TONIGHT WILL BE FINE by LEONARD COHEN. Story by Luke Davies.
Listening to most music has been so much harder for me since the stroke and I had not been keen on revisiting older recordings and demos of ideas stashed away on various hard drives.
Reading Cohen on Christmas morning. Poem by Vin M
Reading Cohen on Christmas morning/Poems of love and loss and yearning
ANTHEM by LEONARD COHEN. Story by Martina Medica
Every morning he switches on the radio to my favourite station. He hopes it will help. Most of the time I barely notice it.
… AND THE BASSMAN PLAYS. Words by Bill Arnott. Music by Michael Averill
Flashback to the sixties, people living in the cities you got beatniks crossed with hippies sporting horizontal stripes and small goatees play a jazzy, minor chord, learn to smoke, renounce the lord
SING ANOTHER SONG, BOYS by LEONARD COHEN Story by Alan Attwood
It’s a raucous, shambolic, ranting wreck of a song, which ends with a well-oiled Leonard chanting.
ALEXANDRA LEAVING by LEONARD COHEN Story by Vin Maskell
It was a restless, fitful time. At one or two or three in the morning I’d carefully ease out of bed and head for the loungeroom, well away from the sleeping family.
Ain’t No Cure For Love by Leonard Cohen (Jennifer Warnes version)
Vin Maskell Palliative care hospital ward, Melbourne, 2014 The yellow line takes you to the Multiple Sclerosis ward. Green for Motor Neurone Disease. Blue for Parkinson’s Disease. You keep an eye on the yellow line as you side-step trolleys and wheelchairs, patients and nurses, volunteers and other visitors.
UNDERTOW by LEONARD COHEN. Love story by Rijn Collins.
Rijn Collins Melbourne, 2016 I know little about Cohen, but I’m learning about you. You tell me a story as we drive, and I turn towards you, my hands out to catch the falling words.
Cohen, Leonard: a song
Vin Maskell Café, La Trobe St, Melbourne. Lunchtime June 2010 Some songs need fresh air. They need to be able to breathe again. They need to be able to float away into space and not come into our orbit for a good while.
GUINNEVERE by CROSBY AND NASH. Story by James Hands
James Hands Bungalow, Melbourne, 1982 I'd just been introduced by a Uni friend to Madeleine - long blond hair, sweet 16, pure hippy chic wafting Ishka fragrance - and it's total infatuation at first sight.