This is a strange book, one that I did enjoy, but…
This is not a good biography. Lebold writes with the implicit sense that we readers already know the story of Cohen’s life. He’ll refer to one event or another, but he won’t bother to narrate it. If you don’t know – and I mostly do – context can help a little. But, the underlying message is clear: Lebold isn’t writing for newcomers to the world of Leonard Cohen.
This is also not ‘good’ literary criticism, at least not in the standard American academic sense. There’s nothing systematic in Lebold’s insights. He doesn’t quite pursue a through-line thesis, responding instead to each new album or career reinvention with altered claims.
In one sense, this is as much prose poetry as it is straight prose, with the language of the book itself part of the point of the project. Lebold’s words often sing – he’s consciously offering a gloss on Cohen’s work and wants to echo it – but they don’t do so consistently. Great prose passages get separated from each other by more conventional ones.
So, taken together, that sounds like I should be calling this a failed book.
But I actually really enjoyed it.
My first test of a book on music is whether it makes me want to hear the musician’s work again. And, since reading this, I’ve been on a Cohen binge. I’ve gone back to some old favorites – “First We Take Manhattan” – and some new ones like “You Want it Darker.” I’ve enjoyed them in fresh ways because I’m hearing them in part through Lebold’s ears.
More than that, I don’t care if this ‘fails’ as criticism in the now standard American fashion. I like the European model that blurs the lines between criticism as stiff commentary and literature itself. This is criticism and its literary. Who cares if it somehow isn’t literary criticism in our stricter sense.
That matters because Lebold tosses out lots of insights. I love the claim he puts forward in the title. As he sees it, Cohen was interested throughout his life in what it means to fall – both in the literal sense and in the figurative. (Ironically, and Lebold explores it, Cohen died after a fall in his home.) We see a lot of the literal in stories that Cohen tells about his affection for elevators, sometimes riding them up and down for hours when he was battling depression. And we have possibly his most famous lyric line, “the major fall the minor fifth,” from “Hallelujah.”
But the figurative sense matters even more. As Lebold sees it, Cohen wants to have deep faith, wants to be elevated in a spiritual sense. Despite occasional moments of ecstasy, though, he generally experiences the divine as a falling away from God. “There is a crack in everything,” he says in my favorite line of his poetry, and he’s drawn to people who are somehow fallen. His first novel, “Beautiful Losers,” seems to be all about that.
Lebold doesn’t always argue to that thesis. He changes horses fairly often, and he proposes other frames in which to consider Cohen. Those generally work, too.
One such is his sense that Cohen comes into his own in full when he discovers himself as a crooner. I can’t agree with Lebold that Cohen becomes a singer equal to Frank Sinatra. I happen to prefer Cohen’s work to Sinatra’s most of the time, but it’s not because Cohen can croon. But the crooning is a part of it, to my surprise as I come back to the music, and I like the Lebold has given me that fresh way to hear it.
I’m afraid I don’t agree with Lebold when he puts Cohen forward as a great poet. I enjoy some of his poetry, but I find much of it careless, sometimes even doggerel. I don’t even love all the songs. I think many, possibly even most, fall too in love with their lyrics without developing real tunes. (Keep in mind that Cohen’s original rendition of “Hallelujah” sounds almost flat. It’s Tim Buckley who brought out the bright colors of the tune, and Cohen borrows heavily from that brilliant arrangement in his own later performances.)
When Cohen nails it, though, when he writes one of those songs that marries his lyrics to a fresh tune, he’s one of our greats.
Lebold talks of seeing Cohen in his late-career, financial-necessity performances, and – though I’ve seen them only in recordings – I agree that they are magnificent. By the end, Cohen had so many songs to select among, that we got only his best. And, having learned to croon in a way that took full advantage of his voice – which to me is more cantorial than jazzy – he feels prophetic.
So, beware before you jump into this book. It’s not for Cohen beginners, and it has moments of self-indulgence and digression. But it is often a beautiful book, one rich with insights, and it brings the gift of making Cohen’s music fresh again.