Leonard Cohen’s Royal Return

Leonard Cohen cuts a dashing figure. Dressed like the last of the old-time mobsters, he positively jigs onstage at the Royal Albert Hall, amid the sort of reverential applause that is usually reserved solely for the unveiling of the new Pope on the Vatican balcony.

The nine-piece band, seemingly plucked from the dark corners of a pinstriped 1920s Chicago speakeasy, strike the first notes of Dance Me to the End of Love as the Holy Father drops to one knee. Tonight’s sermon, all two and a half hours of it, will shake the walls of this most venerable church.

It is fourteen years since Cohen last visited these shores. The intervening years have been kind; his vigorous stagecraft and sprightly ‘second-hand physique’ belie his age and it is immediately clear that his period of semi-retirement has done nothing to dampen the blood-and-dagger approach that defines his art as song after song is delivered with awesome authority.

All the ‘hits’ are there and it is testament to the breadth of his catalogue that he can deliver Bird on a Wire, Chelsea Hotel, No 2, Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye and a spine-tingling Who By Fire so early in the evening. The band render each song with poise and judgement and successfully bridge the gaping sonic chasm between Cohen’s early, darker recordings and his later, cleaner, Casio-based work.

The second set, punctuated by poetry and a wonderful spoken-word If It Be Your Will, is surely even stronger. Hallelujah is thankfully wrestled away (permanently pray Lord) from a thousand Jeff Buckley impersonators and The Partisan retains all the baleful, revolutionary zeal that empowered the original recording. Each band member is introduced and showcased twice in an odd Tony Bennett/Bruce Springsteen style (the witty and ever-gracious Cohen has clearly got this showbiz shtick down to a tee) that suggests, darn it, the old man might just be having some fun.

Lyrical accomplishments aside, Cohen’s greatest skill lies in his genre-defying instrumental sound. Tonight jazz saxophones, flamenco guitars, bluesy organs and angelic harps combine to create an exquisite platform for Cohen’s deeeep vocals and ultra-confessional songs. It’s like watching a Van Gogh painting come to life to the tune of a slow Spanish sarabande. The Royal Albert Hall is transformed into Cohen’s own private, infamous garret and we, ‘his friends’, are very pleased to be there with him.