All week the boss has been banging on about the latest Leonard Cohen album, Old Ideas.
Just the title is enough to put most people off I’d think.
To me, until last night, I thought he was some old codger who’d sold off his rights to his royalties to clear his debt after some unscrupulous manager had somehow blown all his cash. Just think what he missed out on from American Idol and X Factor! Must have made him sick twice. Once for lost potential funds, and twice for the horror done to his songs. An old codger who refuses to just roll over and die.
So yesterday I burn a copy onto my i-tunes. And last night with lover boy away and nothing else to do I crack open a fine bottle of red and allow Leonard to slip into my life.
That’s kind of how it felt.
I played it once as I pottered around getting some pasta on the go.
Then got romantic. Lit a candle or four. Called up the lyrics, and listened again, reading word by word, like a boy might.
I could feel it. I was being drawn in. And I was loving it.
I was a tad tipsy when I played it again. And this time I tingled.
God. He may be old, but he worked a strange magic on me that I can’t quite believe I’m admitting to. Had lover boy come home there’d have been something special going on I tell you.
At 70 odd Mr Leonard has still got it and I want some more! I’ll be buying up the catalogue, and maybe on vinyl so there’s more effort, a more deliberate experience.
Phew. Think I’d better lie down after that.
BB.