First published February 2009
I'm as sceptical of celebrity worship as the next person. But there is something to be said for being in the presence of the truly great — those who simply pulsate with genius and charisma.
Leonard Cohen is like that. You could sense it the moment he walked on stage on tuesday night. I could feel it, even from my distant seat.
The world of pop music is dominated by prettiness and skin-deep perfection. In that context, Cohen's greatness is not instantly discernible. When, in 'Tower of Song', he sings 'I was born with the gift of a golden voice', it would seem he doesn't mean the smooth glint of a wedding band, or the finely chiseled features of an ornate bracelet. He means nuggets, heavy and pliable, and dirty with the earth from which they've been plucked.
Not to everyone's taste. But the sound has served him well, and has the advantage of improving with the wear and weather of age. Cohen is 75, and those deep notes in 'I'm Your Man' still cause a delectable tremor in the guts.
The growl becomes him. Lurking in the all-around shadow of his trademark, narrow-brimmed hat, Cohen can still croon credibly about love, sex and beautiful women, without a trace of ick or sleaze. (He grinned evilly at the suggestive exhortations of one female audience member.)
His sense of humour is a trademark. Lately a Buddhist, Cohen explained how his latter years had been spent in 'deep study' of religion and philosophy. 'But cheerfulness keeps breaking through', he quipped.
The humour augments natural gravitas. On tuesday, he first prayed, and then sang, the lyric of his song 'Anthem' as a tribute to bushfire victims:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
(Cohen, supporting artist Paul Kelly and tour promoter Frontier Touring donated $200,000 to support the bushfire victims.)
It was a night of hits and plenty of fan favourites. During nearly three hours of stage time Cohen drew from the breadth of his catalogue, old and new(er), with equal aplomb.
From his first album, the gospel lyric of 'Suzanne' fractured with the intensity of Cohen's rendition:
Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower ...
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath