On the subway in, somewhere between Times Square and 34th Street, my friend Judy—whose son’s girlfriend Samantha was kind enough to pass her complimentary tickets along to us—asked me what song I particularly wanted to hear at this concert. I replied by saying something like I couldn’t imagine being disappointed no matter what the evening’s playlist looked like. But pressed for a specific title I chose, “Dance Me to the End of Love.” Immediately I heard an unfamiliar voice chime in, “Everybody Knows.” Looking up, it was obvious we were in the midst of bit of Leonard Cohen fandom as another straphanger said, “Chelsea Hotel,” and another voted for, “Ain’t No Cure for Love.” Judy completed the round by expressing her wish for “Bird on a Wire.” Who doesn’t enjoy running into friendly New Yorkers?
In his London concert of July 17, 2008, Mr. Cohen announced his appreciation to be gathered with his audience at the O2 Arena, “on just the other side of intimacy.” Madison Square Garden? Way on the other side of intimacy. With a capacity of 20,000, it only holds about seven times as many people as the Beacon Theater, where he had played in February. Much of the crowd looked to be folks who had once owned vinyl copies of “Songs of Love and Hate” but it was not an exclusively boomer crowd by a fair piece. Seated next to us, about halfway to the stratosphere, were a couple of 20-something women with big smiles on their faces in anticipation. The house looked to be 95 percent or better sold out.
At about quarter after eight, his nine-member band walked onstage with him appearing last to a gracious ovation, commencing the grace that flowed forth and back for the entire evening. He doffed his fedora, placed his right hand over his chest and bowed deeply and long in appreciation of our admiration.
As the band began “Dance Me to the End of Love,” he dropped to his knees, held his hands close to his face, and let you know you were getting the real goods. He attacked the first sound of most lines, a sforzando effect that italicized the urgency of the lover begging for the deepest intimacy two people could have. You can see all this on youtube, of course, the starting of each song on his knees, the gestures, the humility when another member of the band is in the spotlight. It was a revelation to see in person, though, even as far on the other side of intimacy as we were.
So many of his lyrics say just what you hope you could feel when you’re making love, and seeing him bringing the words to life just makes one appreciate humanity at last, despite everything. He sang parts of several songs kneeling before Javier Mas—who plays the 12-string guitar, laud, archilaud, and bandurria—encouraging their duet. Mas’s contribution to the band’s sound, a virtuosic gypsy buzz, brings out a kind of serious exoticism to Cohen’s lyrics. His extended introduction to “Who By Fire” drew wonderful applause.
The other band member who particularly dazzled was the saxophonist-clarinetist-keyboardist Dino Soldo, whom Mr. Cohen introduced as “the master of breath on the instruments of wind.” His saxophone break on “Bird on a Wire” were as fine of moments as any in the concert. Cohen’s introductions of all the band members show gracious affection—and humor, as when he introduced Hattie and Charley Webb as “performing vocals and gymnastics,” in reference to their synchronized cartwheels as he sang the line, “Yeah, the white girls dancin’” in “The Future.”
In his dark suit and hat, and a face that shows its years, he struck me as a kind of gangster of love, someone who sees the cynical world clearly in all its degrading power and ballyhooed glory, and still tells it to fuck off. Sometimes singing directly on the beat, sometimes playing off it, it’s all about whatever can best caress the meaning out of the words being sung.
Early in the concert, he told the audience that he wasn’t sure when he would ever be in town again, and so he intended to give us everything he’s got tonight. By the way he came out for encore after encore, skipping and dancing off and back onto the stage no less, he was as good as his word.
