Saturday night, we went to hear Leonard Cohen in concert. I was
about halfway excited and about equally wishing we weren’t going … an
un-frantic end to the day sounded pretty nice. But we’d had tickets for months,
and although we always see tickets as an opportunity and not an obligation,
Cohen is getting up there in years, we both like his music and neither of us had ever seen him live, and
it was right down the road. So off we went.
Little did we expect that it would be nearly four hours after the
concert started before it ended. True, Cohen and his friends had initially left
the stage about 10:30—already a longish concert. But they came back for an
encore … and another … and another … and yet another. I usually think an encore
is really just the tail end of the planned concert. But four of them?
My usual endurance level for concerts is right at two hours. By
then, I’m ready for it to be over. I once sat through a delightfully timeless four-hour
birthday concert for Pete Seeger in NYC, where my partner had taken me for my
b-day. But that event featured many, many artists, lots of them personal
favorites. The one last night, on the other hand, was virtually all one guy,
with the help of his sidekicks. Actually, he featured all of his band members
and back-up singers at various times. And well he should—they were all
outstanding musicians. They were also a strikingly international
group—Spain, England, Mexico, and Moldova, were represented (as well as
the Republic of Texas.) Anyhow, they were great and he was amazing.
I’ve always appreciated Cohen’s music and his
song-writing—how could you not like “Suzanne” and “Hallelujah” (the latter
especially as sung by k.d.lang). But I had no
idea I would be so entranced that I’d happily listen to four hours of his
mellow, deep-voiced, often somber, almost always philosophical music. I really didn’t want it to end. Besides, watching him is almost as
engaging as listening. He began many (most?) songs by falling to his knees, from which he
rose effortlessly with nary a hand on the floor for a boost. Whether on his
knees or standing, he virtually always sang with his head lowered and his
shoulders rounded, his left hand cupping his mouth and the microphone. He wrapped his body around his music as if he were guarding
it. My partner likened his posture to Kokopelli, and it fits.
I could say so much (did I mention it was four hours long?), but I
want to talk about two things … two very different elements of this program that I found especially nice. The first was his frequent references to aging.
He sang about aging in what seemed to me a really lovely way, not tragic or morose, not superficial or trivializing. Like you might describe an evening. His music seemed to comment on his aging as an interesting
element of his life. Inevitable, present, sometimes getting in the way or
disappointing, but never to be mourned or resisted. My partner thought he might
be Buddhist, which would explain this attitude: death is simply part of the
cycle of life, all things are impermanent, attachment causes suffering. Sure
enough, I learned, he is a Buddhist monk. He is also a practicing Jew, and his music is
full of Christian symbolism. Although that seems complicated, it also feels
completely compatible with his deeply philosophical lyrics.
Back to aging ...
Several of his references to aging were sort of in passing—a line in one
song about “this old man’s face,” another about “now I hurt in the places where I used to
play.” But the song that really captured my attention was “A Thousand Kisses
Deep,” which I had never listened to carefully before. I searched for the piece online and learned that it was initially published as a poem. He has performed it both
as a song and in spoken-word form countless times over many years. And there may be as many versions as there have been performances.
Folks who follow these things have explored the question of which
is the “real” song and why he's created so many variations of it. But I figure
a person can have as many versions as s/he wants of a song s/he wrote (and
apparently keeps on writing). It's actually interesting to hear some of
these—some are strikingly different from others, whereas some variations are
rearrangements of lyrics seen in other versions. For a taste, you can read two
very different sets of lyrics here and here. Better yet, you can listen to a
fairly recent sung version of “A Thousand Kisses Deep” and also a recent spoken version. Then, if your
curiosity is still curious, as mine was, finish up with an older spoken version (as a
bonus, if you click on “show more” beneath this last video, you’ll see yet a third
set of lyrics).
But the point I want to make is not about the fluidity of the
lyrics but about the message this song carried, at least for me. Of course, I
have no idea what Cohen actually meant to convey with this poem/song—and
his meaning very likely changes along with the lyrics. But to me, at least on
this particular evening and in the context of his other references to his
aging, it sounded like a love song to life. Sung by a man who is growing old
(78) and has had a rich, if not always smooth, life. By someone who regards
aging as simply a reality. Someone who sees life as a lover with whom you speak
gently and make love but to whom you don’t cling, as a lover whose passing is
marked and whose departure is expected and even accepted—not sought, but also
not resisted or dreaded. And if that doesn't sound Buddhist, I'm missing something.
If I were a psychologist for real, I might think that this is all
projection—that I’m hearing in Cohen’s lyrics the song I’d like to (be able to)
write to my life. But see what you think. Here are some of the lines that sound
to me like an ode to life, recited from its waning years. These are excerpts
from various versions of the song/poem. Most were in the version we heard the
other night—not necessarily in this order. You can hear them all in his voice
through the videos linked above.
Excerpts
from (various versions of) “A Thousand Kisses Deep”
by
Leonard Cohen
|
And on a totally different topic …
Another thing I loved about
the concert was the visual artistry of the lighting. We were sitting close
enough to the stage that I was trying to catch some pictures of the concert.
But soon, I felt like I was in a sunset-picture moment … you know, when each
moment is more brilliant than the last, so you just keep snapping away. I gathered
a slew of these pictures into a sort of rainbow so you can see how visually
wonderful it was.
 |
| A shot of the screen almost directly above us |
And then he left ... over and over, the stage still changing color. Sort of like the song.
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