Leonard Cohen holds first-ever Florida concert in Sunrise
By Sean Piccoli South Florida Sun-Sentinel
8:09 p.m. EDT, October 18, 2009
Singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen, 75, considered himself a retiree not long ago. He had not planned on the tour that has occupied the last two years of his life: It was a response to the discovery that he was broke, and by now it has probably met its financial goals, or at least lifted him out of poverty.
Add it up, and circumstances point to Cohen's first-ever concert in Florida -- about 40 years in the making -- also being his last. There was an undeniable sense of hello-and-goodbye to the old pop laureate's performance on Saturday night at BankAtlantic Center in Sunrise.
"I don't know when we'll pass this way again," he said early on, "so we're going to give you everything we've got."
What followed was a remarkable performance lasting more than three hours (intermission included), during which Cohen applied his droll personality and low-key grace to a life's worth of music.
Backed by nine players, all skilled and closely attuned to their frontman, Cohen sang more than two dozen of his emotionally eloquent songs, the centerpiece of every one of them being his unusual voice. Cohen's dusky baritone is anything but trained, but in concert it helped give his confessional lyrics the weight of experience -- good, bad and ambiguous.
Inside the slow, soulful waltz of "Bird on the Wire," Cohen managed to sound both rueful and philosophical -- perched between "I'm sorry" and "Oh, well"-- when he sang, "I have torn everyone who reached out for me." His singing was frank, but not without guile.
Cohen's voice had several uses on Saturday. It was a kind of low musical constant -- a steady undercurrent for compositions that ranged across folk, gospel, blues, cabaret, country-western and classical. It exerted a gravitational tug on the winding-staircase melodies of "Hallelujah" and "I'm Your Man," adding tension to both songs.
It had a way of authenticating language that could be considered archaic ("If It Be Your Will") or abstract ("Famous Blue Raincoat"). To create a vocabulary for his spiritual self, his inner life, Cohen has dipped into poetry and scripture, and chosen words that might sound florid and dated in other contexts. Here -- and partly because he's been so good at getting every syllable to fit his voice -- the lyricism is solid and durable.
Cohen's physical resiliency should be the envy of people half his age. Trim and wispy in a dark suit, buttoned shirt (no tie) and fedora, he trotted on and off stage looking like the Rat Pack's resident beat poet. What's more telling, though, is how well the songs hold up. It's not just trendiness that draws younger musicians to his catalogue for covers and inspiration.
Cohen was also a pleasure to hear between numbers, and an absolute gentleman who kept finding inventive ways to thank the audience -- "for climbing the vertiginous heights to your seats
for braving the menacing, psychotic, abrasive qualities of people you don't know
for the warm and welcoming reception."
He created about as much intimacy as could be had in a converted hockey arena with several thousand empty seats. (A theater or performing arts center would have made more sense.)
He finished up by introducing his technical crew -- a gesture that usually accompanies closing night.
Cohen does have future dates lined up in other cities. And it's not inconceivable that he would play Florida again. But his worldview, as spelled out in his songs, is about the fleeting nature of things. Whether or not he returns here, his thinking on Saturday seemed to be: Play like it's your last time, because after that it's all just memory and hindsight.
Sean Piccoli can be reached at
spiccoli@sunsentinel.com or 954-356-4832.
Copyright © 2009, South Florida Sun-Sentinel
