The moment Leonard Cohen got to stick it to his biggest critic: “It is not a distinction that I coveted”
Of the artists who possess the dual power of poet and musician, few hold a candle to Leonard Cohen’s brilliance.
The Canadian poet captured a special emotion while leaning into the folk tradition of simple, refined musicianship, evolving his literary career to become a fully-fledged singer-songwriter. This led to personifying his stories through guitar chords and piano keys, expressing a lyrical vulnerability while writing of the many lives he had already lived, touched by the people who crossed his path and the places he seemed to wander into by happenstance. Moreover, he often wrote about the beauty found in heartbreak and struggle, eulogising his multi-faceted experiences with a reverence for life, thus it’s no surprise that fellow musicians latched on to Cohen’s every word, finding mutual inspiration and solace in his effortless craft.
For as brash as he could be, Lou Reed recognised true artistic merit when he heard it, and in rare glimpses of fanaticism, expressed his admiration for Cohen’s evocative lyricism and took a liking to his approach early on in their respective careers. Upon meeting him in 1966, Cohen decided to plant roots in New York City, and when inducting the latter into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2008, Reed recounted in his speech, “He said, which I thought was really sweet, ’You wrote a song called ‘I’ll Be Your Mirror’ and it made me want to continue being a songwriter”. Both men shared clear similarities, whether in their signature desolate vocals or the realism in their writing, adding to his speech, “We are so lucky to be alive at the same time Leonard Cohen is”.
Reed quoted lines from ‘One of Us Cannot Be Wrong’, surmising, “You get to really appreciate somebody’s songs when you sing them, when you sing them out loud. That’s when you can really hear it.” The song is one of Cohen’s earliest, a tale of a love gone frozen, as he sings, “I showed my heart to the doctor / He said I’d just have to quit/ Then he wrote himself a prescription / And your name was mentioned in it”.
During his speech, Cohen regarded his acknowledgement in the Rock Hall as an “unlikely occasion”, admitting, “It is not a distinction that I coveted or even to dare dream about”. His reservations surely came from a place of humility, as most writers tend to regard their work with a sense of remove, yet Cohen’s perception of his impact could have been skewed by critical response. He quoted a review of himself by Jon Landau, one-time music critic, manager/producer and current Rock Hall nomination committee head: “I am reminded of the prophetic statement of Jon Landau in the early ’70s. He said, ‘I have seen the future of Rock and Roll and it is not Leonard Cohen’”.
His subtle moment of revenge was countered with a usual dignified response, concluding that he was pleased to be counted among the other inductees, which he considered to be a “great privilege and a great honour. Thank you, friends”.
The sheer irony of the moment of Cohen’s welcome into a class overseen by the man who once disparaged his work seemed too good to be true to him, but in a world where professional accolades can often feel like afterthoughts, it was a pivotal one, an acknowledgement of how his artistry resonated with the right minds, at the right time, immortalising his influence on generation even after his passing.
