When I heard the news about Leonard Cohen this morning, I immediately sent texts to my friends Pam and Dani, telling them to send my condolences on to their mams. For them, and so many of my friends, Leonard Cohen was something that they shared together, listening to his albums on long drives on your family holiday in the west of Ireland or going to his gig in Imma together. The latter, the two of you are adults together, warming up plastic cups of red wine in your hands, finally allowing yourselves to openly discuss his filth and his misery.
Cohen was the generational connect, one of many we’ve lost this year. These are the acts that made you realise, as a moody teenager, that your parents are their own people with their own interests, other than you. Children, we can be so selfish. If your parents liked Cohen, it meant that they were edgy, instead of the duddering, conservative caricature you had so vividly painted in your imagination. Teenagers always feel like they know it all but when you hear the strains of I’m Your Man coming from the kitchen on a weekday night, in a strong wave of clarity, it hits you that you had it wrong all along.
Cohen was the mams' sexy man. I know one of my friend's mams kept a photo of him at her desk in her work, her torso of the week. When a younger co-worker thought that it was a photo of Padre Pio, in that instant, my friend's mam suddenly realised that she was the cool one in the office.
His gravelly voice, rarely raising about a seductive coo, was perfect lullaby music. When his version of Hallelujah made it on to the Shrek soundtrack, parents of young children across the world rejoiced. You could this green ogre to your advantage and maybe your child would be singing Suzanne in the playground instead of whatever it is that makes your ears bleed in the charts. They’d skip the pre-teen phase and relive your college days, drinking wine out of mugs in a kitchen that was transformed into a smoky dive bar, the sort that we never really had in Ireland but the type that his music transported you to.
But, of course, you wouldn't want your eight-year-old devouring this sophistication too early. You can't move straight from Coca Cola to cognac. The music you love, made by the musicians you adore, should be consumed slowly and when the time is right. So when your children suddenly see you in human form, thanks to a moody song that thrills all of their senses, that's the moment that your child becomes a friend.
Cohen’s music blurs the lines between your childhood and your parents’ lives before you came bombarding along. He’s a shared secret and on this chilly November day. It might be the best excuse to go home to your folks, open up a bottle of red and listen to an old pal.
