From this broken hill

When I go to gigs I’m usually struck part-way through the first few numbers by the thought that I should be keeping a note of the set list, the better to write about it later.  Invariably, I do nothing further than let this impulse go.  The review in today’s Fairfax pages does me the favour of including the numbers performed at Tuesday’s Leonard Cohen show in Wellington, which the señor and I attended.  Where each column represents one set, they were

This performance, three hours in total, had the effect of immersing the listener completely in not just the high emotion but the polish and the finish of the performances too.  The shape of the evening borrowed from jazz in many ways, from the behatted and besuited band to the genteel bows and salutations amongst the solos, and the way Cohen removed his hat or dropped to one knee to acknowledge the performance of his fellow musicians.  The ensemble was exquisite, and realised through excellent amplification and mixing.

Cohen himself was wry and witty, self-deprecating but not self-pitying, and his assertion that it was the audience honouring him by attending and “for keeping my songs alive for so many years” was typical of the show’s tone.  A highlight for me was the way that some of the sharper-edged lyrics of his early songwriting gained a different nuance in performance, here and now.  I had always thought the last stanza of “Chelsea Hotel #2″ rather dismissive, making it about the speaker’s adventuring rather than the loss of the passing companion, but, hearing it sung, it seemed different: an attempt not to take centre stage in the wider story of the fallen heroine, something more compassionate than what I first heard.  You know the lyrics, but reread them for each emphasis and tell me what you think:

I don’t mean to suggest that I loved you the best;
I can’t keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
that’s all; I don’t even think of you that often.

Cohen’s voice has lost at least half an octave, possibly more, off the upper register over the years, but has gained, and continues to gain, low notes in the bass register.  He sang down to low C with ease a number of times, and indeed his vocal performance had a warmth of timbre not necessarily captured in recordings of recent years.  The upper registers were filled by the sensitive scoring of the band and the evocative and indeed exquisite support singing of collaborator Sharon Robinson and the extraordinary Webb Sisters.  The blended harmonies of the latter pair took the lead in the second part of “If It Be Your Will”.  Comparisons with the McGarrigle sisters are apt, but these women have younger and as yet purer voices.

The Fairfax reviewer called it the best gig he’d ever seen.  I want to reserve judgement in this regard, since I hope I have many more years of going to gigs ahead of me.  It was without a doubt, however, one of the best thus far, a fusion of poetry and performance, the result of many months of rehearsal and touring and worth the significant price of the ticket.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard a headlining act play for this long and with this much finesse and impact over such a wide range of songs.  This was the treat with which our short holiday ended; the good times that preceded it I will hold back for a later post.

ETA: Boogie Street is now included in the set-list, with a hat-tip to the pseudonymous reader who noted the omission.

Tagged as: Leonard Cohen, review