Leonard Cohen and Neil Diamond - playing separately - reviewed
Leonard Cohen
Royal Hospital, Kilmainham
IT WAS a most genteel affair, hosted by a perfect gentleman - the kind who doffs his fedora when greeting a lady, tilts his head slightly when applauded, and who is conscientious in his gratitude.
"It's a great honour to play for you, ladies and gentlemen," he tells his 10,000 guests assembled in the spacious grounds of the Royal Hospital, Kilmainham.
No, sir, it's a great honour for us to hear you perform.
If we had brought our hats we'd be doffing them to the gaunt, besuited gentleman whose songs have soundtracked the understated moments of our lives.
The first of Leonard Cohen's three-night run of Dublin concerts was like an evening out at the proms - champagne at the bar, falafels at the food counter, and the smell of cigar smoke wafting over the cool evening air.
There seems to be only one teenager in the whole venue - and he was busking Cohen songs for the entertainment of the food queue.
Most of the people in the audience are old enough to remember hearing Suzannewafting over the airwaves for the first time.
Hearing songs such as Bird On A Wireand Who By Firewill remind them of their own carefree youth, when they happily sung along to Cohen's mournful, regret-tinged lyrics, secure in the knowledge that they applied to somebody else's lonely life.
The writer of those lyrics is now 74; he's a loser in love, breaking up with actress Rebecca De Mornay in the 1990s, and a loser in luck, having been brought to near ruin by an associate who siphoned off his money while Cohen was cloistered away in a Zen Buddhist monastery.
His financial straits may have driven the reclusive pop star back out on the road, but Cohen's loss is our gain - as we bask in the warmth of Cohen's rubbed-tobacco voice and feel an unbidden twinge of self-recognition in his stark word-pictures and candid couplets.
He recites the lines of A Thousand Kisses Deep, then tells us what a privilege it is to read poetry "in this city of poets and singers".
Cohen's backing band, led by bassist Roscoe Beck, form a velvety sound cushion around Cohen's deeply-intoned singing.
Drummer Raphael Gayol, guitarist Bob Metzger and keyboard player Neil Larsen are finely tuned to Cohen's every nuance.
The backing singers - Cohen's co-writer Sharon Robinson and the Webb sisters, Charlie and Hattie - sigh and whisper their way around the melodies, tip-toeing gracefully around Cohen's flat, commanding baritone.
The bandurria, laud, archilaud and 12-string guitar playing of Javier Mas adds colour and texture to Take This Waltz(a song inspired by the poet Federico Garcia Lorca, Cohen informs us), while the wind instruments of Dino Soldo add a little bite to the crushed velvet smoothness.
The sound system is beautifully balanced, allowing us to fully savour such familiar fare as Ain't No Cure for Love, I'm Your Man, Everybody Knowsand Tower of Song.
Cohen remains restrained throughout, letting his inner strength take the musical weight, and it makes for a consummate night of nostalgia.
When he pushes his voice that extra yard for Hallelujah, his 10,000 guests rise as one in a standing ovation.
Well, when you're in the presence of someone of such class and vintage, it's only good manners.
KEVIN COURTNEY
Neil Diamond
Croke Park
LOOKING FITTER and more comfortable in his own skin than he did last time he played Dublin four years ago, Neil Diamond has wisely dispensed with the Vegas-like drama of his previous stage shows and now lets the music do his talking to greater effect.
This time round, Croke Park's cavernous setting eked some of the life from the earlier part of his performance, particularly during Lady Ohand Brooklyn Roads.
However, Diamond's canny use of some autobiographical black and white 8mm footage drew the disparate punters closer to his wavelength.
That gravelly voice is still in mint condition, and while some of his louder calling cards ( Love On The Rocks, Red, Red Wineand Forever In Blue Jeans) risk descending into mindless mantra-land, he also has a rag bag of searingly personal everyman tales that can twist and bend their way deep into the subconscious.
I Am, I Saidwas a revelation of existential angst, a home-town boy's quest for connection with something bigger than what the road has to offer, and A Solitary Mansidled up alongside it, a surprising companion, both at odds and at one with Diamond's bald admission the he "never cared for the sound of being alone".
Diamond's most recent work shimmers with surprising freshness.
Home Before Darkand Pretty Amazing Gracehint at a man still in hot pursuit of those tiny, elusive spirit-shocking observations on life's peculiarities, at a time when he could easily be forgiven for auto-piloting his way towards retirement.
With a hard-working, solid band behind him, Diamond's greatest strength is his ability to transport the punter to another time and place.
Where lines like "funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice" (from Song Sung Blue) can reverberate long into the memory banks.
I'm A Believerpitched and tossed his audience into the maelstrom of Saturday morning TV and pop perfection in one and the same moment.
He may have been competing with Laughing Lennie for the punters' affections, but Diamond seduced his faithful with an enviable nonchalance and a back catalogue to die for.
