un canadien errant

One of my favourite conversations ever was one I had with an acquaintance of mine - when? A year ago? Last winter? I can't remember exactly, but it couldn't have been more than that. We were sitting in the Tim Horton's near my house, talking about his foray into songwriting. I was drinking English Toffee Coffee and he had some variety of tea, I believe, although such details matter less. Knowing my obsession with music - both making it and hearing it - coupled with my occupation as a writer, he asked if I'd ever written music. I told him I hadn't done, to which he responded that he just knew, if only I would try, that what I produced would likely be very Leonard Cohen. Leonard Cohen, I kid you not.

How on earth is someone supposed to live up to that (although you see now why the conversation is a favourite)? The man is undoubtedly the greatest songwriter in the history of Canada. Actually, a funny thing, that, when you think about it. His lyrics are more like narrations than anything - snippets from letters (Famous Blue Raincoat), commentaries on people arriving at parties (The Guests), the retelling of legends (Joan of Arc), the vague recollections of long over love affairs. Performed, the way they are, half spoken, half sung (although, to be honest, they're more spoken than anything - I'm just being generous), with a voice that's raspy and deep, it's beauty in it's rawest form.

There are three elements to a Cohen song - lyrics, music, voice - and to have the proper effect, they have to be presented together. Rufus Wainwright does beautifully with his slippery, slidy voice in his Shrek version of Hallelujah, but it's not Cohen. The Bare Naked Ladies use of the Famous Blue Raincoat tune backing up their own words in When You Dream is enchanting, but doesn't touch Cohen's. It's a turn of phrase ("A thousand kisses deep,") It's a repetition of something primal ("I want you, I want you, I want you . . . on a bed where the moon has been sweating") . It's the haunting strain of a violin, singing behind his vocal lament.

When my friend A. got married two years ago, her otherwise daring, dramatic and oft controversial husband said "no!" to using Dance Me to the End of Love for their first dance (he has Cohen issues - no one can explain). It was decided, then, that it would fall upon me to do the deed, should the opportunity ever arise. And I will, I will.

I write this because today is Leonard Cohen's birthday. As Shelagh Rogers (CBC Radio 1) said this morning, "if this is what 70 looks like, I can't wait." The man has been contributing music and poetry to not only Canada but the entire world for well over 40 years. How many people, artists, musicians, writers, can say that?

I flatter myself, occasionally, to think my acquaintance could be on to something. But then I take a cold, hard look at what I actually create and despair at what it could possibly mean (or not) to the world. Not everyone can be a Leonard Cohen - which is probably a good thing. My consolation is that, while I will never have the creative genius to end a song with the words, "sincerely, L. Cohen," it's made a difference to me that he did. And the fact that someone - at least one person out there - believes that I could. As long as I don't actually try, I'll never have to disprove him, either.