I have thought, on occasion, as the wheels lifted off the ground at some exotic location, that I would never again set eyes on whatever sight presented itself to me through the widow of the airplane. From the very top of the Jack Singer Concert Hall in Calgary, I had on Sunday night the same thought: I was watching Leonard Cohen give the single greatest concert I have ever seen.
One need not be ghoulish to imagine that Mr. Cohen, who turns 75 in September, will never again undertake as punishing a tour as that with which he is currently engaged. Running through a deep catalogue of genuine classics, he demonstrates consistently the value of singing ones own songs; when he proclaims "Ain't No Cure For Love," you really believe that he means it. You are reminded, as he recites his lyrics, that the man is a poet of the first rank -- and that by embracing the ballad form he did nothing to tarnish his early legacy. In fact, crafting a song as bittersweet as "Famous Blue Raincoat," conscious of the lyrical demands of something as mundane as the repetition of a chorus, Mr. Cohen affirms that true artisans can tailor their art to the rigors and discipline of form.
The reedy high baritone of Mr. Cohen's early career has collapsed, of course, and from under its rubble emerges a more agreeable bass that breathes new life into his catalogue. As a result, "Chelsea Hotel, No. 2," "Sisters Of Mercy," "Suzanne," and "Who By Fire" are revived. Songs from his "middle period," like "Dance Me To The End Of Love" and "Hallelujah," benefit from arrangements fleshed out by his full and accomplished backing band. (Indeed, perhaps only "Bird On A Wire" and "The Gypsy's Wife," with lush new arrangements, suffer overkill.) Both generous and gracious, tolerating constant camera flashes from the gloom of the auditorium, Mr. Cohen introduced on two separate occasions all of the individuals whose talents compliment his own, the most impressive being, perhaps, Spanish guitarist Javier Mas.
I am not sure that you could describe the show as the resurrection of a ladies' man, as I sensed from my perch none of the sexual chemistry you imagine these songs once engendered. I acknowledge that such flirtation was never intended for me, but one cannot help but think that his banter with singers Sharon Robinson and Charley and Hattie Webb lacked the danger that it might once have had. Then again, was the mood broken by the persistent yob who marched up and down the far isle on the floor, shouting? Or how about the guy who proclaimed himself a senior citizen but who felt he had to scream an adolescent answer each time Mr. Cohen spoke to the crowd?
In the end, I think, I came away from the show most in awe of how productive Mr. Cohen was in the late 1980s and early 1990s, of how well the material from I'm Your Man (1988) and The Future(1992) stands up, today. "Anthem," "Closing Time," "Everybody Knows," "First We Take Manhattan," "Take This Waltz," "Tower Of Song," and "Waiting For The Miracle" all come from a period that culminated in his being awarded the 1993 Juno as Vocalist of the Year. But no one at the Singer longed for the early 1990s, on this night; we were instead treated to evidence of the master in full voice and in top form.
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