Blessed by the Bard
Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2008 1:02 am
It was the first time Leonard had played Canada in ten years. He was appearing at Massey Hall. But - how to afford tickets? My (then) husband and I just didn't have the cash.
My good friend, who has a marvelous Leonard Cohen anecdote of her own, was listening to the radio and heard the announcer say that the first person to phone in with the correct name of the Cohen song he was playing would win two tickets to the concert! She listened to the song - and had no idea of it's name.
Undaunted, she phoned in anyway. 'My friends are huge fans,' she said. 'You have to give them these tickets!'
The announcer was having problems. No one knew the name of the song. He told her the name and said, 'Call back and if no-one's called in with the correct name in the meantime, I'll give you the tickets.'
No-one did, she called back, and won the tickets for us. Thank you forever, my friend!
The evening of the concert I was in a quandary. Not about what to say to Leonard, when we met, as I'd already memorised a number of witty, intelligent, artsy comments that would show him how worthy I was of his company. No, the question at hand was - Should I wear my glasses, the better to see Leonard in concert? Or my contacts, so that after the show, when we met, as we were fated to do, I'd be a prettier face for Leonard to focus on?
Since my memory of the concert is a dark, satisfying blur, I think I must've gone with the contacts. Oh the concert was spectacular. We were a bit late arriving, so as we walked in, Leonard was taking the stage. We arrived to applause. Our seats were fabulous. The music was divine. When it was encore time, I merely whispered,'Joan of Arc' and, as if he heard me, he whispered back the first lines of that ethereal song.
And then it was over. John and I joined a hopeful throng gathered around the stage doors. We waited for a long time, then a line of musicians exited. No Leonard. Finally a big ol' roadie stuck his head out and said, 'He's gone, folks. He's not coming out.'
I could hardly believe it. As John and I walked past the front of Massey Hall, I tried to console myself. Why feel bad about not meeting him? The concert had been everything I could've hoped for. Why cast a negative light on a perfect evening. But, I'd been so sure...
John nudged me. I glanced at him. He jerked his head to one side. Leonard Cohen was walking beside him.
Oh God! We reached the cross walk. Don't walk. The four of us (Leonard was with a big male companion, likely a bodyguard) stopped. John turned to Leonard. 'It's so good to have you back, Leonard' he said. They shook hands. John introduced me. We shook hands. I shook. 'Leonard,' I said, 'I love you.'
The light changed and Leonard went first. We watched as he strolled down the street with his pal. Suddenly, he paused, glanced over his shoulder and gave us the thumbs up.
It was as if we'd been blessed.
Sometimes I still laugh at what I said when I met Leonard Cohen. But truthfully, I think it was perfect.
We didn't have a lot of time to chat, and I spoke honestly, from the heart.
My good friend, who has a marvelous Leonard Cohen anecdote of her own, was listening to the radio and heard the announcer say that the first person to phone in with the correct name of the Cohen song he was playing would win two tickets to the concert! She listened to the song - and had no idea of it's name.
Undaunted, she phoned in anyway. 'My friends are huge fans,' she said. 'You have to give them these tickets!'
The announcer was having problems. No one knew the name of the song. He told her the name and said, 'Call back and if no-one's called in with the correct name in the meantime, I'll give you the tickets.'
No-one did, she called back, and won the tickets for us. Thank you forever, my friend!
The evening of the concert I was in a quandary. Not about what to say to Leonard, when we met, as I'd already memorised a number of witty, intelligent, artsy comments that would show him how worthy I was of his company. No, the question at hand was - Should I wear my glasses, the better to see Leonard in concert? Or my contacts, so that after the show, when we met, as we were fated to do, I'd be a prettier face for Leonard to focus on?
Since my memory of the concert is a dark, satisfying blur, I think I must've gone with the contacts. Oh the concert was spectacular. We were a bit late arriving, so as we walked in, Leonard was taking the stage. We arrived to applause. Our seats were fabulous. The music was divine. When it was encore time, I merely whispered,'Joan of Arc' and, as if he heard me, he whispered back the first lines of that ethereal song.
And then it was over. John and I joined a hopeful throng gathered around the stage doors. We waited for a long time, then a line of musicians exited. No Leonard. Finally a big ol' roadie stuck his head out and said, 'He's gone, folks. He's not coming out.'
I could hardly believe it. As John and I walked past the front of Massey Hall, I tried to console myself. Why feel bad about not meeting him? The concert had been everything I could've hoped for. Why cast a negative light on a perfect evening. But, I'd been so sure...
John nudged me. I glanced at him. He jerked his head to one side. Leonard Cohen was walking beside him.
Oh God! We reached the cross walk. Don't walk. The four of us (Leonard was with a big male companion, likely a bodyguard) stopped. John turned to Leonard. 'It's so good to have you back, Leonard' he said. They shook hands. John introduced me. We shook hands. I shook. 'Leonard,' I said, 'I love you.'
The light changed and Leonard went first. We watched as he strolled down the street with his pal. Suddenly, he paused, glanced over his shoulder and gave us the thumbs up.
It was as if we'd been blessed.
Sometimes I still laugh at what I said when I met Leonard Cohen. But truthfully, I think it was perfect.
We didn't have a lot of time to chat, and I spoke honestly, from the heart.