Hallelujah
I love music. It’s not enough to say that because it exceeds that. It is physical, emotional, integral; providing a specific and unique stimulation that has no real kin.
Not all music though.
My son sings and dances and I go to a lot of performances. Thankfully the companies he has sung and danced with have had high standards, so there isn’t usually the feeling that they require endurance, they are largely enjoyable on their merits. Just writing that sentence suggests that there have been some endurance type performances. (There have been.) Sometimes, though, there are moments which are surprising and revelatory.
At a concert that my son was performing in last year the chorus did a version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” that provoked an intense and unexpected personal response. It is an undeniably special song that people who pay attention are familiar with. I don’t always pay attention and so somehow this is a song that I was ignorant of. I’m not that way any more.
The song was performed in a way that conformed to standard choral arrangements. The line about King David got me, especially when Leonard Cohen does that post-modern thing by specifically describing the chord changes in the lyrics. The kid that took the lead had a great voice and presence, and his rendition resounded. When he sang “All I ever learned from love was how to shoot someone who outdrew ya” I was feeling fully alive, if you know what I mean. Standing in my body, present to the moment. The song has an inherently physical quality due to it’s key composition and arrangement already. As it speaks to the mysteries of love it provides universality in theme and substance. I had this sudden and new relationship to this song that has resonated for so many people since it was first performed by Leonard Cohen. There are like two hundred and fifty covers of the song, and it was now ringing me the way it had rung all of those others. This experience coincided approximately with Leonard Cohen’s death and so in a way it made it more powerful. Hooked.
I listened to many variations. When I heard the John Cale version I vibrated in a way that was different from the others. A story I read was that John Cale asked Leonard Cohen if he could record the song and Leonard Cohen sent him about fifty pages of lyrics for the song. So John Cale cobbled together his own version, which was different from Cohen’s original recording, and in doing so kind of created the standard version of the song. Even Leonard Cohen, the song’s author, adopted Cale’s version in his late performances. The thing that strikes me is that Cohen used contracted slang to set up rhymes for Hallelujah (“I used to live alone before I knew ya” / “How to shoot somebody who outdrew ya”, etc.). Cale refused to follow his lead and instead of the slang uses standard English. Cale’s version was so influential that in late recordings Cohen mimics Cale’s pronunciation, abandoning the slang of his early recording. I’m not sure what that says about it, I like to think there is a respect working between those two unique and idiosyncratic men around this masterpiece of personal expression. None of my business ultimately, except that when I want to bring myself to the verge of tears or just have a good cry (which I sometimes want to do), I know exactly where to go.
God bless you Leonard Cohen and John Cale. Thank you.
