(In memoriam: an article first published on 20th March 2013 on the Mslexia guest blog.)
“This
is a fine song. A fine song.”
With
this statement, I was introduced to the work of Leonard Cohen. His praises were
being sung in Woodroffe High School, Ottawa, by my English teacher – an
inspirational individual who was inclined to deliver a class from inside the
closed store cupboard, or encourage us to graffiti over the blackboard and then
award a prize for the most biting witticism, or write in huge lettering across
an exam answer: GADZOOKS GIRL!!! READ THE QUESTION.
For
such a person, how would we not sit up and listen?
We
had the word-sheet and we sang along. And yes, we were prepared to concede:
Leonard Cohen’s
So Long Marianne was
a
fine song.
Although
I didn’t take at the time to Cohen’s rather scratchy thin voice – nor
appreciate that the bouzuki sound towards the end of the song was a neat
allusion to the Greek island of Hydra where Cohen lived with the eponymous
Marianne – a couple of verses from that song began to imprint themselves and
have never left me:
Well
you know that I love to live with you,
But you make me forget so very much.
I forget to pray for the angels
And then the angels forget to pray for us
……………………………………………..
Your
letters they all say that you’re beside me now.
Then why do I feel alone?
I’m standing on a ledge and your fine spider web
Is fastening my ankle to a stone.
Now
as I contemplate the prospect of writing my own lyrics, it occurs to me there
is much to learn from Leonard Cohen, who at the age of 78 is still out on the
road, performing his latest album Old Ideas. It is not so much his
personal longevity that interests me, admirable though that is, but the
endurance of his songs.
Perhaps
Cohen’s lyrics were always destined for a superior kind of polish given that he
was first and foremost a printed-page poet. A number of collections that
won praise in Canada before be became a singer and a name on the world stage
– Let us Compare Mythologies (1956) The Spice-Box of Earth
(1961) and Flowers for Hitler (1963) – established his craft before ever
Marianne, as it is rumoured, handed him a guitar on which to compose tunes as
well.
It
is his poet’s attention to detail, to syllabics and rhyme, that have, I feel,
given his songs their legs. But though one might think this set of skills would
make for an easy transition to songwriter, Cohen has spoken about the sheer
slog of finding the right words to link with melody. He is famed for drafting
and redrafting, for notebooks stuffed with ideas, for songs that have taken
years to write. But even after all that, he is aware that there is still
something indefinable in the songwriter’s task. As he says in
Songwriters on Songwriting:
Well,
things come so damn slow. Things come and they come and it’s a tollgate, and
they’re particularly asking for something that you can’t manage.
They
say: “We’ve got the goods here. What have you got to pay?” Well, I’ve got my
intelligence, I’ve got a mind. “No, we don’t want that.”I’ve got my whole
training as a poet. “No, we don’t want that. “I’ve got some licks, I’ve got
some skills with my fingers on the guitar. “No, we don’t want that.” Well, I’ve
got a broken heart. “No, we don’t want that.” I’ve got a pretty girlfriend.
“No, we don’t want that.” I’ve got sexual desire. “No, we don’t want that.”
I’ve got a whole lot of things and the tollgate keeper says: “That’s not going
to get it. We want you in a condition that you are not accustomed to. And that
you yourself cannot name. We want you in a condition of receptivity that you
cannot produce by yourself.”
One
of Cohen’s most extraordinary successes is
Hallelujah, a song that has
been recorded some 370 times by artists of larger and smaller note, used as
soundtrack in films and TV series such as
Shrek and
The West Wing,
and requested at funerals and weddings. The song, alluding to the
Biblical story of David, to sexual temptation, to the sacred and the secular,
and to questions of faith, had a difficult gestation of three years and seventy
verses. “I remember being on the floor, on the carpet in my underwear, banging
my head on the floor and saying, ‘I can’t finish this song’” Cohen said, quoted
in a
BBC article on Ian Light’s recently published
book about the story of
Hallelujah.
When
Cohen finally came to the recording studio, the song had been honed to four
verses. But compared to later versions,
Cohen's original is a surprise – a rather cheesy number, with staccato
endings in the chorus and a swing feel. Columbia Records had such
commercial reservations about it and the entire album
Various Positions,
that the decision was made to release first in Europe, in 1984, before a launch
in the US the year later.
Nonetheless,
Cohen, whose career had hit a slight doldrums, was still doing live appearances
and
Hallelujah, aired at times with substitute verses, met favour with
audiences. Even Bob Dylan, arguably the most famous of the 60s generation
wordsmith singers, performed it in 1988. But then the song underwent two
important regenerations – first by
John Cale (originally from Velvet Underground) who used a simplified
piano arrangement and a different set of Cohen’s verses, and then, in 1994, by
Jeff Buckley, who stood before a microphone with spell-binding vocal
inflections and an echoing guitar. His tragic death by drowning two years
later at the age of thirty made a threnody and cult classic out of this
haunting – and many would argue definitive – version.
Both
Cale and Buckley sang the same first two verses as Leonard Cohen did in his
original recording, but added a different final three, rooted in relationship
and physicality, and with a bleaker end line: It’s a cold and broken
Hallelujah rather than Cohen’s more defiant: With nothing on my tongue
but Hallelujah.
Leonard Cohen original recorded version
Now
I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Your
faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
You
say I took the name in vain
I don’t even know the name
But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?
There’s a blaze of light in every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
I
did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
|
John Cale/Jeff Buckley version
Verse 1 – same
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.Verse 2 – same
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.Baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor (you know)
I used to live alone before I knew you
And I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
and love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah…
There
was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me, do you?
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah…
Maybe
there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you
And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah…
|
Other
artists have endeavoured to put their own stamp on the song – from
K.D. Lang’s acclaimed performance, through
Bon Jovi,
Rufus Wainwright and
Alexandra Burke, winning contestant on the UK’s
X Factor in 2008 who,
despite the
de rigueur schmaltzy key change for the final verse, gave a
creditable interpretation, and all the way to a highly idiosyncratic recording
by
Bono.
Even
the ukelele-playing
Jake Shimabukuro has finessed an instrumental version, drawn he claims,
to the tune. But it is my assertion that he would not have been captivated by
this song had it not been for the musicality mined in it by Jeff Buckley via
Jim Cale. And those versions may never have existed were it not for a
compelling set of lyrics that invited reinterpretation. I think Shimabukuro
would not have
heard the song in the way that he did but for those who
passed it on. It’s like the end of a Chinese Whispers round.
Yet
this song, to me, was cemented through its lyrics.
So,
what can a would-be lyricist learn from Leonard Cohen?
- That sweat and tears may be
the sine qua non of great lyrics. Cohen has talked eloquently about frustrations.“If I knew where the good songs
came from, I’d go there more often. It’s a mysterious condition. It’s much
like the life of a Catholic nun. You’re married to a mystery.”
- That words in which a
sentiment is authentically conveyed become more than just a simple plate
on which a tune is delivered.
- That a poem, sung, might have
much wider reach than a print version.
- That evocative lyrics can
transcend a rather average musical arrangement…
- …and that, therefore, other
people with different rhythms, inflections and music within them can run
differently with the blueprint.
About
this last point, I am reminded of “the eye” referred to by the poet Alice
Oswald on a recent Radio 4 programme,
The Echo Chamber presented by Paul Farley.
“There’s
something mysterious about what animates a poem,” she says. “I always try to
create an
eye in a poem … which I see as a kind of pinhole through which
light can pass….It’s a kind of exit point in the poem that stops it from being
a solipsism….But when I see that it has a pinprick hole in it through which
something different can enter then I’ll be satisfied. Even if it’s an imperfect
poem, at least it’s got a kind of consciousness of its own.”
I
think that Leonard Cohen’s lines in songs such as So Long Marianne and Hallelujah
have such an eye – giving them a “kind of consciousness” that inspires other
performers to sing the words again and again. There could be no better accolade
for a lyrics writer.