide a melodic counterpoint to his ageless baritone (he sounded very good the whole night), but I think their vocals represented the female point of view. I mean, ol’ Lenny sings about sex and getting screwed over in nearly every other song, but there are always two points of view, true?
And, oh my God, the second set. After intermission, Cohen comfortably topped his first set and built to the soul-climatic “Hallelujah” (“I did not come to Columbus to fool ya”)—and that after Cohen classics like “Tower of Song,” “Suzanne” and “Sisters of Mercy.” And I’m not even going to try tell you how heart-stopping and life-changing “A Thousand Kisses Deep” was as Cohen delivered it as straight spoken word.
The audience, which had given him a standing ovation the moment he walked out, was his congregation, and I was just another member of his flock of loving sheep. Baa.
Blog - "it's about me, and my thoughts, and shit" - "leonard cohen" let me just come out and say it was one of the best performances i’ve ever seen...
Blog - "thewholepeace" - "Leonard liveOctober 28, 2009" ...As he sang he often went down to his knees. A review I read before suggested that he was offering each song as some kind of sacrament. He also gave long bows to each of his musicians when they played solos and when he introduced them. When he would exit the stage he skipped and danced. When I am 75, if I can embody that amount of grace, reverence, playfulness, and poetry, it will be a sign that I came through life pretty well.
Dance Me To The End Of Love
The Future
Ain't No Cure For Love
Bird On The Wire
Everybody Knows
In My Secret Life
Who By Fire
Chelsea Hotel
Waiting For The Miracle
The Flood (recitation)
Anthem
Second Set
Tower Of Song
Suzanne
Sisters Of Mercy
Gypsy Wife
New Song - "the other blues song"
The Partisan
Boogie Street
Hallelujah
I'm Your Man
A Thousand Kisses Deep (recitation)
Take This Waltz
Encores
So Long, Marianne
First We Take Manhattan
Famous Blue Raincoat
If It Be Your Will
Closing Time
I Tried to Leave You
Blog - "Camel's Nose" - "Leonard Cohen concert" Everyone went to hear his voice of course, and they got that. Like the message someone left on one of his videos “This? man can read a shoppinglist out loud and i die..” He started out with the raspiness everyone mentions in the reviews, but his voice warmed up quickly. Sometimes he dropped to one knee, and sang to the floor or to the oud player, and his voice seemed to get deeper and more resonant. The crowd got not just his voice, but a crew of extremely talented musicians as as well. And Leonard Cohen is no musical slouch either. For Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye he backed himself up on guitar, then played and sang backup to other musicians’ solos. The talent of the group though was greater than the sum of their parts, with Leonard’s deep voice winding gracefully around it all...
Blog - "Gapers Block" - "Review: Leonard Cohen @ Rosemont Theatre" For over three hours last night, Leonard Cohen kept the rapt attention of an adoring audience as he performed songs that have been so deeply etched into the memories of his fans that its hard to think of a time we didn't know them...
Dance Me To The End Of Love
The Future
Ain't No Cure For Love
Bird On The Wire
Everybody Knows
In My Secret Life
Who By Fire
Chelsea Hotel
Waiting For The Miracle
Anthem
Second Set
Tower Of Song
Suzanne
Sisters Of Mercy
Gypsy Wife
New Song - "the other blues song"
The Partisan
Boogie Street
Hallelujah
I'm Your Man
A Thousand Kisses Deep (recitation)
Take This Waltz
Encores
So Long, Marianne
First We Take Manhattan
Famous Blue Raincoat
If It Be Your Will
Closing Time
I Tried to Leave You
Blog - "Ashvegas" - "A brief review of Leonard Cohen's performance in Asheville" The backing band was composed of music industry veterans such as Roscoe Beck and Bob Metzger, all of whom did Cohen's music justice. The elaborate lighting design also enhanced the show--Cohen's touring entourage includes two buses and four tractor-trailers--quite well, and the sound technicians were impeccable. I often hear people complain about the sound quality of the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium, but this show demonstrated that, in the hands of a capable sound technician, a show can sound fantastic in the auditorium...
Dance Me To The End Of Love
The Future
Ain't No Cure For Love
Bird On The Wire
Everybody Knows
In My Secret Life
Who By Fire
Chelsea Hotel
Waiting For The Miracle
Anthem
Second Set
Tower Of Song
Suzanne
Sisters Of Mercy
Gypsy Wife
New Song - "the other blues song"
The Partisan
Boogie Street
Hallelujah
I'm Your Man
A Thousand Kisses Deep (recitation)
Take This Waltz
Encores
So Long, Marianne
First We Take Manhattan
Famous Blue Raincoat
If It Be Your Will
Closing Time
I Tried to Leave You
DURHAM -- As instruments of doom go, Leonard Cohen's voice is sort of like anesthesia. You'll be coasting along, basking in his mellow croon and letting it wash over you. Then a trance takes over about the time he drops one of his wicked kill-shot lines on you -- "You told me again you preferred handsome men/But for me you'd make an exception," say -- and the next thing you know, you're waking up wondering just what happened. And if you think that sounds at all unpleasant, then you weren't at Cohen's Tuesday night show at Durham Performing Arts Center.
Cohen's voice is an admittedly acquired taste, of course, and it's not one that has gotten much airplay in America over the years. And yet his songs have been in the air so much that you probably know more of them than you realize. Tuesday's show featured 27 songs, including most of the Cohen canon high points that the crowd had come to hear. The standing ovations began before he'd even sung a note. Then again, he rocks a dark suit and fedora so well, he deserved the cheers just for walking onstage.
Cohen is 75 years old and he collapsed during a show in Spain back in September. But you'd never have known that from Tuesday's performance. He was spry from start to finish, sometimes singing from a knee for dramatic emphasis. By the end of the night, he was literally dancing his way off the stage.
"I don't know when we'll pass this way again," he announced early on. "But it is our intent to give you everything we got."
For this tour, Cohen has assembled a crack nine-piece band littered with virtuosos. They supplied sleek, exceedingly well-played jazz-flavored rock that wouldn't have sounded out of place on a Steely Dan record. During each player's star turn, Cohen would stand off to the side, hat in hand, attentively watching and listening.
Guitarist Javier Mas was particularly impressive on banduria, laud, archilaud and 12-string guitar, providing exotic counterpoint to Cohen's lyricism. But the entire ensemble was terrific, and there was even a spot of choreography. When Cohen sang the line "Like girls dancin'" on "The Future," backup singers Charley and Hattie Webb did a quick cartwheel in unison.
But of course, there was no upstaging The Voice. When he reached down to the lower reaches of his range to intone "the wisdom of oooooold" during "In My Secret Life," he sounded like a true force of nature -- a foghorn warning the unwary away from the rocks of romantic desolation.
By now, Cohen is well-established as poet laureate of doomed romantics everywhere. His typical song persona is a man singing from the depths of emotional wreckage, picking through the rubble and assigning blame where it belongs -- as much to the singer as his subject. Just about every Cohen song has a cutting line that feels like an icepick to his and your heart.
Tuesday's set list was pretty close to the track list on Cohen's current "Live in London" double-album, starting with "Dance Me to the End of Love," which set a tone of old-world classiness that he maintained throughout the evening. High points included the ultra-cold "Chelsea Hotel No. 2," a steady rolling "Suzanne," "Hallelujah" with lyrics tweaked for the occasion ("I told the truth, I did not come here to Durham to fool you") and "Famous Blue Raincoat." He did two sets and multiple encores, and seemingly could have played all night.
"Good night, my darlin'," he sang on the show-closing "I Tried To Leave You" -- "I hope you're satisfied." The crowd gave a massive whoop in response.
Durham went 10 rounds with Leonard Cohen last Tuesday night. That assessment isn’t just based on the stamina the spectrally voiced 75-year-old songwriter displayed after nimbly bounding onto the DPAC stage moments after 8 p.m. and animating 24 hits, choice obscurities—and one new work he’d premiered the week before—before dancing off three hours later, just after 11:15 p.m. It also conveys the feeling of much of that time.
Perhaps the single most underreported fact of Cohen’s career is the quality that bankrupts most of the glib descriptions he’s collected over 40 years in music—the godfather of gloom, poet laureate of pessimism, even the wryly self-bestowed “grocer of despair.” If his work is so unrelievedly dour, why did a near-capacity house leave the DPAC so conspicuously … happy?
Critics and scholars before me have connected Cohen’s muse to the notion of duende, the profound Spanish aesthetic embodied in the seemingly disparate fields of bullfighting and flamenco dance and song. To the degree it’s true—and I believe it is—for Cohen, it’s not because his basement baritone suggests anything like the trembling, high-pitched cries of the classical cantaores of flamenco. Rather, we heard that quality repeatedly Tuesday night, not in Cohen’s voice, but in the beautiful unquiet of Javier Mas’ agitated, Phrygian runs on the Spanish bandurria and archilaud—most notably in the luminous solo Mas seemingly excavated, chip by chip, out of the darkness itself at the beginning of “Who by Fire.”
Rather, Cohen’s connection to the duende lies more in the words themselves and their delivery, which at times is more spoken than sung. Much the same could be said for Federico Garcia Lorca, another poet who not only probed the duende in his verse but also wrote analytically—and lyrically—about its quality in his essays. It’s a difficult concept to translate, but duende has to do with the intimate relationship between passion and absolute disaster. It articulates the risk inherent pursuing the truest, most intensely felt emotions to the end, at all costs. Duende gives us the stern reminder that when we strive for the deepest love, we must ultimately be prepared to experience the deepest pain. It confronts us, at once, with the contradictions of intimacy and desolation; sex and alienation; love and total loss.
Since duende so admonishes and threatens us, perhaps we should be clear about what side it’s on. The answer might be surprising to some. Duende, it seems, is on the side of life. So is the art of Leonard Cohen.
Let that sink in for a moment: Leonard Cohen, affirming life.
Truth is, you generally don’t report bad news if you’ve already decided to become one with it. The reporting is, itself, an act of resistance; a voice raised against the bad news being reported. Cohen made the point eloquently during the evening’s one cover song, a translated version of “La complainte du partisan,” Anna Marly’s first-person tale of a French World War II freedom fighter that Cohen recorded as “The Partisan” on his 1969 album, Songs from a Room. “The Partisan” gives stark evidence that, when the duende documents extreme passion exacting an extreme price, it is in sympathy with the former, and a critique of the latter.
If there is a ballroom of our common loss, Cohen remains its matchless troubadour. His is the voice that was made to drag the bottom of one river in particular: the one we’ve all gone to, at some point in our lives, to drown the damaged heart. Its human goal is to lift that heart once again.
Tuesday’s three-hour overview of his career reminded that Cohen was always more than some two-bit crow at the feast of the emotions. Unlike some, Cohen never sang in celebration of the knife. Instead, he concluded, long ago, that the soul’s best chance for survival lay likely in the frankest and least sparing assessments of the raw emotional facts.
His physical presence underscored this the whole night through. When his verses didn’t drive him down on bended knee—with a lightness and dexterity that belied three full quarters of a century—Cohen stood, his upper body curled slightly forward, knees bent, with both hands up, one holding a microphone near his face. The stance might have suggested the supplication that some of his characters sought in songs like “Bird on A Wire” or the widely covered “Hallelujah.”
But with the smallest shift, the same gesture echoed something very different. Call it a well-learned boxer’s crouch—the posture of a seasoned pugilist, expertly rejoining a fight of long duration, in the ring of the deepest-felt feelings.
On Tuesday night, he went the distance. His nine-piece band professionally burnished both older songs and new. Sharon Robinson, his collaborator in recent years, gave a different but compelling vocal depth to a song of sudden abandonment, “Boogie Street.” Backup vocalists Charley and Hattie Webb chilled the air with their perfect high harmonies in the stark petition, “If It Be Your Will.” If reedman Dino Soldo’s occasionally melodramatic antics would have aroused the anger of what Cohen once termed the Jazz Police, his keening lines still reinforced a number of songs, including “The Gypsy’s Wife.” The smooth orchestrations were grounded by music director Roscoe Beck on bass, Bob Metzger’s tastefully spare guitar, Neil Larsen’s keys and Rafael Gayol’s work on drum.
When Cohen’s voice sounded more papery than in previous decades, his hands—at times, nearly cupped around the microphone—reinforced the confidential intimacy of these poetic confessions. Nowhere was this more effective than his spoken-word rendition of “A Thousand Kisses Deep.” If we were struck by the desolation after those fatal errors of the heart documented in “Famous Blue Raincoat,” “So Long Marianne” and “Waiting for the Miracle,” the resilience and—dare I say —optimism with which he rose from these reportings was even more impressive.
All told, it made for one of the shortest three-hour concerts I’ve ever attended. “I tried to leave you at least a hundred times,” he wryly grinned, as he began the last song of the second encore of the night. The words and their delivery were an acknowledgment that, going into hour four, he had hardly worn out his welcome with a packed and vocal Durham audience.
Things rarely turn out so well for artists who befriend the duende.
Blog - "A Blog Around the Clock" - "Cohen" And everything was done to perfection - the set, the lighting and the slow dance of the backup singers had, together, a hypnotic effect. Three hours passed like nothing - I could have stayed another three (and that would still not exhaust all of his greatest hits)...
Dance Me To The End Of Love
The Future
Ain't No Cure For Love
Bird On The Wire
Everybody Knows
In My Secret Life
Who By Fire
Chelsea Hotel
Waiting For The Miracle
Anthem
Second Set
Tower Of Song
Suzanne
Sisters Of Mercy
Gypsy Wife
New Song - "the darkness"
The Partisan
Boogie Street
Hallelujah
I'm Your Man
A Thousand Kisses Deep (recitation)
Take This Waltz
Encores
So Long, Marianne
First We Take Manhattan
Famous Blue Raincoat
If It Be Your Will
Closing Time
I Tried to Leave You
Nashville Scene
- November 6, 2009 by The Spin in The Spin (Photos: Steve Cross)
When Leonard Cohen took the stage at TPAC's Jackson Hall last night, he and his band probably could have soaked up the rapturous applause for half an hour, but they went right to work, opening with a breezy rendition of "Dance Me to the End of Love." Sitting in our snug theater seats (an unusual comfort for us), we needed about three songs before we got our heads around the fact that yes, we were actually here. In the same room with Leonard Cohen. (Leonard Cohen!) And he was onstage singing these songs to us.
Once the initial buzz wore off (and before our malty one took hold), we realized that one of the great songwriters of all time was up there surrounded by a really slick Adult Contemporary band. Have we ever thought that "Bird on the Wire" might be improved by making it sound more like "Wonderful Tonight"? Why, no, we haven't. If it was anybody else singing any other set of songs to an accompaniment this smooth, we might have nodded off or walked out somewhere around the hour mark--the words "Kenny" and "G" had bubbled up in our thoughts, and trust us, that does not feel good. But this was Leonard Cohen, and if there is something more sublime than hearing his voice fill a room with poetry, it is not for sale on this earth (that we know of). Stylish, energetic and sharp, he had us by the vertebrae the entire night.
While we were hoping for some of the grittier songs--"Is This What You Wanted," "The Butcher," etc.--that isn't really where Cohen's heart is these days, and we're fine with that. He paused at one point to thank us for sharing this evening with him and to remind us how lucky we all were just to be able to see a show like this, "with so much of the world plunged in chaos." Lucky doesn't even begin to cover it. And he was funny, too! He introduced "Chelsea Hotel No. 2" by telling a story of riding the elevator and asking a woman (presumably Janis Joplin, the song's subject) if she was looking for someone. "Kris Kristofferson," she answered. "You're in luck," he says he replied. A wonderfully chilling "Everybody Knows" and "Who by Fire"--complete with mesmerizing solo Spanish guitar intro--were highlights among highlights from the first set. During the intermission, we grabbed some beer in the lobby, where everyone from film auteurs (Harmony Korine) to political big-wigs (Chip Forrester) was milling about and waiting for the miracle to resume.
We returned to our seats to find Cohen standing in front of a keyboard. "Don't worry," he assured us, "This thing goes by itself. You've probably never seen anything like it." He got the second set going with the thoroughly awesome "Tower of Song," which got a loud hoot for mentioning Hank Williams (the Chablis had evidently started to take effect in the expensive seats) and for Cohen's solo, easily the least slick run of notes played all night. Following were the timeless "Suzanne" and "Sisters of Mercy," both transcendent. He played a new song, a haunting, bluesy number we're pretty sure is called "The Darkness," which segued into a moving rendition of "The Partisan" and on into the inevitable, majestic "Hallelujah," which brought out a few battery-operated candles and the like.
In addition to belting forcefully on "So Long, Marianne," Cohen bounded back onto the stage for each of the encores, displaying more energy than we can dream of having at age 75 (if we make it that long). He changed up a few lyrics here and there--replacing "anal sex" with "careless sex" in "The Future," for example--and played with the melodies a bit, but mostly he just reinforced how indelible these songs are. Even when a gaudy saxophone solo interrupted the dreary beauty of "Famous Blue Raincoat"--the concert equivalent of watching Casablanca and hearing Bogey say, "Play it again, Jar Jar"--Cohen drew us all right back into the song the second he began incanting another verse into his microphone. "Here's a man," he sang near show's end, "still working for your smile." Aw, Lenny--you had us at "I tried to leave you."
Updated: Leonard Cohen shares smiles, lessons and music at TPAC
Tennessean
- November 6, 2009 by Peter Cooper (Photos: George Walker IV)
Leonard Cohen, 75, played the Tennessee Performing Arts Center Thursday night. And... well, it was great. A hundred smiles, a thousand lessons.
Cohen’s body of work is well documented and well loved. His voice is a low and husky rumble, the kind of thing that wouldn’t last a minute on American Idol and that helps the singer draw laughs each night when he sings, “I had no choice/ I was born with the gift of a golden voice.”
He was not born with a golden voice. But Cohen has developed more significant gifts: those of presence, attention and graciousness.
The presence part was apparent from the outset of the show, part of Cohen’s first major American tour in 15 years.
Dressed in a black suit and a shining, impossible belt buckle, Cohen was wholly in the moment, talking of how he lived near Nashville for years, on a 1,500 acre farm rented from Country Music Hall of Famer Boudleaux Bryant for $75 a month.
The attention and graciousness aspects seemed to work together, as is often the case. In a distracted, tweet–away world, Cohen tends to look folks in the eye. During most every song, someone in his nine-piece band would take a solo, and Cohen would respond by taking off his fedora — he used the hat as a prop, like Bob Wills used his oft-pointing fiddle bow, or like Humphrey Bogart used his cigarette — and concentrating intently at the soloist.
The message was clear: “I, Leonard Cohen, am now a member of the audience. When I put the hat back on, perhaps I shall sing and you may turn your attention back to me. In the meantime, listen to something extraordinary.”
The result was that band members were heard and appreciated at a level seldom experienced. In the second set, when Cohen introduced each member for the second time, the audience stood and cheered for several minutes. A standing ovation... for the band.
A published poet for more than 50 years, and recording artist for more than 40, Cohen is a 75-year-old with what must be 25-year-old knees. He often dropped to those knees — particularly in the first set, when he wasn’t holding an acoustic guitar — and sang as if pleading to a lover, a higher power, or both.
He began, as is the usual of late, with “Dance Me To The End of Love,” and went on to perform “Suzanne,” “The Future,” “Bird On the Wire” (which was admired, and sung, by Johnny Cash) “Hallelujah,” “I’m Your Man,” "Sisters of Mercy,” “Chelsea Hotel, No. 2” and other favorites.
A bevy of Nashville musical luminaries — including Rodney Crowell, Beth Nielsen Chapman, Gary Paczosa, Sergio Webb, Marshall Chapman, Trent Summar and Wood Newton — were in attendance to bear witness to Cohen’s lyrical testimony. At one point, Cohen told the story behind “Chelsea Hotel,” a song written about Janis Joplin.
“We were on the elevator... I asked her, ‘Are you looking for someone?’” he recalled. “She said, ‘I’m looking for Kris Kristofferson.’ ‘You’re in luck. I am Kris Kristofferson.’”
Cohen told the audience that Joplin replied, “I thought you were taller.” He got a laugh out of that one.
Neither Cohen nor Kristofferson is tall, though their legacies can dunk a basketball without so much as standing on tiptoes. And then Cohen sang the song, for an audience that, following Cohen’s lead, was present, attentive and gracious.
