Leonard Cohen
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Leonard Cohen

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From the top of the hill towards the stage stretched a crowd of some fifteen thousand people, melting under a hot afternoon sun which made its way west at an agonising speed; some families and younger folks, but mostly a forty-plus demographic in sensible hats (a lot of fedoras, in fact).

From the top of the hill towards the stage stretched a crowd of some fifteen thousand people, melting under a hot afternoon sun which made its way west at an agonising speed; some families and younger folks, but mostly a forty-plus demographic in sensible hats (a lot of fedoras, in fact). Paul Kelly and his usual crew – the Bull sisters, Pete Luscombe, Ash Naylor, etc. – rolled out hit after heart-warming hit as the audience wished the burning orb away, waiting patiently for it to drop past the enormous stage and disappear behind the spectacular crags of Hanging Rock. Such a beautiful place, even in the heat.

You didn’t get the full effect from the seated section in front of the stage. You didn’t get to see the artfully placed lighting striking the face of that iconic landmark after dark. But you did get a flesh and blood view of another kind of icon: Leonard Cohen, perfectly aged and utterly relaxed in a tailored suit and tie, who could simply wave a finger and have the crowd enthralled.

Returning just a year after his Rochford Winery appearance, which was widely and fairly held to be the concert of a lifetime, Cohen brought the same touring band, the same backing singers (the “sublime” Webb sisters) and roughly the same set, presented in two dignified halves. At first, simply because it was no longer new, it seemed unlikely that he could weave the same spell. His 2009 tour was his first Australian appearance, ever, so his enduring talent as a singer and overwhelming charisma were unexpected. But this time, word had spread, the crowd had doubled in size and the hype had surely eclipsed reality. How could that 76-year-old with the withered hands and the knowing smile bring a crowd of fifteen thousand to its feet? Well, slowly, sure. But he did it.

The first half of the show was dotted with jazzier hits like Dance Me To The End Of Love, The Future and Everybody Knows, sung in a short, effective baritone that didn’t linger over the notes – his effortless poetry cruising over a relaxed and appreciative audience. By the second half of the show, when the sun was finally gone and the temperature bottomed out, an air of magic seeped in. Behind Cohen and the band there were great swathes of fabric which caught the wind and billowed under the romantic lighting. Either side of the stage, enormous screens showed that Cohen’s face is mesmerising close up, as he cradled the microphone in two hands and muttered his stunningly insightful lyrics. He played Tower Of Song and Sisters Of Mercy, working casually towards the majesty of Hallelujah (which always sounds best in his plainspoken way).

Before two lovely encores, Cohen crowned the set with a recitation of A Thousand Kisses Deep, a poem so frank and loving and lost that you can feel your heart tearing in two as he speaks it. The words have changed a bit over the years and he gave us the winter version, referring to himself as an old man who is still willing to give it a go. The crowd erupted in sustained, adoring laughter. This is an old man who still has it, who never lost it, and who blows the mind – an old man who knows his place in the world. We laughed, and Cohen paused for a long while, struggling to repress a smile.